by Jaye Ford
‘You’re the guy who reckons he can read people. What’s Kruger’s story? What’s the go with the builders?’
Matt tossed the papers back on the desk, crossed his arms over his chest, tried to contain his temper. ‘You’re the detective. You figure it out.’
‘Come on. You know you want to.’
What Matt wanted was Dan the Man out of his office. ‘Piss off, Carraro.’ He said it with a tight smile as he took two strides across the room and got into his face in the doorway. Carraro backed out into the mechanics bay and Matt put a firm hand on his shoulder, turned him towards the exit. ‘I told you, I’m out of it.’
‘Hey, take it easy.’ Carraro shrugged him off as he stepped into daylight. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Wiseman. You can’t stay away from it.’
Matt followed him all the way to his car. ‘Just leave me out.’ He made it sound like a warning. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the investigation. Didn’t want to be tempted.
He watched from the driveway until the unmarked cop car disappeared down the street. Arsehole. He rubbed a hand through his hair, dragged it down his face, turned around and stopped in his tracks. Jodie Cramer was standing in the afternoon sun outside the mechanics bay, thumbs hooked in the pockets of her jeans and a pair of sunglasses in place. He stood still for a second, thought his heart might’ve stopped.
‘Everything okay?’ she said.
How much had she heard? He threw a look over his shoulder. ‘Just my past catching up with me when I was stupid enough to think it was history.’
That seemed to amuse her. ‘I know how that feels.’
There was something different about her this afternoon. The boldness was gone, as though whatever it was that held it in place had been sucker-punched. Maybe everyone was having a bad day today.
‘Your car’s not ready yet,’ he said, nodding to where the vehicle was up on the hoist. ‘You’re earlier than I expected.’
He stood by the front bumper as she pushed her sunglasses up on her head and inspected the repairs. The paintwork was a mess where the dent had been beaten out and the headlight was still waiting to be replaced. She ran a hand over the damaged grille and looked over at him. He saw then that her eyes were a little puffy and kind of reddish around the rims, like she’d been rubbing them. Or crying.
‘It looks better than I thought it would,’ she said. ‘How much longer do you think it’ll be?’
‘Dad said another hour or so. He’s just gone up to the flat to take some medication.’ He saw her check the time at her wrist. ‘If you’re in a hurry to get back, you can take the loan car for another night.’
She gave a short, sarcastic laugh. ‘There’s definitely no hurry.’
Should he ask? He didn’t want to reduce her to tears. But then she didn’t seem the type to go all girlie. ‘So the Old Barn doesn’t cut it as a B & B?’
‘No, the barn’s great. The company’s a little … taxing.’ She shrugged, tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat. ‘You put four women in an isolated cabin and you gotta take a break some time.’
He thought of how she’d handled herself last night and the fearless way she’d told him she’d chuck the rock at his car if she needed to and thought it seemed unlikely a spat was enough to jag the mood she was in. ‘Sure.’ It wasn’t his business.
She walked back out to the driveway then turned around, like she’d had another thought. ‘Hey, um, about this morning. I’m sorry if I was a bit abrupt. You’ve been really nice. Gone way beyond the call of duty, really. I guess I’m not the best company before a morning coffee.’
Her smile was more embarrassment than apology. Kind of cute for a tough girl. He thought briefly about the invoices he’d been about to tackle and how he hadn’t thought about John Kruger since he’d been talking to her. ‘You know what? I really need to take a break for a while. How about we do each other a favour and go get an afternoon coffee? The bakery in the main street does a mean cappuccino.’
She looked him straight in the eyes for a long moment then down at her feet. For a good five seconds, the toes of her leather boots seemed to hold her undivided attention. What the hell? He hadn’t asked her to drive to Perth with him. When she finally lifted her face, her big eyes were dark and determined. ‘Yeah, sure, coffee sounds good.’
