by Jennie Jones
‘Were they speeding?’
‘Huh?’
Luke smiled, and put his foot down. ‘I’m on my way. Everybody knows old Hugh. They’ll stay clear of him. He’s not quite all there, if you get my drift.’
‘He’s totally pissed, sarge.’
‘The bottle is his only pleasure. He hasn’t hurt anyone but himself yet so we try to take it easy on him.’ Hugh had chopped his big toe off a year ago, and the axe head had been confiscated but he’d been allowed to keep the handle. ‘Keep the guys from the pub away from him,’ he told Davidson. ‘If the mine workers decide to make a move they’ll give us more paperwork than Hugh would in a lifetime.’
‘We’ve got them to stay put.’
‘Good work.’ Mt Maria was a small town and a great place to stop off overnight on the way to somewhere else. But since there were only two pubs in a 300-kilometre radius—Breakers Hotel in Mt Maria and the pub in neighbouring Lake Laura, a close 120 kilometres west—they copped their share of aggro from the eleven gold mines in the vast shire, and from the incoming and outgoing shearers on the dozen pastoral properties. They saw far too much highway trauma too. Tourists who weren’t used to dealing with road trains. Drivers who weren’t used to ‘doing a dollar on the dirt’: driving at a hundred kilometres an hour on a main road that was nothing more than a wide stretch of loosely packed red gravel.
‘How’s Kate feeling?’ She’d been throwing up earlier that afternoon.
‘Still not too good, sarge. She’s got an appointment at the hospital—Jesus, he’s singing now. This guy’s tone deaf.’
Luke grinned as he slowed the wagon at the southern entrance to town. ‘I’m almost there.’
Working rural districts was more of an eye-opener than people thought. They might do their share of neighbour placating and lost-dog finding out country, but beneath all that, officers needed to be tough and able to take the rough with the smooth or they’d never survive. They were cops first, social workers and bottom-wipers second, and people wranglers always. They saw all kinds of heartache, from bodies to burglaries to pile-ups on the highway. But they dealt with it.
‘So,’ he said to his new constable as he turned into the southern end of High Street. ‘What’s the story with the chickens?’
* * *
Rachel pulled up at the Laurensen house, her thoughts still on Senior Sergeant Luke Weston, the man with a smile way too endearing for any woman to resist. Except she had to resist it and everything else he was offering.
So why couldn’t she see sense and tell him to back off?
Because hope for a normal life still sat inside her. She pushed it down, used to battling the bad memories and the optimism that refused to leave her completely, and unlocked her front door. Inside it was boiling, as she’d expected, but tonight the heat irritated her. She flicked the ceiling fans on and went to her bedroom.
One smile, another near-invitation to go out with him, and her heart wasn’t in control the way she needed it to be. She kept blushing in front of him. She hadn’t blushed for years. She was going to have to harden up again. She didn’t need a man, and certainly not one who was a cop.
She dragged off her blouse, then her skirt, and threw them onto the bed. The Laurensen house was small but far enough from town to make her feel safe about this journey she was on. She wouldn’t run—not this time. She was sick of running. It was all she’d done for two years. She wanted Mt Maria to become the home she’d carved for herself, on her own, and a home where the worry of her ex-husband, Peter Fletcher, would no longer wake her at night, saturated in panic.
She dressed in shorts and a singlet then went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of iced tea from the fridge. She unlocked the back door and stepped onto the porch. Dusk was falling and it would be swift but she would enjoy the peace for an hour, watching the light fade to a blanket of darkness. She curled her bare legs beneath her on the nylon swinging chair she’d found when she moved in, lifted her glass of iced tea, and sipped.
The trouble was she wasn’t truly Rachel Meade yet. Nobody here knew she was still legally Rebecca Smithfield—a name she’d chosen at random twelve months ago. Human Resources at the shire knew, but they’d allowed her to use her new name of Rachel, believing her when she’d told them she was simply waiting on the name change certificate, which had got lost in the system. A lie. A person could only change their name once in a twelve-month period and she’d only become Rebecca just on a year ago. She’d had to wait the full twelve months before applying to become Rachel and that had happened just over a week ago. Nobody here knew about the Rosalind Michaels she’d been born as. Or about Rosalind Fletcher the ex-wife, worrying her nerves to shreds in case Peter found her again.
