‘Okay, the place is yours,’ Des said.
Leary started eagerly for the entrance. ‘I’ll need a hand. Someone to hold the torch.’
‘Not me,’ Tilly declined. With all her heart she hoped that the tiny mammals within were a unique new species. It would almost certainly mean that the entrance would be barred, the habitat made inaccessible to people. Let the echoes of fear and death fade into the rock that held them. She would remember only the sacrifice. And even that was tainted with might-have-beens, like the ghostly once that haunted her heart. Gerry had died trying to save her when he could instead have chosen a life free of crime and been with her still.
She heard the voices and turned back to see the others exiting the hill, the professor like a jaunty schoolboy with the net hung over his shoulder, both hands cradling the box he had brought with him. He wore a beaming smile.
‘Well?’ Tilly asked as the other two peeled off towards their vehicle.
‘Oh, I think your young friend may be right,’ he said. ‘There’s certainly an excellent chance, anyway.’
‘So it is a new species?’
‘It’s certainly different to any of the creatures I’m familiar with,’ he said pedantically. ‘At this stage all I’m willing to say is that the Hipposideros inornatus is probably a close relative – very close. It looked to be a healthy colony,’ he said approvingly, ‘but even so, it would need protection. You wouldn’t be able to let people in. Constant disturbance . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It could force them to leave. And that would certainly destroy the colony.’
‘Good,’ Tilly said. ‘Let’s go home. And when we get there, ring Luke and tell him.’
Chapter Thirty-nine
Connor returned at dusk the following evening, the dust-laden vehicle he drove nosing to a gentle stop before the homestead. Tilly rose from her seat on the verandah and came down the steps, past the blaze of orange marigolds, to greet him. She had reached the bottom before her eyes even registered the passenger door opening as Luke got out.
‘Luke! I didn’t see you there. How are you? Is your head okay?’
‘It’s fine, thanks.’ A seam of tiny black stitches crossed his right temple where a bruise had bloomed in yellow and green, but he was smiling. ‘Who’s cooking today?’
Tilly laughed. ‘I am, actually. It was just quicker seeing there was only the two of us to get round the chores. How was the hospital food?’
‘Better than Sophie’s.’ He grinned now, looking more his old self. ‘But that’s not high praise. I suppose the professor’s gone?’
‘Left at daybreak, thank God! You should hear that man snore.’
‘That bad, eh? Well, I could really do with a cuppa so I’ll leave you to your man. Catch you later,’ he said, heading to the steps.
Connor now rounded the vehicle, his arms held out. She stepped into them, kissing him hungrily. ‘I’ve missed you. Everything fixed, paperwork done?’
‘In triplicate.’ His eyes creased and he held her back to search her face. ‘You’re okay, my sweet?’
‘I am now. Whose vehicle is it?’
‘A mate’s. He’s flying out Wednesday to collect it. The department’s paying. And I’ve got a fortnight off.’
‘That’s wonderful. So were you planning on spending it here?’
He gave her an incredulous look. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, then grinned sheepishly as she smiled. ‘Okay, you got me.’
‘Just checking. Is there any news on Matt’s mates? Did the police find them?’
‘They’ve got the driver – traced him through his vehicle.’ He shrugged. ‘The cops’ll work their way through his known associates, so they could get lucky.’
‘And the refugee boat that sank – did they find out about that?’
‘Des said they’re liaising with the Indonesians, and the Malaysians – it could have come from either country. But, you know, it may not have been on a register. It had to have been a clapped-out old wreck in the first place for it to sink. It could well have been sitting on a mud bank up a tidal creek for years.’ He lifted his shoulders, let them fall. ‘When money matters more than human life . . .’
‘Yes.’ She shivered, and not just for the rapidly cooling air. ‘I can’t get past it, Connor, knowing that Gerry was involved in something like that. I can forgive him the rest, the trafficking of animals, even the drugs, but the callousness of that . . . It’s wholesale murder, even if the victims were willing to chance it. Those men, including Gerry, sent them to their deaths as surely as if they’d shot them.’
Connor hugged her and she huddled against the broad warmth of his body, pressing one palm to where his heart beat like a metronome beneath his shirt. ‘He saved you’—his breath stirred her hair—‘remember that.’
‘I do. It’s the only reason . . .’ She trailed off and lifted her head. ‘I suppose I shall have to see to his funeral. There’s no one else – some uncle somewhere but we never met. His mother’s dead. She and his father split years ago and I’ve no idea where he is.’ Then, as if the thought had triggered the reminder, ‘And there’ll have to be an inquest into his death. I expect I’ll have to go to that too, as well as Matt’s trial. I’ll be a witness, won’t I?’
‘I expect so.’ He took her hands in his, exclaiming, ‘You’re freezing! Let’s go in. Think, love. We’ve got a fortnight in which to sort out all the stuff like that, and after that, a whole lifetime to order the rest of it – where we’ll live, how we’ll make our jobs work, what we’ll call our kids . . .’
Tilly stopped him there, standing one step higher so that her gaze was level with his, letting her eyes learn the lineaments of his beloved face.
‘Do you swear that, Connor Doyle?’ she demanded.
‘By the stars above, you suspicious wench, multiplied by all the galaxies you can’t see.’ He put his hand on his heart. ‘My troth to you, my love. Now, come on.’ He kissed her again and caught her hand, pulling her on up to the verandah. ‘Dinner.’
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all the staff of Penguin Random House for their part in the production of this work. In particular, publisher Ali Watts, my superb editor Amanda Martin and the truly attentive proofreaders who sieve out all the inconsistencies and mistakes.
Great work, girls, and thank you.
About the Author
Kerry McGinnis was born in Adelaide and at the age of twelve took up a life of droving with her father and four siblings. The family travelled extensively across the Northern Territory and Queensland before settling on a station in the Gulf Country. Kerry has worked as a shepherd, droving hand, gardener and stock-camp and station cook on the family property Bowthorn, north-west of Mount Isa. She is the author of two volumes of memoir, Pieces of Blue and Heart Country, and the bestselling novels The Waddi Tree, Wildhorse Creek, Mallee Sky, Tracking North, Out of Alice, Secrets of the Springs, The Heartwood Hotel and The Roadhouse. Kerry now lives in Bundaberg.
Also by the author
Pieces of Blue
Heart Country
The Waddi Tree
Wildhorse Creek
Mallee Sky
Tracking North
Out of Alice
Secrets of the Springs
The Heartwood Hotel
The Roadhouse
MICHAEL JOSEPH
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First published by Michael Joseph, 2020
Copyright © Kerry McGinnis 2020
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, published, performed in public or communicated to the public in any form or by any means without prior written permission from Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd or its authorised licensees.
Cover photographs: landscape by Australian Scenics/Getty Images; crocodile by Songsak Wilairit/EyeEm/Getty Images; birds by Scott Gibbons/Getty Images and Timothy Christianto/Shutterstock
Cover design by Louisa Maggio © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
ISBN 9781760896959
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