The Roadhouse

by Kerry McGinnis

  The thought galvanised me from the bemusement that had held me as I padded from room to room. Should he return, I definitely didn’t want to be there. Grabbing the closest, heaviest implement – a meat tenderiser that had somehow wound up in the hall – I shot out the back door and ran for Bob’s place, arriving panting and dishevelled on the verandah of the quarters where he lived.

  Jasper dashed at me, growling low in his throat, the warning changing to a tail wag the instant he recognised me. Bob glanced up sharply from the bench outside his room where he was unlacing his boots, then surged to his feet. ‘Here, what’s up, girl? You look proper spooked.’

  ‘There was somebody – a man – in the house. He knocked me down.’ For the life of me I couldn’t keep my voice from wavering.

  ‘Whoa there, Charlie. It’s okay.’ Mike, hatless and with a thick swag already spread across the verandah, stepped forward and put an arm around my shoulders. ‘You okay? Did he hurt you? What happened to your face?’ Gentle fingers touched my cheek.

  ‘I think I banged it when I fell. I hit my head. But the house! He’s trashed the whole place, there’s stuff everywhere.’ My voice trembled as I fought the tears back. ‘I know it’s a stupid thing to care about but I’d only just cleaned it and now there’s nothing but mess.’

  ‘Right,’ Bob said fiercely. ‘You stay here with Jasper, girl. We’ll take a look – the bugger must’ve had a vehicle parked somewhere. You sure you’re not hurt?’

  ‘Just a bit shaken, Bob.’ I pulled myself together. ‘But I’m fine, and no way am I staying here alone.’

  ‘She’ll be better with us,’ Mike said. He nodded at the meat tenderiser forgotten in my hand. ‘What were you planning on doing with that?’

  I glanced at it and felt my lips twitch. ‘Hit him, I suppose. If he stood still or wasn’t looking. It was just the first thing to hand.’ I let it fall. ‘But what could he have been after? I mean everywhere’s been trashed, even the bathroom cabinet – there’s soap, and mirror shards, and shampoo and broken bottles all over the floor! The TV screen looks like he put his boot through it.’

  ‘Talk after,’ Bob growled. ‘Let’s go see if he’s stuck around.’

  ‘I don’t think he will have.’ I found I was clutching Mike’s hand and continued to grip it like a lifesaver while the three of us and Jasper retraced my steps to examine the crime scene.

  The intruder hadn’t returned nor left any clues to his identity. The house, lit up as I’d left it, yawned before us, the screen door through which I’d fled hanging awry, the screws of the top hinge half pulled from the wood. Stepping carefully over the debris, I led them on a tour of the damage, the overturned furniture, emptied linen chest, splayed books, shattered drawers and upended mattresses, cushions and armchairs. The kitchen was the worst, with the contents of broken jars and bottles spread amid spilled implements and dry goods.

  Bob, standing in a mess of flour, tea and rice, shook his head, face grim. ‘What was the bastard after? Who looks in kitchen cupboards for a safe, for Christ’s sake? And if it weren’t the safe, what did he want?’

  ‘It’s a good thing you weren’t here for him to ask, Charlie.’ Mike was equally grim. ‘Some nutter off his head with drugs or grog – is that likely, do you think?’

  ‘He didn’t move like anyone drugged or drunk.’ I shut my eyes replaying the brief glimpse I’d had of the stranger and found I could now isolate the separate bits. ‘He bashed the torch out of my hand, then knocked me down. I think’ – I fingered my face which had begun to ache in earnest – ‘that he caught my cheek with his elbow when we collided. I know he went through that door like an express, every bit of him highly co-ordinated.’

  ‘He was thorough, I’ll give him that,’ Mike said, eyeing the wreckage. ‘This lot took more than five minutes. He must’ve been in here all evening – every wardrobe, every drawer … We shouldn’t touch anything,’ he added as I heaved an armchair right side up. ‘You never know, there might be fingerprints. You’d better ring the cop, Charlie.’

  ‘What time is it?’ Mum’s precious mantel clock lay on the floor, case and glass shattered and hands awry.