He tried not to smile too much as he turned away and hit the button for the bay’s automatic door. A hot babe takes an hour to decide whether he was worth a coffee break and he was overjoyed. Matt Wiseman, you are a desperate man. He fell into step beside her on the driveway, aware that she was walking with her arms crossed over her chest like she was worried her lungs might fall out.
‘You can be my excuse for not stopping at the pub for something stronger,’ he said.
‘Maybe we should have something stronger.’
‘Believe me, when life gets crappy, coffee is a much better road to take.’ He’d been determined not to be a cliché – the cop who drinks his life away to avoid the truth. These days he only drank in company. It was harder to blow your brains out when someone was sitting next to you.
‘Are you speaking from experience?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of hangovers. Today being no exception.’
‘Coffee’s great for that. Today being the proof.’ She gave a shortened version of her cool laugh.
Yeah, Jodie was an excellent distraction.
From a block away, he could see the two police cars still parked outside the pub. They’d been there a couple of hours, at least. John Kruger was a regular in town, so Matt guessed they were doing a door-to-door down the main street. No point canvassing neighbours for a possible witness when the nearest one was five kilometres away.
As they drew level with the pub, Jodie said, ‘Are there usually this many police cars here on a Saturday afternoon?’
Don’t get into it. ‘No, they’re up from Newcastle.’
She looked at him then back at the cars. ‘Why are they here?’
He shrugged. ‘There was an incident out of town last night.’
‘What kind of incident?’
‘A farmer was … found dead.’
‘What kind of dead?’
Jesus, another interrogation. ‘Dead is dead. Does it matter?’
She glanced over her shoulder at the cop cars now behind them. ‘They’re investigating the death, aren’t they?’
‘Yeah.’
Her lips were pressed hard together, her shoulders suddenly upright and rigid, and her voice was low and grave when she spoke. ‘It’s a murder, isn’t it?’
He frowned, not sure how to read her reaction. He’d expected horror – a hand to the mouth, a gasp of surprise, maybe – disbelief, sadness even. Not grim understanding. But he knew from experience not everyone fitted the mould on how to react to shock and he should have guessed Jodie would come at it from a different angle. From what he’d seen so far, she came at everything from some unpredictable cue.
‘Yeah, it’s a murder.’ He stopped walking. ‘What are you having? Cappuccino?’ He hooked a thumb at the bakery.
She pulled up a few steps in front of him, took a second to register what he was doing. ‘What? Oh, right, cappuccino. Yes. Thanks.’
He opened the door, checked out her butt as she walked in ahead of him. Don’t even think about it. She’s got a mood swing like a ping-pong ball and she’s leaving tomorrow. And you’re a train wreck. You don’t need any more debris on the rails. She stood in front of the counter, slid her hands into the back pocket of her jeans, turned around suddenly. ‘How do you like it?’
He smiled. There was no way he was going to have the right answer to that question.
She waved a twenty-dollar note about. ‘My shout. You’ve done more than enough already.’
‘He always has a large takeaway, double shot of coffee and full-cream milk,’ Rhona answered for him from the other side of the counter. ‘Predictable as ever, just the way I like my men.’ She gave a bawdy laugh and Ma
tt grinned. Rhona had been married to the same man for nearly thirty years and had worked in his bakery for more than that. Matt remembered buying cream buns from her on the way home from infants’ school. She took Jodie’s order and fronted up to the coffee machine like she was landing a plane. ‘I’m so upset about John,’ she said over the noise of the steam jet. ‘How’s your dad now? He didn’t look too good when he was in this morning. I didn’t want to say anything then but I hope that teacake he bought doesn’t upset his diabetes.’
Matt smiled to himself. Eight weeks back home and he was still getting used to the country town no-privacy rule. ‘He’s fine, thanks, Rhona.’
‘Have the police been to see you?’ she asked.
Jodie’s head snapped around to him.
Had she heard Carraro’s conversation? ‘Yeah, we had a chat.’
‘They were in here about half an hour ago,’ Rhona said. ‘They’re talking to all the shop owners.’
