‘Thank you, Linda.’
‘Good bye.’
‘Oh, I’m not done yet. Now I want a statement, a character reference for Mr. Ben Jackman. You got time, right?’
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. ‘Excuse me,’ a voice called from outside the room. ‘You can’t go in there.’
Wynona looked to the door and then back at Linda. ‘You expecting visitors?’ She shook her head. Wynona looked out the glass door, at the garden seat and nightlights. ‘Where’s this go?’
‘To the garden.’
‘Access to the front?’ She nodded. ‘Thank you for your time, Linda.’
She eased the door closed and ran for the side of the hospice. She removed her police cap, fussed with her hair and strode past the front entrance. Two men in dark suits chatted with the receptionist. A car had overshot the footpath, leaving its arse at an ugly angle. She spotted a radio receiver and computer on the passenger side of the car.
‘Well, hello. And who might you be?’
She took a photo of the license plate and photographed the men in the dark suits standing in the foyer talking with the man on reception. She hadn’t expected the device to flash. She ran for her bike, pushed it off its stand and allowed the machine to roll down the hill, well away from the hospice before she ignited the motor.
Chapter Nine
I’m No Pigeon Plucker
Ben woke to a constant tapping on the window. He’d been dreaming of a life far away, with sunshine and coconuts. And he’d been trying to get this coconut to crack open with a knife. Tap… Tap… Tap, but the damn thing wouldn’t crack.
Ben sat up with a start when he saw the muzzle of the rifle at his window. An army issue jeep sat parked in front of their car. Another soldier stood at Tommy’s window, but Tommy’s snoring trumped the attentions of the rifle. Ben noticed the appalling smell of skunk in the car and smiled as the soldier indicated he lower the window.
‘I’m coming out,’ he said. ‘The window don’t work too well.’
‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’ He relaxed the rifle and moved the weapon so the muzzle pointed high. He wore a beret, badge centered. A clipped moustache exaggerated pursed lips. Ben kept one hand up high as he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car.
‘Papers.’
Ben reached into his coat pocket, slow and steady, and removed the documents supplied by Wynona. He had no idea what they were, but the soldier read them, nodded his head and returned the documents.
‘Why are you on this road? This won’t take you to the Exhibition Center.’
‘We were dog tired. Thought we’d get some kip before we headed into town. We can’t be affording a hotel, so it’s up and back in the day.’
The second soldier circled the car. He wore a full beard and carried his rifle across his back. ‘You’ll be better off heading back to the main road,’ he said. ‘You really don’t want to stay on this road. It takes you into some pretty testy country. Right old Hicksville out there.’
Ben smiled and nodded again, trying his best to look innocent, grateful, and simple. The cages in the back of the car had caught the bearded soldier’s attention.
‘Pigeons,’ Ben said.
‘Why you got pigeons?’
‘They’re not mine. They’re Tommy’s,’ he said pointing at the body squashed against the window. ‘He likes to take them out into the country and let them go.’
‘Country air is good for pigeons,’ the soldier said.
The bearded soldier bent to look in the window, tapping at the glass to see if they moved. ‘You eat them?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ben answered. ‘Can you eat pigeon? Must take a load of plucking.’
The soldiers nodded to this thought. They took another look at the birds before marching back to their jeep. Ben remained at the side of the car watching the jeep U-turn and head for the main road. He walked into the grass and stopped at an old oak tree and threw up. He squatted on his haunches and shook his head. ‘Pigeons like the country air, you twats. You just let Ostere’s most wanted walk. You guys have a price on my head for not reporting for my call up two years back, but you let me go.’
Ben pulled his flask from his coat pocket and swished his mouth clean. ‘And where the fuck are we?’
He looked at the papers and laughed. Wynona had given them permission to travel as ceramic buyers for the Department of Education. ‘Brilliant, Wynona,’ he muttered. ‘So we’re meant to be headed for the Entertainment center.’
Ben sat on the back passenger seat with the pigeons, leaving Loubie and Tommy sleeping. He pulled his phone from his pocket and noticed the message from Wynona the night before, warning him to vacate the Poet.
