'Sure,' Gemma said. 'Just let me know.'
Dave started the engine and turned on his lights. 'See you soon. And thanks again for your help.'
'See you later,' said Gemma. As she watched the taillights disappear down the driveway she had a sudden memory flash – of tail-lights in the rear-view mirror . . . Hadn't she seen a truck on the road the night she'd driven to the hospital in Pirie? Maybe she should have mentioned it to Dave. Gemma thought hard. She shrugged. It probably wasn't important. She'd tell him next time they spoke.
Jack had stopped vomiting but he felt like hell. Lying in his room he lit a smoke and tried to ignore the cramps in his gut. His mobile phone rang. 'Go to hell,' he said out loud, letting it ring out. It stopped and then started again immediately. Jack picked it up and looked at the number on the screen. Hitting the answer button, he snapped, 'What the hell was in those pills? I have never been so crook in all me life.'
The person at the other end chuckled unkindly. 'Desperate times, desperate measures, I'm afraid, little bro. Anyway, good news – she has plans to go visit town again this weekend. You should be able to get into the house.'
'Okay, gotta go.' Jack threw down the phone and raced to the toilet. The other man shut his phone and laughed quietly. Poor Jack – but it would be worth it in the end. His face hardened as he thought of Gemma and the grief she'd unknowingly caused his family.
Chapter 13
Dave Burrows tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Gemma Sinclair's revelation that there had been wethers on Bill binya had him stumped.Was she being helpful because she was involved and was trying to deflect suspicion away from her, or did she really have no idea how those sheep came to be on her farm?
One thing was certain. Even without collating all the information he'd received from Billbinya's neighbours, the cir cumstantial evidence pointed towards Adam Sinclair. Whether that put Gemma in the frame too remained to be seen.
His headlights caught a reflection in the dark. Slowing down, he saw five sheep on the side of the road gazing at him in bewilderment.
'Unbelievable,' muttered Dave. He stopped and turned his car around. His spotlights swept over the road verge and finally rested on an old rusty wire-netting fence that had snapped. There was a mob of sheep standing inside the fence waiting to push through. Dave shook his head. 'And here I am thinking there's a large stock-stealing operation going on. More like an escape operation masterminded by the stock!'
He beeped his horn. The ewes stood and looked at him, frozen in his lights. Switching the lights down to park, he beeped once again and the ewes turned and pushed back through the fence the way they had come. He grabbed the pliers he always carried, hopped out and tried to twitch the wire back together, but it was too rusty and kept snapping.
The engine of the wagon sounded louder than usual in the silence of the night and he walked over to turn it off. Strolling back to the fence he stopped to take in the night. It was quiet and still. He could hear the sheep rustling through the grass and grinding their teeth. His eyes swept across the darkened landscape. If he was going to steal stock, how would he do it? The moon was a quarter full so there was a little light. He couldn't see any lights shining to indicate farmhouses so he assumed there weren't any close by; making noise wouldn't be a problem. It was isolated, so the fear of being caught would be minimal. All you needed was to know where the stock was, a few sheep yard panels, a couple of dogs and a full moon. They would herd the sheep into the panels then load them straight onto the truck. Cattle would be slightly more difficult but could be managed. All in all, stealing stock in this neck of the woods would be easy.
Dave knew from previous cases how easy it was to offload the stolen animals. He'd seen numerous cases of criminals dumping animals straight into the sale yards or an abattoir, receiving the money and mostly, unless the criminals were actually caught at the yards or in possession of the stock, they got away with it. Another way he'd seen recently was grabbing some sheep with a year's worth of wool on them, taking them to a shearing shed, shearing them, selling the wool and returning the stock. Incredibly brazen, but it had happened once or twice.
Giving up on the fence, he returned to his wagon and looked at his speedometer. He'd been recording all the distances he'd travelled today for the time- lines he planned to construct when he returned to Pirie. He hoped he'd be able to use the mileage to work out where he was now and whose farm these sheep belonged to so he could ring the owners in the morning. He turned the key, let his foot off the clutch and turned back towards Pirie.
The phone was ringing as Gemma walked into the house. She let the answering machine pick it up and headed straight to the shower, desperate to wash the anxiety of the day away. About ten minutes later Pat banged on the door to announce his arrival. 'I'll be out in a minute,' she called.
'What's for tea? I'm starving!' Pat yelled.
'I have no earthly idea.'
Gemma walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, rubbing her hair with a towel. 'Jess!' she exclaimed on seeing her best friend sitting at the kitchen table talking intently to Pat. 'It's wonderful to see you, but what the hell are you doing here?'
Jess got up and moved around the table to hug her. 'What, can't I call in and say g'day to my best mate?'
'It's unusual, that's all. Well, since you're here, you can cook tea.'
Jess opened the fridge door and waved her hand towards its contents. 'I've already taken care of it. I made lasagne before I left town. I just need to heat it up and make a salad. So what's happening?'
'I was going to ask you the same thing,' said Gemma, looking from Jess to Pat. Neither one met her eye.
'I'm on holidays,' said Jess. 'I've taken a couple of weeks off and I intend to fill my lungs with country air.'