She rotated her left shoulder a few times. It gave her a blast of pain whenever stress got the better of her. A reminder. She’d have to keep it loose with exercise for the rest of her life. The same with her mind.
She’d never get away from it all completely, but she was trying. The young Rosalind she’d been was gone and could never return, and she hadn’t been Rebecca long enough to get to know her. But she wanted to be Rachel. Rachel Meade had a chance.
Two
Luke inhaled the heat-thickened air of Mt Maria as he made his way out of the newsagents, a newspaper in his hands. He headed down High Street towards the cop shop, checking his watch. He was late getting to the station but not late going on shift. He’d been called out from home at five am by old Mr Roper, the town’s elderly know-it-all, who’d reported an intruder on his property. Since his farm was a good fifty kilometres east, and Luke had spent more than an hour scouring Roper’s property and then placating him because he hadn’t found anything, it was already eight am.
Mt Maria was a town with a heart as big as the outback, considering its survival. He liked it, although he wasn’t sure he’d stay for another tenure. It was probably time to move on and seek that Detective Inspector promotion, but something inside him told him not to rush things. He’d miss the quirks and foibles of Mt Maria’s residents for a start. There were three hundred and fifty of them scattered around the twenty streets—most had a big heart, but not all—and a further 759 living in the outer communities or on the pastoral stations in the 133 000-square-kilometre shire. The townspeople and the blow-ins kept its thirteen officers busy and it was a big area to police anyway. It looked like it might get a little busier if the flu epidemic, or whatever it was that had hit the town, got any worse. He’d been happier to run the cop shop than he thought he’d be. Apart from the never-ending paperwork. If he could give that away—
A scuffle down a side street caught his attention. ‘Hey!’ he called. His hand went to his holster; an involuntary move and one he doubted would leave him after six years with Homicide in Sydney and a stint with the Drug Squad. But he paused when he saw that the two guys throwing punches—it looked more like push and shove—were staggering more than hitting their mark.
He walked down the narrow street and tapped the heavier man on the head with his rolled-up newspaper to get his attention, then dropped the paper, grabbed each man by the collar and pulled them apart. The stench of beer and sweat rose from each of them.
‘Bit early, isn’t it, guys?’
The man on his right stumbled, the worse for wear, but came back swinging and Luke almost copped a backhander on the jaw. But the man staggered back, tripped on his feet and fell against the wall.
‘He pissed me off,’ he said, jabbing his finger towards the man still in Luke’s grip.
‘You’ve both pissed me off,’ Luke informed them. ‘And it’s not even nine o’clock.’
He released the other man, who stepped away and pulled his shoulders back. ‘No problem,’ the man said. ‘Just a friendly.’
‘All right then. Show’s over.’ Luke helped the man who’d fallen against the wall to his feet. He didn’t recognise either of them but they’d probably arrived yesterday and spent all day at Breakers. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘We’re not.’
‘You are now. You’re both so far over the limit you smell like last week’s party. Get yourselves a room at the motel and sleep it off—and I’ll send an officer to check on you every hour. If you’ve scarpered, we’ll find you.’
When neither moved, he stared them down. ‘Or do you want to walk to the station with me, since it’s such a pleasant morning for a stroll in handcuffs?’
The man on his left moved, and yanked his mate forwards. ‘No trouble here,’ he said as he led his friend out of the side street.
Luke picked up the newspaper, rolled it again and returned to High Street. He passed the Brown Café, mentally planning the day and the week ahead. He was on a pretty good gig out here. His job offered the right balance of conflict and achievement to give him a satisfied lifestyle. They did a fair amount of convivial stuff, calming people down or helping with charity events, but serious police work was the backbone of their job. The lighter stuff couldn’t happen if the town wasn’t under control. He’d even worked a few sieges in the last two years. Nothing he’d put on his Homicide resume, but interesting enough.