Good Girl.
He pulled his phonebook from his coat. It consisted of a grubby A5 scrap of paper with four phone numbers. He straightened the crumpled slip and read the numbers, knowing he was contemplating a foolish move. Tommy’s number sat top and center, but had no use as Tommy lost his phone to a child in Smelly Alley using the old three-card trick. Tommy knew the game, knew the trick, but could never find the painted lady. Jackie John’s pager number, scrawled in red by Jackie, took up most of the sheet. Wynona’s mobile, small and neat, occupied the third slot, just above his mother’s new number. He needed to call, but he didn’t know what he had to say. He removed the letter and read it again.
Your father will back any decision you make.
So long as that decision involved admission of guilt and time spent in a military prison, Ben assumed. He pushed the buttons and pressed the speaker button. It rang and rang for an age. He placed it on the seat and watched it vibrate against the leather upholstery. As he reached to turn it off his mother’s quiet voice sounded.
He hesitated in replying to her salutation, suddenly stage struck.
‘Hello.’ His voice sounded stupid, quiet and subservient. He needed to be bold.
‘Is that you, Ben? Hang on, I’ll get your father.’
‘Nooo…’ But his mother had gone. Again he reached to turn off the device, but his father spoke.
‘Where are you, boy?’ His father’s gruff, officious voice demanded respect and obedience.
‘I’m out of town.’
‘Well, why don’t you get your act together and get back into town and let’s organize what we’re going to do. You know I’ll back you, but you got to give yourself up. This hiding is doing you no favors.’
‘I’ve got someone helping prove my innocence. The advice I’ve received is to keep low and wait it out. I’m innocent and shouldn’t have to stand trial for crimes I didn’t commit.’
‘Oh confound it, boy; you’re talking rubbish. You didn’t turn up for your call up. You’re going down for that alone. If you come back and serve your time, I’ll see what I can do about getting you into an office job or something. I never expected to breed a dead set coward, but that’s the way it is.’
‘I’m no coward, Dad. I disagree with the war. I don’t want to die for this mythical war on terror.’
‘It’s no myth, boy. Terrorism is real. Bad men are trying to take over the free world and men are dying by the truckload to stop them. But we’re winning. We’re beating those natives senseless. If you’d signed up you’d have finished your time and you’d be an officer. It breaks my heart, boy; it just breaks my heart. So where do you want to be picked up from? I can send a driver for you.’
‘I’m not coming in. Can I speak to mother?’
‘No.’
Loubie popped her head up over the seat.
Ben shook his head and punched the seat. ‘Goodbye.’ He hung up the phone and threw it across the seat. ‘What a prick.’
‘Morning,’ Loubie said.
Ben smiled. ‘You have a good sleep?’
She nodded and nudged Tommy. The day outside had a low cover of gray clouds. Mist blurred the road ahead, and the hedgerows hemmed the narrow road. Ben stepped outside the car and pulled his coat tight against the morning
chill.
‘Why are we stopped?’ Ben asked. ‘Two hours to Henwell and we left Ostere at what time?’
Tommy shrugged and Loubie held up the empty bottle of vodka. Exhibit A.
She smiled at Ben. ‘We need more vodka.’
‘Why have we stopped, or is the smell in the car a clue?’
‘What smell?’ Loubie said.
‘All I can smell is skunk, nasty, dirty skunk.’
‘I had a bit of a smoke. It must’ve been when the vodka ran out.’
‘Let’s go. The soldier said we needed to head back to the main road.’
Loubie and Tommy asked the silent question.
‘Yes, we had a visit from the military. They were very polite and concerned we had become lost. And they wanted to know how to cook pigeon.’
‘You didn’t give them a pigeon?’ Loubie said. She reached over the back seat to touch the wire front to their cage.
‘No. Nobody eats pigeon.’
‘This road takes us to Henwell,’ Tommy said. ‘But it also takes us close to Pete’s prison.’
‘And?’