'I see,' said Gemma, not moving from where she stood at the end of the table with her arms crossed. 'Keep trying.'
Pat gave Jess a look.
'Okay, okay. I'll tell her,' said Jess miserably.
'Tell me what?' asked Gemma.
'Sit down, Gemma. I tried to tell you when I was out here last time but the time never seemed right and . . .' Jess's voice trailed off.
'Well you can tell me now.' Gemma's voice was steely but her face was pale and her eyes held a slight hint of fear. She threw the towel over her shoulders, pulled out a chair and sat.
'Gemma, there are rumours going around Pirie that Adam was part of a stock-stealing ring.' Jess took a deep breath then continued. 'They've been going around for a while and some people are even saying that the plane crash wasn't an accident – that someone had set it up because Adam wanted out of it and they wouldn't let him go.'
'I don't believe it!' Gemma cried. 'My husband's dead, not here to defend himself and everyone is telling stories about him. I know you didn't like him, Jess, but I didn't think that you would stoop so low as to pass on absolute bulldust about him.' Gemma rose from the table angrily and headed towards the door. Pat's voice stopped her.
'Sis, I know this isn't easy to hear, but you gotta listen – there's more. And you're in the poo because of those sheep being put on Billbinya.'
Gemma leaned against the doorframe, tears threatening. 'I have seen my husband die. My father has had a heart attack. I'm trying to run a huge expanse of land with no money and I'm trying to pay back Adam's parents because it's what we started together. If I let go of Billbinya, I let go of Adam. Now my best friend and my brother are telling me, for my own good apparently, that I have to listen to lies about my husband.'
Jess and Pat looked at her in silence. Finally Jess got up and went to Gemma and cupped her friend's face in her hands. 'Gemma, you're my best friend. I don't want to hurt you; I've tried to be with you as much as I could since Adam died, if only in phone calls. You're right: I didn't like him – but this has nothing to do with that, you must believe me. This stockstealing thing is something completely unrelated and something much bigger. This is serious, Gem, and we need to find out what is going on. Pat to
ld me about the conversation you two had last night and, what with the rumours I've been hearing around town, it doesn't look good.' Jess's eyes held Gemma's as she made her impassioned plea.
Gemma slowly moved away from Jess. Looking hurt and bewildered, she returned to the table and sat down with her head in her hands. 'Okay, tell me what you know.'
Exchanging looks, Pat indicated for Jess to speak. Jess sat down again and started talking in a calm voice.
'There have been rumours flying around the district for some time, Gem. I can't pinpoint when they started, maybe a year ago, maybe more. At first I didn't take any notice. You know how country people are. You and Adam were doing well. You'd taken over his parents' place and were making a real go of it. You had planted all these new varieties of grasses, were running more stock than anyone else in the region, and were making your payments without, it seemed, any difficulty.
'Then came the whisper that a few people had had a small number of sheep disappear here and there. Shearing counts were wrong, and there were not as many sheep at lamb-marking time as there should have been. Calf marking – yeah, missing a few cows. At first nobody thought anything of it. I mean, who doesn't miscount their stock occasionally? Maybe some had strayed through the fence and the neighbours would call when they got their stock in the yards and saw the extra animals. But nobody received any calls.
'Now don't forget, I work in a bank. I'm a loans manager for some of the businesses in town, but also many farmers. I see people's end-of-financial-year figures, and that includes end-of-year stock figures. Some of these people were down ten per cent on their stock from the previous year. That's a huge amount to lose when you're barely making ends meet.'
Gemma broke in. 'So what? None of that implicates Adam in any way.'
'Yeah, I know, but do you remember our conversation that night we were camping about stock numbers not being right on Billbinya? Your sheep numbers were up and you've a cattle contract you don't have the numbers to fill. You have to admit it looks suspicious. Also, someone has contacted the police – an anonymous phone call, but don't ask me how I found out about it because I can't tell you – saying that Adam was involved. And Gemma, you're not going to like this bit. Apparently Brad knew Adam. It was before I met him, but they must have gone to the pub together a fair bit. Did Adam spend a lot of time at the pub at Dawns Rest without you?'
Gemma shifted in her chair. There had been more than a few nights when Adam had been late home, after meetings with the Best Farmers group. He had always been having 'a couple of quiet ones off the wood with the boys'. Now Gemma nodded reluctantly.
'Yeah, I thought so,' Jess said. 'Well anyway, Brad told me not so long ago that he knew Adam and had heard him brag that getting ahead in farming was easy if you knew the right people.'
Jess's last statement was met with stony silence. After a few seconds had passed Patrick cleared his throat and said, 'Now do you see why we're concerned? And why we think you need help?'
Gemma still didn't comment.
'Gem, we love you very much and we're so sorry to have to be the ones to tell you this,' Jess said softly.
'Mmm,' said Gemma. She rubbed her face wearily. 'Well, it's a good story. I find it really hard to believe, but I can see that there are a lot of things that seem to point to Adam. But I don't want to talk about this now, okay? I need some time to think. I'll make up the other spare room for you, Jess, while you guys get tea.' Gemma pushed her chair away from the table without another word and left the room.