‘Is that right?’ He tried to look interested in a vanilla slice under the counter.
‘I told them they should be talking to you seeing as you’re a detective and you know John and all.’ She stopped pouring milk for a moment and looked at him. ‘And I told them not to bother asking you all their questions. I said they should be asking you for advice.’
Christ, Matt thought. A hot tightness gripped his chest and he had to force himself to breathe.
Rhona kept talking as she put lids on the cups and took money from Jodie but he wasn’t listening. And he avoided Jodie’s big, dark eyes watching him while Rhona rambled on. He wished they had gone to the pub for something stronger.
Jodie passed through the door ahead of him, took half-a-dozen steps before saying, ‘You’re with the police?’
‘Not with the police. I’m on leave.’ He braced himself for another interrogation but she didn’t ask anything more, just watched him for a moment then kept walking. He was more than thankful for that. At the corner, he stopped and pointed across the street to the park. A picnic table sat under a huge, old tree, its bare branches leaving it bathed in dappled afternoon light. ‘Is that okay with you?’
‘Perfect.’
They sat on bench seats either side of the table and sipped in silence for a minute or two, the winter sun warm on their faces. Matt eyed a ute as it drove three sides of the park before turning away.
Jodie took her sunglasses off and laid them on the table. ‘Where did it happen?’
The sun was behind her and he had to squint to look at her. ‘What?’
‘The murder. Was it near our barn?’
‘No, it was about fifty or sixty k’s that way, off Patterson Road.’ He hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
She narrowed her eyes in the direction he’d pointed, tapped her thumb against the side of her cup. There was a small frown between her eyebrows. ‘Have the police arrested anyone?’
‘No. That’s why they’re in town asking questions.’
‘Do they have any suspects?’
Jeez, twenty questions again. ‘I have no idea. I’m not involved in the investigation. Look, it’s been a bad day. Do you mind if we change the subject?’
She shook her head a little. ‘Yes, sure. I’m sorry. It must be very sad for everyone.’
He took a sip of coffee. Then she did. He heard a vehicle pass along the eastern edge of the park behind him, saw Jodie’s eyes follow its progress left to right as it made the corner and came down the southern side.
Jodie watched his eyes pick up the progress of the four-wheel drive as it passed them, the green-brown flecks of his irises angled slightly left as he watched the car into the distance. She liked his alertness. It made her feel like she wasn’t the only one paying attention. Relaxed and alert, like last night outside the pub, like this morning on the track. Maybe it was a cop thing.
The news that he was a police officer had made her feel a whole lot better about her decision to have coffee with him. When he’d suggested it, her first impulse had been to say no – after the last twenty hours, everyone within a hundred kilometres of the barn seemed suspicious. But Hannah’s words about symptoms of a breakdown were still ringing in her ears and even though she couldn’t tell if he was a threat or she was delusional, she’d decided she needed to ask some questions and Matt was the only person she had to talk to.
Although now she wasn’t so sure she wanted the answers.
A murder. Practically on their doorstep. Fifty or sixty k’s on the Patterson Road. She’d seen it on the map before they left home yesterday, it was one of the main access roads into Bald Hill. The barn was another thirty from town. Would a person drive eighty or ninety kilometres to the Old Barn after killing someone? The thought sent a chill down her spine and she pulled her coat a little tighter. No, she didn’t want to change the subject. She had questions to ask. Like whether the police had mentioned a car with a deep-throated engine and was the man she’d seen with Matt at the service station a policeman and what was it he’d said Matt couldn’t stay away from? And if she went back to the barn and told the others there’d been a murder, would they pack up and leave like she wanted to now or would they escort her to a padded cell?
‘So what have you been doing up at the barn?’ Matt’s voice cut into her thoughts.
She looked up quickly, the suspicion at work again. Why would he want to know what a bunch of mothers were doing on a weekend in the country? He swirled the remains of the coffee in his cup then lifted his eyes to hers – relaxed, alert, interested. Can’t tell the difference between a come-on and an attempted abduction. He’s a cop, Jodie. He’s just being nice, you idiot.