‘Well, I thought we could maybe visit him. He don’t get any visitors. I rang him last night and they gave me his mobile number. He’s got this job looking after the sheep and he camps out in the fields.’
‘Yes, we know. We saw him on the television. It sounds like a right holiday.
‘And no, we can’t visit Pete.’
Chapter Ten
The Hangman
A sudden bend in the road knocked Ben’s head against the side window. He woke with a start, grabbing at Loubie’s leg.
‘Eh!’ She slapped his hand.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. Sleep addled his thoughts. ‘Blame Tommy’s driving, and I think I nodded off, eh?’
Tommy’s head hovered over the steering wheel, straining to find the road in a thick swirling fog. ‘We’re close to Pete’s place.’
‘We’re not going to a prison, Tommy. The army wants us both in prison for desertion, so why make their job easy.’
A gnarled branch slapped at the car window, and Ben jumped back, knocking into Loubie.
‘Jesus, why so touchy?’ she said.
‘I again use Tommy’s driving as my defense.’ Ben smiled and placed his hand on Loubie’s leg. ‘And I fancy the pants off you, Loubie Lou.’
‘Now I’m getting pissed off. One more grope, and you’re sitting in the back.’
‘Where are we?’ Ben said.
‘On the way to Henwell, Lowlands.’
‘How long we been on this road?’
Tommy looked at Loubie. ‘A while,’ she said.
‘I looked at the map last night at my mother’s and this road takes us to Henwell, it’s just sort of curvy. And it’s not like we’re in a hurry, you know.’
The back end of a flock of sheep morphed from the grey day and Tommy hit the brakes. A manic collie barked at the sheep’s heels. Amidst the flock a tall man, bearded with a floppy hat and crooked stick, called out commands.
‘Who’s Pete?’ Loubie said.
‘He’s that retard from the news report,’ Ben said. ‘He got banged up for killing two children.’
‘He lives just up the road from here,’ Tommy said.
‘And we’re not going there.’
Tommy slumped back in his seat, pouting at the injustice. The fog lifted, but the steam rising from the car bonnet increased.
‘This fog’s bad, you know?’ Tommy squinted at the road.
Ben leant across Loubie’s Lap and pointed at the red light shining on the dash display. ‘What’s the red light mean?’
‘Don’t know. It’s been on since we left Ostere.’
‘So it has nothing to do with the steam coming from the engine.’
‘That’s fog,’ Tommy said. He leant forward again rubbing at the window to clear his view. ‘He’s lonely, you know.’
The steam continued to rise from the bonnet. Ben took another look at the dash, at the red light, then at Tommy squinting through the screen.
‘I don’t get why you’d want to see Pete, eh?’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘Your brother is dead because of him.’
‘How so?’
‘The Black Hats were at Blacky’s holding your brother over a fire looking for us. Right? They were looking for us because Pete accused me of murdering Marvin. Right? If Pete had minded his own damn business, your brother would be the same irritating midget we all loved to hate.’
‘That’s a bit tough on Billy.’
‘He was an irritating shit, but I miss him, too. He didn’t deserve to be barbequed on Blacky’s furnace.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Loubie said. ‘What are you guys like? Murder and killing, and who are the Black Hats? Where was I when all this was going on?’
‘Says it all, doesn’t it, eh? Not a bloody word on the murderous Black Hats. It’s like they didn’t exist.’
‘Well they reported on you?’
‘That’s why you didn’t hear anything, Lou. The law, the media, and the Man blamed me for the killings in Ostere last Christmas. And all because Pete, Pete the Pedophile, told the world he saw me kill Marvin.’
‘Who’s Marvin?’
The deep loud hum of the motor dominated the old car. Tommy liked to nick quality, and the interior shone and sparkled and smelt of leather. But the knackered muffler and the steam suggested the car had passed its sell-by date.
‘Marvin was my mate. He married my girlfriend and got bludgeoned to death by his uncle, I think.’
‘Jesus, you think.’ Loubie said. She looked at Ben and then turned to Tommy. ‘You think.’
