One of the best things about Kim was that ever since she’d scolded him for questioning Amelia, she hadn’t asked him about the case. She would talk about everything else unless he asked her about something in particular.
On Monday, when Dave had requested the bank records for the Torrica rodeo committee, he hadn’t yet been thinking about anyone else’s. Now he was putting a report together to look at Paul’s, Amelia’s and Jim Green’s.
He’d questioned Amelia’s brother, Graham Bennett, but other than the fact he owned his own mob of sheep, there didn’t seem to be anything odd about him. And Graham had a seemingly airtight alibi: at the time of the robbery, he’d been helping his dad load up cattle from the rodeo and take them home.
Then there was Grant Hink. Dave had spoken to him the day before, but had come up with nothing. The man had made no attempt to hide his financial circumstances and also had a bloody good alibi.
The door swung open and a blast of cool air entered when Amelia rushed in from the rain, looking soaked to the skin.
Kim leapt up and ran towards her bedraggled niece. ‘Milly, you all right?’
Pushing back his bowl of chocolate pudding, Dave followed her.
‘Yeah, fine,’ Amelia puffed, giving her aunty a quick hug before turning to Dave. ‘I need to talk to you. I’ve remembered.’ She bent over, clutching at her chest.
‘Milly!’ Kim grabbed hold of her, panic in her voice. ‘Are you okay, sweetie?’
Amelia caught her breath, then slowly started to stand upright.
‘Let’s sit her down,’ Dave said. He put his arm around the young woman and helped her over to the table, while Kim rushed into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
Dave sat opposite Amelia and gazed at her as she squeezed water out of her sodden ponytail, wondering what had put her in such a state. ‘What happened today?’ he asked in his gentlest professional voice.
‘I went out . . . I went to where the attack happened,’ Amelia said slowly.
‘You did what? By yourself?’ Kim put down the glass, then handed Amelia a clean tea-towel to dry her face and hair.
‘I’ve been trying to remember. I thought it might help.’
‘Oh, Milly, why didn’t you ask me? I would have gone with you. You didn’t have to do that by yourself.’
Dave noticed Kim glance out the window and was pretty sure she was thinking about the darkness and rain, and how frightened her niece must have been out there. He had to admit, it took guts to go back to where you’d been badly injured.
Or did it? That voice of suspicion was still niggling.
‘Did it help, Amelia?’ Dave asked, in that gentle voice, feeling in his top pocket for his ever-present notebook.
‘I hope it will,’ she answered, and took a breath. ‘First, a tiny thing. I’m pretty sure that whoever ripped my shirt was wearing gloves. Not rubbery like you’d get in a kitchen, or rough like woollen or synthetic gloves can be. They were soft and smooth, so I wondered if they might be leather.’
Nodding, Dave jotted down leather. That certainly made sense from what he knew about the crime scene. ‘What else?’ he asked.
‘Voices, I’ve mentioned voices before, but now I know what they said. And I’m sure I recognised one of them, but I have no idea how. He said, “Don’t do that. What the fuck did you do that for?”’
Dave was feeling a bit sceptical, but he kept his face blank. ‘How do you know you’re not imagining this, Amelia?’ he asked softly.
She faltered. ‘Well . . . I . . .’ She looked down at the table and Dave ignored the filthy look Kim threw his way. ‘I guess I can’t be completely sure, but I think I’m right, Dave.’ She looked up and Dave was impressed with the conviction in her eyes.
‘You said one of them. How many were there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Amelia said immediately. ‘I know the man who hurt me shouted at me, really loudly, in my ear: “Where the fuck is the rest of it?” And I reckon he asked me that a few times, or something like it.’
‘Was the voice definitely male?’
‘Yes, all the voices were. But the big thing I remembered, the thing I needed to tell you, is that one of them said, “You weren’t supposed to hurt her! She’s not going to like this.” My first thought was that of course I didn’t like being beaten and so on. But then I got to wondering if they meant someone else. Like there’s a woman involved, working with them.’