  ‘Past midnight,’ Bob growled. ‘You’d be wastin’ yer time. He’ll not turn out this late.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Besides, what could he do? The man’s long gone.’ Tomorrow would be soon enough, as would passing the news on to my mother. I sighed wearily. ‘We’d best go to bed. But I’m not staying here. Not by myself.’

  ‘You ain’t,’ Bob asserted. ‘You’ll take Jasper and sleep in the spare donga. The old dog’ll see you ain’t bothered and there’s Ute right next to you.’

  ‘I can roll out my swag outside the door, if you want?’ Mike offered.

  ‘You’ll roll it out here,’ Bob told him. ‘You an’ me are gonna guard the place, in case he comes back. Well,’ he added pugnaciously, ‘it seems plain enough the bastard wanted somethin’ really bad, don’t it? The two of us oughta be enough if he’s thinking of havin’ another go.’

  Mike rubbed his head, making his dark hair stand up. ‘Right, then. Grab what you need, Charlie – if you can find it – and I’ll walk you over.’

  ‘Get the dog’s chain first,’ Bob recommended. ‘We’ll tie him outside the door. Ain’t nobody gettin’ past old Jasper.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  The donga was a box-like room containing a bed, wardrobe and a small washbasin and mirror. There were linen and blankets in the wardrobe but when I’d made up the bed I lay wakeful for a long time, stroking my swollen face as I puzzled over the night’s events. Bob would, I knew, be out at daylight searching for the man’s tracks and those of the vehicle he had used, but even if he found them they still represented anonymous boots and wheels, and would do nothing to resolve the deeper mystery of what the intruder had been seeking.

  I must have dropped off to sleep then, for the next thing I knew was a low snarl coming from beyond the door. A pale greyness seeped through the single curtained window. Almost dawn, then. Imagining heaven knows what, I crept from my bed to the door and opened it a crack, telling myself that Ute was next door and I could rouse her with a scream, and anyway Jasper would have his leg off the moment whoever was there got within reach. The suspense of not knowing was worse than my fear. I pushed on the door, then let it swing fully open as I saw who it was.

  ‘Eric! You frightened the life out of me.’

  He jumped guiltily, and Jasper lunged, only to be brought up by the chain.

  ‘Hush, Jasper. Sit! That’s a good dog. Sorry,’ I said belatedly, taking in the import of Eric’s presence. ‘None of my business anyway.’

  He coughed and reddened. ‘Morning, Charlie.’ He shook his head and said baldly, ‘Not that it’s any of my business either, but what are you doing here?’

  ‘There was a bit of an incident last night. Oh, do stop it, Jasper! Look, come and pat him and he’ll give it up.’

  Eric backed up a step. ‘Not likely! Let him growl. What sort of incident?’

  The door he’d crept through opened then and Ute stuck out a dishevelled head. ‘Eric, what is happening? You sound like the bear.’

  ‘That’s the dog. Sorry, love. I meant to sneak away but Charlie caught me.’ He looked back at me. ‘What’s happened?’

  I recited the night’s events and both looked astonished.

  ‘I didn’t hear a thing,’ Eric said. But he was hardly likely to, I thought with a little spurt of amusement, not with his blonde Valkyrie (and she really did resemble one with her tumbled locks and statuesque form wrapped only in a sheet) to occupy him. Ute, with a frown for the mystery, typically went straight to the heart of it.

  ‘So, he does not rob but makes the destruction. Why?’

  ‘I have no idea. The house is just one big mess, like he was angry – no, scrap that, furious. He even cleaned out the bathroom cabinet! There’s toothpaste and shampoo and Lord knows what all over the shower.’

  ‘You will call the policema
n, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘As soon as we’ve had breakfast – and that had better be in the roadhouse this morning.’

  In fact, I didn’t wait beyond getting dressed to do so. Mike had mentioned fingerprints, which probably meant sending for someone. I could be wrong, but I doubted that Constable Cleary would have much beyond handcuffs and a copy of The Criminal Code, or whatever it was called, at his tiny station. In which case my plans for an immediate clean-up would be on hold.

  Tom asked few questions on the phone, advised me to leave everything as it was and then arrived a little over forty minutes later. He inspected the damage before returning to the roadhouse where we’d already sat down to breakfast. Bob told him what he’d discovered, which was little enough. He had tracked the intruder to his vehicle, which had been left pulled off the road in the mulga a kilometre up the track. It had then been reversed out and driven off, heading for the highway.