* * *
After dinner, which was eaten in uncomfortable silence, Gemma bade the other two good night and disappeared into the office. The answering machine light was blinking. 'Hi Gemma, Ben Daylee here. I was wondering if you were going to be around tomorrow? I'd like to call in, say hi and see how you're situated with selling some cattle. I've just had a good buying order come in, and thought you might be interested. Um, okay, you've got my number, so could you give me a call when you come in? Thanks.' Gemma pushed the delete button and headed to her bedroom.
Jess and Pat did the dishes, then Jess headed for the bathroom while Patrick went to his room. He threw himself onto the bed but, after lying there for a few seconds, got up again. He was too agitated to stay still. He flicked idly through a couple of books on a low shelf, then opened the wardrobe. It was filled with Adam's clothes.
Gemma must have shifted them out of her room so she didn't have to look at them, he decided. Thinking about Gemma and how she'd have grieved gave Patrick a funny feeling. He was about to shut the door when he had an idea. Pulling all of the clothes out onto the bed, he started going through the pockets. He jumped when he heard a knock at the door. It opened to reveal Gemma.
'What in the world are you doing? What's all the thumping?' she asked.
'Sorry, sis, I couldn't sleep and I . . . um, have you been through Adam's clothes?'
'What? No, I just put them all in here after the funeral and haven't thought about them since.'
'Well, you never know – we might find something.' Patrick turned back to the clothes and began systematically going through the pockets.
Jess appeared in her pyjamas. 'What's going on?'
'Patrick's going through Adam's pockets,' Gemma told her.
'A suit, hey?' asked Pat, holding up a beautifully tailored jacket and matching pants. 'When would he have ever worn a suit?'
'Not too often, but he wore it to Leisha's wedding and stuff like that.'
'You're jokin'? Even I didn't wear a suit to that.'
'But Pat, that's you . . .' Before Gemma could finish the sentence Patrick had fished a black mobile phone out of a pocket in the suit.
'What's that?' she whispered.
'His phone.' Pat turned to look at her and saw the expression on her face. 'Didn't he have one?'
'Oh, he had one all right, but that wasn't it.' Gemma reached out for it and Patrick handed it to her. Pushing the on button, she was surprised that it still had battery power after so many months. Pushing a few keys, she looked through the phone calls dialled and received – no numbers that she recognised. Next she went to the text message inbox, and started to read:
Johnsons. 200 wthrs, 3wks.
Another message.
Tunnleys. 350 preg ewes 2wks.
And another.
Hocks. 20 steers 3wks.
Gemma kept scrolling through the messages, feeling numb. Here was proof that her husband, someone she'd trusted, loved with her whole soul, was not the man she thought he was.
Dazed, she flicked over to the outbox to look at the messages sent.
Johnsons tea pub. sat no one hm. in pad left of house, after 8pm. Come 2 bill after 3am.
Tunnleys. tea bill. Watch fr 2 mch moon. Nth pd of bill b4 2am.
Hocks back pad against rd. bbq footy clb, not hm til 12pm. Reimer's.
Gemma dropped the phone, her face white, and ran to the office. Barely aware that Patrick and Jess were following her, asking questions, she searched through the bookshelves until she came up with last year's diary, which she had forgotten to give to Dave. Flicking through she came to 26 April, a Saturday. Written in Adam's bold handwriting was Johnsons. Tea-Palace Pub 7 pm.
'No,' she moaned.
'Tell me what the bloody hell is going on,' Patrick demanded. He held the phone in his hand.
Ignoring him, Gemma kept flicking, this time stopping at 19 May. Again the bold handwriting:
Tunnleys tea, Billbinya, 6.30. Finally she came to
20 September, BBQ footy club windup, meet Hocks
5.30 pm. 'Oh Jessie,' she wailed. 'He's done it.'
Chapter 14
Gemma woke to the cheeky chat chat chat of a willy wagtail. She felt angry, scared and sad but couldn't remember why. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy, as if she'd been crying.
Chat, chat, chat, chirped Willy from her window sill, his tail wagging madly.
'Nick off,' muttered Gemma as all the discoveries of last night came flooding back. 'Oh Adam, wh
at the hell did you think you were doing?' Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.
She threw off the covers and dug in the cupboard for her sneakers. Pulling on a pair of trackie pants and a jumper, she quietly unclipped the flyscreen and pushed up the old window and climbed through, landing outside with a hollow thud.
Walking quickly to the track that ran along the creek's edge, she did a few warm-up stretches then started to run. She ran as if her life depended on it, as if she could outrun the questions circling in her mind: How did this happen? And why didn't I realise what was going on? How could I have been so stupid? Finally, when she could run no more, Gemma sank onto her knees. Breathing heavily she wiped the stinging sweat from her eyes and retched. She wiped her mouth and waited for her breathing to slow, then she walked to the edge of the creek and leaned against a gum tree, taking in the earlymorning glow. The magpies were warbling, their songs echoing in the stillness. A big group of galahs was perched in the gum tree, picking noisily at the small branches. A mob of cattle was still camped up from the previous night, although a few loners had already moved out to graze.
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