Dave glanced at Kim out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting upright and listening intently, a set look on her face.
‘She’s not going to like this,’ Dave repeated as he wrote it down, underlining it with bold, black lines. ‘Interesting.’ It did open up the possibility of a mystery woman being involved, although he had to take everything Amelia said with a grain of salt. He gave her an encouraging look, but no more information was forthcoming.
‘That’s all I can tell you about that,’ she said with a shrug.
Dave thought for a moment, then changed tack. ‘So, Amelia—’ he leaned back in his chair and pushed his notebook to one side ‘—tell me, what do you think they meant by “Where’s the rest of it?”’
Amelia frowned, staring into the distance. ‘They must have been talking about the money. I think they couldn’t find all of it.’
‘And was it anywhere else other than Gus’s ute?’
She shook her head. ‘No. We’d transferred it all across before I left. So . . .’ Her eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘You know, I think a bag slipped under the seat, but then they found it.’
Was she just making that up on the spot? Dave studied her for a moment before asking, ‘That was what you heard?’
‘I think so. I mean, maybe I heard more.’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘I don’t think they were supposed to hurt me, but somehow everything got out of hand and that’s what happened. And they were worried that this woman wouldn’t like it, so that would put her in charge of them, wouldn’t it?’
That sounded like a bit too much of a leap at this stage, but Dave just gave a reassuring nod and said, ‘Don’t worry, leave it with me.’
Chapter 24
‘Right, Graham?’ John called from the cab of the front-end loader. He wiped his hands on his dusty jeans and waited for the thumbs-up sign from his son. Over the rumble of the tractor engine, he heard the clanking as Graham pulled and tightened the chain through the underbelly of the sheep feeder and hooked it up.
‘You’re right!’ Graham yelled from below.
John pushed the lever forward to lift it off the ground. He knew the chain would slip until the slack was taken up, so he was being extra slow and patient. It was always dangerous shifting big pieces of equipment; after having a hay bale nearly fall on top of him when he was younger, John was as careful as he could be.
‘Gently does it,’ he muttered to himself, all the while watching Graham for any hand signals.
The loader shuddered as the chain tightened and John breathed a little easier. He backed out and slowly drove towards the truck, in position for the feeder to be loaded, all the while keeping his hand on the lever, slowly raising it so he could slide it straight onto the trailer. Graham had jumped up on the truck now and was waiting to unhook it all.
‘Excellent,’ John said as the chain was unhooked and Graham waved his hand in a ‘back out’ motion. John swung the tractor around and drove towards the next feeder in line.
Selling the feeders had been Graham’s idea. John still wasn’t sure it was a good one, but he agreed with his son that there needed to be a little cash flow so the worker’s cottage could be done up without putting any extra pressure on the bank account. They hadn’t used the feeders for a few years, preferring to trail lupins along the ground. That was the opposite to what other farmers were doing—so many swore by the feeders—but John had seen too many sheep die around them when they clambered over one another to get at the grain. He was happy enough to trail feed still, even though it was old-fashioned.
Graham ho
oked up the second feeder, John put it in the trailer, and then they repeated the process another four times. ‘Last one,’ Graham called loudly.
John got out of the tractor. ‘Need to take a leak. You jump in and I’ll hook it up as soon as I’m finished,’ he said, walking around behind the truck.
Within minutes he was back, his work-roughened hands deftly bringing the chain through the legs of the feeder and pulling it tight. He gave the thumbs up to Graham, who let out the clutch with a jerk. The feeder swayed precariously as it left the ground.
‘Steady, mate!’ John called, grabbing at the edge to stop the feeder from swinging wildly. ‘Shit.’ He gestured quickly for Graham to slow down, but his son wasn’t looking, his eyes focused on the truck. John shook his head. There’s something seriously wrong with that boy today. Actually, if John was being honest with himself, there’d been something different about Graham for a while.