‘Well, last night we ate a lot of chocolate and drank a lot of champagne so today we’re pretty much fat and hung-over.’
He chuckled at that. ‘So what have you been doing today?’
The morning’s melodrama played in fast forward through her head. ‘Nothing much. Just stuff.’ She took a breath, told herself to tread carefully or he’d think she was nuts, too. ‘Are people allowed to camp on the properties around here?’
‘You thinking of coming back with a tent?’
‘God, no. It’s just …’ She stopped, tried to phrase it like a casual query. ‘We saw some campers on the ridge last night and I … we wondered what they were doing. Not your average camper, obviously. They’d use a proper camping ground. I thought they might have been hunters or poachers or … whatever.’
He frowned a little.
‘Do you get hunters around here?’
‘Did you see them hunting?’
‘If you mean did we see them actually pointing guns at the wildlife, then no.’
‘They had guns?’
‘No. No, they had torches.’
‘They were pointing torches at the wildlife?’
‘No, they were walking around with torches.’ Of course they were, it was dark. ‘And, well, we had a bit of an argument about what a couple of blokes would be doing camping out there in the middle of winter.’
He shrugged. ‘They could work on the property and be sleeping near their worksite to save travelling out in the morning.’
Well, that seemed plausible. ‘Would they be working at night?’
Matt took a moment to answer, watching Jodie as though he was considering her, not the question. ‘There could be problems with animals damaging fences at night.’
Of course there could. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation for what she’d seen last night, wasn’t it? The skin on the back of her neck felt hot. But what about today? The front door being open, the thud on the verandah. She turned her coffee cup slowly in her hands, thinking about what to ask next. ‘What … ? Do you think … ? I mean …’ She took a breath, looked up at him. ‘How big do the possums get around here?’
One corner of his mouth turned up, just a little, like he wasn’t sure if she was being funny. ‘Where are you going with this?’
He didn’t laugh but a hint of humour had crept into his voice. One that said, ‘
What the fuck is she talking about?’ Then she knew she wasn’t going to ask any more questions – she didn’t want to see that look in his eyes, too. The same one that was in the eyes of the girls back at the barn. Especially after the way he’d looked at her right up until this moment – like she had a clue, like she wasn’t just a middle-aged single mother, like there was something in her damaged self that was worth taking a second look at. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like that and right now, with everything suddenly crystal clear, she needed to hang onto that.
Because she saw it now. How she’d imagined everything. How there was a rational explanation for it all – torches, farm workers, damaged fences. And she saw how the flashback must have sparked her paranoia. That maybe Hannah was right, that she was teetering on a steep and slippery slope to some kind of breakdown.
‘Actually, I’m not going anywhere with it. Just, you know, making conversation.’ She ran a hand through her hair, picked up her cup and tipped it way back to finish the dregs of her coffee, hoping it would hide the embarrassed flush on her cheeks. ‘Anyway,’ she said, looking around for something else to talk about. ‘It’s really nice here. I’ve never been to Bald Hill before. I’ll have to bring the kids out some time.’ The what-the-fuck look was still there in his eyes so she stood up, wanting to go, feeling like a fool. ‘Do you think my car will be ready now?’
She pushed her hands into her pockets while he watched her for a long moment. ‘If it’s not, it’ll be close.’
As they walked back to the station, he asked about her kids and her job, whether she had a husband waiting for her back home. He said he lived with his dad above the station, joked that it wasn’t as pathetic as it sounded. She was flattered at the singles questions, the kind people asked when they were checking out the territory, working out how much baggage a person had. She should probably tell him she had so much baggage she was sinking under the weight of it. But she figured she didn’t have to. When she drove off in her battered car, he’d remember the what-the-fuck moment and figure it out for himself. As far as she could tell, it’s what most men did when they met her.