  ‘The bastard could be in the Alice or halfway to bloody Queensland by now,’ Bob said. ‘I hope he is. We don’t want him back.’

  I felt my heart jump and the blood leave my face. ‘You don’t think he will return?’

  ‘Depends what he was after, don’t it?’ he asked. ‘Seems to me if he’d found it there wasn’t no need to tear the place up like he did.’

  Mike frowned. ‘Bob’s right, Charlie. That smacks of fury and spite. If he’d just taken whatever it was and left, chances are you wouldn’t even have noticed for a bit. And then you’d assume you’d misplaced the item.’

  ‘Yes, but what do we have that’s worth so much rage? It’s not like we’ve a shelf full of Fabergé, or a hatbox of top-secret documents some foreign spy would be after. What do you think, Tom?’

  ‘Where do you keep your safe?’

  Bob looked up with a snort. ‘Well, it ain’t in the homestead kitchen! Not the bathroom neither! It’s here, in the storeroom, cemented into the floor. Only way you’re gonna steal that’s with blasting powder.’

  ‘It seems likely that a thief would try the business first if it was cash he wanted,’ the constable said. ‘If that’s the case, he might target the roadhouse next time, but I doubt he’ll be back. So you can’t say for sure that anything was stolen from your home, Charlie?’

  I shrugged. ‘You’ve seen it – it’s more damage than theft. What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Well’ – looking apologetic, Tom set aside the tea mug Ute had hospitably filled for him – ‘given that nobody was harmed and nothing seems to have actually been taken, very little I’m afraid. He’d certainly have worn gloves so —’

  ‘He means the rodeo’s on and the cops won’t spare a man to chase out here when it’s not a major crime,’ Mike interjected. ‘That’s about the strength of it, Charlie.’

  The constable looked affronted. ‘We do our best, but resources have to be allocated according to —’

  ‘And nobody’s actually been killed,’ Mike agreed cynically.

  ‘But they have! Annabelle was,’ I said.

  ‘A separate crime, which I assure you, we are working on. Look, I know it’s frustrating and unfair, but that’s the nature of wrongdoing. Innocent people are targeted all the time and there’s usually very little the police can do about this type of vandalism. If, while you’re cleaning up, you do find that items are missing, make a list and I’ll send it round the pawnshops. You never know.’ Tom stood and replaced his chair, then fitted his hat. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I’ll report it, but realistically there’s not much else I can do.’

  ‘Well, that was a fat lot of good,’ I said resignedly, watching him drive off. ‘It does mean though that I can make a start on the house.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Mike offered.

  ‘And Eric will help also, yes?’ Ute asked turning her gaze on her lover.

  ‘Happy to,’ he agreed. He coughed diffidently. ‘You think the bloke was hanging around waiting for this weekend? He might’ve thought there’d be only one person here. Or even that the place’d be shut up and deserted.’

  ‘Could be,’ Mike agreed. ‘You any good with tools? There’re a couple of things missing legs and quite a few of the drawers have been damaged as well.’

  ‘I’ve knocked the odd chest of those together in my time,’ Eric said. ‘Who hasn’t?’

  Mike grinned. ‘Me, for one. I could plait you a whip but carpentry …’

  We toiled all day and I was dismayed to discover as we penetrated beyond the kitchen just how much the furniture had suffered. Save for a boot-marked crack in the sink cupboard, the damage in the kitchen was confined to foodstuffs and it was easy to imagine a brawny arm sweeping the contents of shelves onto the floor in spite. Elsewhere, however, there was plenty of use for carpentry skills. Eric carried the wounded bits out to the verandah where, with glue and screws and tools from the shed, he set about his repairs. In the lounge I knelt to pick up the carriage clock that would obviously never work again, and tried to straighten the twisted hands.

  ‘Goddamn him!’ I muttered angrily. Mum had loved that clock. The little shepherdess that had stood beside it was also smashed. I laid the clock back down to pick up the pieces of the figurine. She had been mended once already, for I had broken her foot off when I was six, but no amount of glue was going to make her whole again now. An aching sadness filled me, and I wept with the shock and outrage that the night’s intrusion had brought.