John thought about this as he walked, both hands on the feeder; the swaying was getting more furious now and he had to hold on with all of his might. Maybe Graham had changed when he got engaged? That’d be enough to do it to anyone, John thought ruefully. Anyone who wasn’t totally and utterly committed. He glanced up at Graham, trying to read his face. Blank.
‘Up higher, son!’ John yelled as they got closer to the tray. ‘Higher!’ He made frantic motions with his hands as it became clear the feeder was going to hit the side of the trailer. Then he let go of the feeder and jumped out into a space where he knew Graham could see him, gesturing upwards. ‘Higher, higher, higher!’
Finally seeing the motions, his eyes widening, Graham reefed on the lever and the feeder started to move up. John breathed a sigh of relief. It made it over the side of the trailer and Graham lowered it down, with John jumping onto the truck and manoeuvring it into position, before the slack was taken off.
‘Right-o, all good!’ John called and started to take off the chains.
Graham backed the tractor out and turned off the engine after lowering the bucket to the ground. ‘Sorry, Dad,’ he said as he climbed out of the cab.
John jumped off the back of the truck and felt his knees jar as he landed. Getting old had knobs on it, he thought, not for the first time. He regarded his son and realised the dark rings under his bloodshot eyes had deepened.
‘What’s going on, Graham?’ he asked in a gruff voice, looking out over the dry paddock towards the bush that held Emerald Springs. ‘There’s something not right with you.’ He leaned against the truck and waited for an answer.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Graham reached up to itch behind his ears—a sign of agitation since his boyhood, John recognised—then grabbed the chain and started to tie the feeders to the back of the trailer.
‘I think you do. When was the last time you slept through the night? You’re looking like you could fly to bloody America with the bags under your eyes. Noticed a few empty stubbies in the bin in the shearing shed. Drinking won’t help, you know.’
‘There’s nothing wrong, all right?’ Angrily, Graham yanked the chain hard and it made a clattering noise as it scraped across the steel.
John watched him for a bit longer. ‘Mate, I don’t believe you, but when you’re ready, you come and talk, okay?’
Graham stilled. He didn’t turn around but said, ‘I think I’m in trouble with that loan.’
John closed his eyes. Shit.
The loan would be the one that Graham was using to pay off the house repairs, the ring and the engagement party. The one that, against his better judgement, John had agreed to go guarantor for.
‘Do you?’ John asked. ‘What’s happened?’
Graham turned around and raised his eyes to his father’s. John read nothing but hopelessness and despair.
Amelia sat at her home office desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. Her head was fuzzy and the accounting program she used, Agrimaster, blurred in front of her eyes. She’d gotten up bright and early on this sunny Friday, thinking she’d try to forget her troubles while getting stuck into the work that had piled up. But instead she’d found herself trying to work out how to talk to Paul. To apologise.
‘Milly, do you want a cup of tea?’ Natalie called. ‘I’ve just put the kettle on.’
Hearing her mother’s voice, Amelia pulled her thoughts away from Paul and back to the job at hand. ‘No thanks, Mum, I’m fine.’
Between Paul and what was going on with the investigation, she felt as if her brain was fried. Amelia was desperate to give Dave as much information as she could, to help clear her and Paul’s names. And the memories that had flooded back the day before were swirling through her head, the voices taunting her. Somehow it seemed even worse that a woman might have been involved in doing this to her. Maybe even a woman in town. Amelia would keep searching quietly in the background until she found out something—for her own peace of mind, if nothing else.
She thought about what Chelle had said to her. Has anyone bought anything really big and expensive since it happened? How the hell would Amelia know? And how could she find out?
A smile began to spread across her face. ‘Of course!’ Amelia grabbed the mouse and clicked on the internet icon, bringing up Facebook.
In the search area she typed in the first name she thought of: Pip Clinton. Because she was friends with Pip, the woman’s page came up straight away and Amelia scrolled down through the timeline. There were photos of the rodeo events and ones with her daughter, but nothing unexpected or strange.