The city had never been his kind of beat, no matter that he enjoyed all policing. He’d been brought up on a station further north and the outback was in his lungs—
‘Morning, senior sergeant.’ Rosita Brown leaned against the doorframe of the café, angling her body so he could view her best assets. She had a few.
Luke halted, and placed a convivial smile on his face. ‘Morning, Rosita. How’s it going?’ She was in town for a few months, working at the café for her older sister, Jax—one of Luke’s best friends.
‘Good, thanks,’ she said, her eyelids fluttering. ‘And you? How’s it going for you?’
Rosita had been on his case for the last few weeks, flirting and showing him her charms. Any guy might be tempted to take the opportunity, and truthfully he had thought about it—for two seconds. But that had been his brain homing in on the clear offer of sex and nothing more. Then Rachel had arrived in town and the two-second thought had been wiped from his mind. One-night stands weren’t his kind of deal anyway. He also had to be careful with his role out here. He couldn’t get too close to the residents in case it compromised his position. Rachel was one of the few town residents he did want to get to know a lot better.
‘I’m late,’ he said. ‘Best be going.’ He nudged the brim of his cap with his finger.
‘I’ve got a date,’ she said before he turned.
Thank God. ‘That’s great. Excellent.’
‘But I can walk away from that one—if you’ve changed your mind.’ She looked at him, unblinking.
‘Not a good idea,’ he said, still smiling so politely it hurt. Rosita was okay, she was finding her path in whatever way pleased her and Luke wasn’t about to tell her that was the wrong way to handle her life.
She sighed, making it sound resigned but despairing. ‘It’s the new woman, isn’t it? Rachel whatshername.’
He gripped the newspaper in his hand. Every time he thought about Rachel, let alone looked at her, he felt a glow inside him and his heartbeat gave a kick. Even with all the negatives she threw at him. ‘Looks like it is,’ he said, hopefully sounding apologetic.
Rosita pulled a despondent face and stomped back inside the café, her platform shoes thumping on the tiles.
Luke hauled a breath of relief for getting out of that one so easily. He lengthened his stride, hoping to get to the cop shop before somebody else stopped him.
‘Morning, Jimmy,’ he said to their Customer Service Officer as he pushed through the door to the station and inhaled the workplace. The ceiling fans whirled, the air-conditioning hummed and the smell of antiseptic mingled with printer ink and coffee.
‘Sarge,’ Jimmy acknowledged in his gruff morning voice. Not that it changed much by four pm when he headed home.
Luke slapped the newspaper down on Jimmy’s counter. ‘Anything good going on?’ he asked with a broad smile. Best if he asked for the good before receiving news about the bad. Ever the optimist—and he knew never to front Jimmy with a question or a request unless you were smiling.
‘Well, we haven’t killed anyone yet.’
‘The day is young, Jimmy.’ Luke headed past him and into the back of the station. ‘Morning, people.’ He leaned on the doorframe to the communal office.
Senior Constable Donna Murray and Probationary Constable David Davidson registered his presence with a quick shuffle of booted feet and an uneasy look at being caught still in the station.
‘How come you’re late kitting up?’ he asked Donna.
She wrapped her duty belt around her waist. ‘Rob’s sick. Had to get Claire up and off to school. Sorry about that, Luke. We’re heading out now.’
Luke frowned. He had two officers off sick. He’d also heard that the hospital—only twelve beds and with a doctor linked by video when necessary—had taken in three cases of what he’d been told by the newsagent was flu.
‘All right,’ he said to Donna. ‘Just make sure you knock the hours off the overtime you put in for last week.’
She groaned.
‘Oh, and start taking your vitamin C, guys. I don’t want any more of you getting sick.’ He’d kept another two officers out visiting the stations, ostensibly on rural watch capacity, driving around checking equipment identification, fuel storage safety and more. But in reality, bringing the farmers on the dozen pastoral stations in his district up to date on the Kerry–Donaldson near-murder situation and maintaining calm. ‘Davidson, give me five and you and I will have a catch up before you head out.’