  Mike appeared and squatted beside me, putting a comforting arm around my shoulders. ‘I know, love, I know. I’d like to break his bloody neck too. Look, I think it might be best if Bob and I move in here tonight. We can’t have this bastard chasing you out of your own home. And I can’t see,’ he added wryly, ‘the old boy letting me camp here without him.’

  ‘Not likely,’ I agreed. ‘He acts like I’m still sixteen. And what happens tomorrow night when you’re back at the station?’

  ‘I’d say that dog of Bob’s would be a good stand-in. And Eric’s mob’ll be here Monday, remember.’

  ‘Yes,’ I sniffed, wiping my eyes on my wrist. ‘Sorry, it all got on top of me there for a minute. I just wish I knew what this was all about. I mean, I went through this place, top to bottom, only yesterday and I didn’t find anything new or strange. And it wasn’t just a casual tidy, Mike. I had everything out of all the cupboards and the linen chest, I put in new drawer liners. If she’d stashed anything, anywhere, I would have found it.’

  He raised his brows in interrogation. ‘She?’

  ‘Annabelle. Tom can go on about her murder being a separate crime, but that’s rubbish! Of course the two are connected – they have to be. It doesn’t make sense otherwise. So this Paul – if it was him, and I think it must have been – was looking for something Annabelle hid while she was here. She and Mum talked, then she was alone while she showered before they left. So she had, what, half an hour in which to do it?’ I tapped the floor. ‘The slate’s cemented in place, the ceiling is all one piece.’ Involuntarily we both glanced upwards. ‘There’re no manholes. It’s bush-built so it’s not like a regular house. And the other thing is, my cousin’ – I termed her so from long habit – ‘was a fashion plate. She wore acrylic nails for starters. Not the sort of person to be prising up rocks or digging holes. Wherever she put whatever it was she wanted to hide was a place with easy access.’

  Mike frowned, the side of his thumb rubbing at the bristles on his jaw; he hadn’t shaved that morning. His arm was still around me and I let myself settle against his shoulder, enjoying the smell of him. ‘Okay, supposing she did hide something – but not here?’

  I turned my head to stare at him. ‘Where, then?’

  ‘Think about it. They didn’t drive here all the way from the Alice without stopping at least once. There’re no roadhouses, but there are rest stops for travellers, shelters with picnic tables and toilets.’

  ‘Too open and too public,’ I objected. They’re just frames, those buildings – even the tables are slatted. I suppose you m
ight tape something small under one of them, but how long before some kid spotted it?’

  ‘In the bush, then?’

  ‘It would depend on what the object was, and how sure you’d be of finding it again. If weather affected it, or white ants …’

  ‘Yeah, maybe a guess too far … But the next question is, why would she do it? I mean, if it was worth killing her over, she must’ve had a fair idea of the danger entailed in taking it. Would she risk that?’

  I sighed. ‘I guess we’ll never know. Annabelle was awfully self-centred. Perhaps she just didn’t realise …’ I eyed the ravaged room. ‘Anyway, we can wonder till the cows come home, but that won’t get this mess cleared up, will it?’

  ‘No.’ He rose, pulling me with him. ‘Time to soldier on.’

  Chapter Twenty

  By evening we could see the end of the task. There were gaps in the rooms where things like the clock and some smashed photo frames had been beyond Eric’s resources or skillset, and I had a pile of washing waiting in the laundry. Although a store order was needed to restock the kitchen cupboards, the house was livable again.

  ‘Tonight,’ Ute announced as the five of us sat down to dinner – Eric gingerly for he was occupying one of the repaired chairs brought in to accommodate him – ‘I move into your house. Eric also. So you have not the fear, Charlie. Until your mother returns, yes?’

  It was the ideal solution. Mike would have been better, but that meant uprooting Bob too, and the old man was very set in his ways. He would do it from a sense of duty to my mother, I knew – and hate every confining moment. And Mike would be gone before tomorrow night anyway.

  ‘Thanks, Ute. Mind you, I don’t think he’ll be back – he must know now there’s nothing to find.’

  ‘He might still want to check out the Garnet, though,’ Mike said. ‘I could roll my swag out over there. What do you reckon, Bob?’