Then Amelia remembered the names of the people with overdue accounts at Chrissie’s store and typed in Grant Hink. She was pleased to see that his security settings weren’t high and that his personal page doubled as one for his vet clinic. She looked through it carefully, feeling like a stalker. There were lots of comments from people who were grateful for the care he’d given their pets; photos of Grant shoeing a horse and of his vet nurses holding a Jack Russell puppy, ‘free to a good home’.
She came across a photo of Grant dressed in leathers and astride a motorbike. A silver badge on the side read Harley-Davidson—although with the settings on the handlebars, Amelia had known that the moment she saw it. Checking the date, she was disappointed to see the photo had been posted four weeks before the rodeo.
Well, she thought, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t him, just that he hasn’t advertised if he’s bought some new toy. And maybe he was involved with the earlier robberies. Why would you buy a new Harley when you haven’t paid your bills at the local shop?
Clicking back into the search area, she typed Jim Green and wasn’t surprised when there wasn’t a hit. She tried the other committee members, just in case, but there weren’t any hits. Well, most of them didn’t have a clue what Facebook was. Frustrated, Amelia clicked back to her office work. She focused on the Agrimaster cashbook and looked at the statement in front of her. Ticking off each invoice against the statement, she entered the total due and clicked on the ‘Save’ icon. She opened the next envelope, from Barker’s small engine shop.
‘What’s Graham buying now?’ she muttered, staring at the invoice: a chainsaw, lawnmower and hedge trimmer. ‘What the . . . ?’ Pushing back her chair, she went into the kitchen. ‘Mum,’ she said, brandishing the paper, ‘did Graham talk to you about this? Is the farm supposed to pay for him setting up his own gardening shed?’
Natalie held out her hand for the paper, took a look at it and shrugged. ‘Of course it’s fine. Who else is going to pay for it?’
‘But it’s not in the budget. There’s nearly two grand worth of tools here. I can claim the chainsaw for tax, but not the other two.’
There were boots on the verandah outside and the door opened: John, mopping at his brow. Now the rain had been, the weather had turned humid.
‘Dad—’ Amelia began.
‘I said it was all right, Milly.’ Natalie glared at her.
‘What’s up?’ John asked.
Glancing at her mother, Amelia tried to work out
if it was worth bringing it up with her father. Probably not, she decided. ‘Nothing.’
John looked from one woman to the other. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Oh, just an invoice Milly was asking about. But it’s fine.’
It was John’s turn to hold out his hand. Natalie passed the invoice over, her mouth forming a thin line. Amelia watched as her dad’s brow wrinkled and an odd expression passed across his face.
‘It’s okay,’ he said in a heavy voice. ‘Just pay it.’
As Amelia went back to the office, she heard her mother offer John a cup of tea. ‘Yep, please, love.’ There was a pause as Amelia settled into the office chair, then leaned towards the door hoping to hear her parents’ discussion—no luck, so she got up and silently moved to the door. That was better.
‘You know it’s not okay, don’t you, Nat?’ John asked quietly.
‘He’s got to get some perks, John. Lord knows we don’t pay him much.’
‘We pay him what we can and he gets cut in to the profits.’
‘Of which there haven’t been any for the last two years,’ Natalie pointed out, her voice hard and cold.
‘And what do you want me to do about that?’ John answered in a tone that Amelia had never heard him use before. ‘I can’t make it rain and I can’t make the prices go higher than they are. This is how it is. Graham needs to learn to be more responsible than this—he can’t hide behind you forever. And he can’t just go about booking things up willy-nilly. He’ll have us in the mire before we can blink.’ There were boots on the floorboards and then: ‘Don’t worry about the tea.’ The screen door banged.
Amelia raised her eyebrows and backed away from the door to her chair. Clearly this was a well-worn argument. The cups and saucers started to rattle as Natalie banged them down on the kitchen counter.
An engine’s roar sounded from outside and Amelia swung round to look out the window. She caught a flash of bright yellow—Chelle’s car. She was about to rush out to greet her cousin when she realised she should give her mum a couple of minutes to get her public mask back on.
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