‘Yes, sarge.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Luke asked when he walked into the office he shared with his second-in-command.
Sergeant Will Bennett grunted. ‘Catching up on something. Checking on Louie’s report.’
It wasn’t unusual to call in to the cop shop when off duty, it was pretty much Luke’s main home. The rest of the time he lived in the old station master’s house a three-minute drive away. It was being renovated, and Luke helped out with that whenever he could. But if there was trouble overnight when nobody was on shift, all calls came to Luke and he’d haul it back to the station. He doubted he’d had a full night sleep the entire two years he’d been here.
‘Which?’ he asked. ‘Checking up on something, or on First Constable Louie Lee’s report?’
‘Well … you know …’ Will threw the papers in his hand onto his desk. ‘I’m just catching up. Don’t bug me about it. You hardly ever get out of here either.’
Luke threw him a knowing smile. ‘I heard about the mothers and toddlers breakfast with dads.’ He looked at the wall clock. ‘It’s happening right now. You chickened out. That’s why you’re here.’
‘Don’t talk to me about chickens,’ Will mumbled. ‘Anyway, the dads had to dress up as a book character or something. I forgot to organise a costume.’
‘Nicely done,’ Luke said. ‘How did Barbara take the news of your sudden memory loss?’
‘You’ll know what I’m talking about when this stuff comes your way.’
‘Isn’t going to happen,’ Luke said. He might be taken with Rachel, but she didn’t appear to be so taken with him.
Davidson popped his head around the office door.
‘I hope you did that washing up before you left home,’ Will said to him, throwing himself into his chair. He had a packed frame but it was mostly muscle, and he was fit, with enough strength to knock a man down or break up a fight.
Luke grinned. Davidson was boarding with Will and Barbara. ‘Take no notice of Will,’ he said, beckoning Davidson into the office. ‘He’s got family problems.’
Will threw a folder at Luke, who laughed as he caught it. ‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, sitting at his desk and putting his hands behind his head. ‘What’s the word on the street?’ He knew, of course. Even though he’d been away, he kept in touch and on track.
‘Chickens all present a
nd correct,’ Davidson said. ‘Apart from the one that got wiped out.’
‘Lucky it was only one,’ Luke said. A dozen chickens walking along the Great Central Road wasn’t an everyday sight around Mt Maria but neither was it unexpected. Anything and everything happened in the country. ‘Can’t believe the snakes didn’t get them,’ he added. ‘Have we found the thief?’
‘Not yet,’ Will said. ‘But I will.’
‘Massive pothole about ten clicks north of town,’ Davidson said. ‘But it’s on the side, not the road. We put out cones to warn people and Donna got hold of Main Roads to let them know.’
‘Go back and tape if off,’ Luke said. ‘You can guarantee some nut will nick the cones before the end of the week. But before you go—nip down to the café and collect my very late breakfast, would you? Put it on my tab. Grab yourself a takeaway coffee while you’re there. On me.’
‘Righto. Cheers.’
Davidson let the door swing closed on his way out and Luke took a contented breath. ‘This is the life, eh, Will?’
‘What? Having a rookie constable run our morning errands?’
‘It’s nothing we didn’t have to do.’ He checked the wall clock. ‘I’ve just got time to eat my bacon and egg sandwich before I start on this lot.’ He looked at the paperwork on his desk and had to admit it had been great getting out of town for a couple of days. Sadly, his stack of paperwork had only piled higher.
‘I just got another offer from Rosita,’ he told Will, taking a moment for a personal catch-up. ‘I’m not sure how to handle it, to be honest.’
‘You mean you’re thinking of taking her up on her offer but you want to keep it secret?’
‘Hell, no. She’s not serious. She just needs affection or something. It’s not really me she wants.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Will said. ‘You’ve got all that big handsome cop stuff going for you.’
‘Big what?’ he asked with a frown.
‘You know: “Look at the six-foot-two handsome guy with the muscles and the uniform” kind of stuff. Women go for it. You obviously don’t see them checking you out.’