‘Wouldn’t hurt to say hello, you know,’ Tommy said.
‘How?’
‘It’s an open prison. So long as his sheep is safe, no one checks up on him. He said we can get in through the bottom paddock if we want.’
‘Tommy, let’s keep focused on the girl. We need to find her, get out of the Lowlands, and get our money. It’s a simple job, so let’s not be complicating it, eh?’
‘How are we going to make money out of finding a girl?’ Tommy said. ‘Is she in danger? You haven’t told me what this is about, you know?’
‘It’s about a girl called Claudia. We just need to find her, get her back from the Gypsies and drive her back to Ostere. Her dad misses her heaps.’
‘What if she don’t want to come with us?’ Ben watched the hedgerows passing the window and ignored the question. ‘You haven’t thought about that, have you?’ Tommy said. ‘She mightn’t want to come back. I mean, she don’t know who we are, does she?’
‘She’ll come,’ Loubie said.
‘How do you know? She might be happy up here. She might have a man, and a child, and a life she don’t want to leave, you know.’ Tommy leant further over the wheel, the steam from the motor blowing against the windscreen. ‘Why’d she leave Ostere?’
Ben looked at Loubie. ‘Why did she leave?’
Loubie shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Tommy laughed and whacked the steering wheel. He looked out the front window, and smiled at his two companions. ‘At least it isn’t raining.’
Ben looked out at a wall of hedgerows, and sniffed dismissively at the country air. ‘That stinks.’
He looked at Tommy. ‘It’s not me. No one farts like that.’
‘It’s the country, isn’t it,’ Loubie said. ‘It’s manure.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Just do. I’ve spent time out of Ostere, for sure. Dead right I have. They put manure on the fields to give them life or energy or something. I can’t remember the reason, but it smells bad. But bad is good.’
Ben shook his head. ‘I get what you’re saying, but I can smell burning and burning is bad. And that steam is burnt, so that’s the smell I don’t like. That smell isn’t country.’
‘You can’t burn steam.’
‘Tommy, the engine’s buggered.’ Ben leant over to look at the
dash. The red light remained on and the temperature gauge had gone well over hot. ‘Jesus, Tommy, the car’s overheated. Did you check water and oil before we took off?’
Tommy shrugged, looking at the dash and squinting at the road. The hedgerows opened up, the sheep turning into a gate to their left, and a pub appeared on their right.
‘Pull in to the pub’s car park,’ Ben said. ‘Now!’
‘Why?’
Ben grabbed the wheel as they passed the entrance and yanked the car to the right. They bumped over a grass verge before the car found the weedy gravel of the car park. The engine shuddered and died with a cough. Steam continued to rise into the gloomy day.
The three travelers peered into the gloom at the two storied whitewashed pub with thatched roof.
‘What we stopping here for?’ Tommy said.
‘The car needs attention.’
‘More like the last rites,’ Loubie said.
‘Exactly and the pub might be able to help us. I’m hungry. I’ve spent the night inhaling illegal substances and missed out on most of the vodka. So I’m thirsty as well. I don’t know what time it is, but a country pub offers me hope of a feed and a drink.’
‘It looks closed,’ Loubie said. ‘Well, dead if you’re asking me, well dead. Like it hasn’t been open for years.’
The building sagged, but a crooked chimney puffed pine scented smoke. A cloth twitched at the window on the first floor. A face, pale and small, peered at Ben as he stepped from the car. Weeds wilted over the edges of muddy flower baskets. A large puddle guarded the entrance to the building and a swing sign squeaked in the wind.
‘The Hangman’s Noose,’ Tommy said. ‘Silly sort of a name.’
‘There’ll be history,’ Ben said.
‘I hope it’s history,’ Loubie said. ‘The last hanging I saw was in the square when they lynched the Mayor last Christmas.’
Tommy’s phone bleeped. He held it out to Ben. ‘It’s Pete texting to see where we are.’
‘Call him. I’m going inside to get a drink. You need to sort the car out.’
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