Hell to Pay

by Garry Disher

  The farmer lifted his massive head and muttered, “Got to get that fixed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Fin going to press charges?”

  “I’ve yet to speak to her.”

  “Is she going to sue for damages?”

  “Like I said, I’ve yet to speak to her.”

  “Tell her I’ll pay.”

  “Tell her yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, she walked out on me.”

  There was a thump from the distant reaches of the house. Latimer ignored it, but Hirsch was thinking suicide. He shoved back his chair and ran. Latimer caught on quickly. Both men clattered down the hallway, an unlovely passage through the house, the wind of their passing agitating another crop of dust balls.

  The sign was a relic from primary school art class, CRAIG’S ROOM in colored wooden letters stuck to a board. Hirsch knocked and went in. Craig Latimer had washed inexpertly and dragged on clean clothes. He was handballing a slack football against the curtain, the ball punching the fabric and falling to the floor. Over and over again. He didn’t register the alteration to the air, so Hirsch grabbed his arm. “Craig.”

  The tension went out of the boy. He slid to the floor, his back against the bed, his forehead on his knees. His shoulders heaved, strangled words leaked out of him.

  “Stop mumbling,” Latimer snarled.

  Hirsch shot him a look and joined Craig on the floor. “She abandoned us,” that’s what the boy was saying, and Hirsch guessed that the father had said it first and the boy had learnt to recite it.

  I’m out of my depth here, he thought. And then the bed slid away on the slippery floor, responding to the pressure of their spines. Nothing was satisfactory.

  Hirsch swung around onto his knees. “Your dad and I thought it might make you feel better to talk to someone. Not me, not him, not your grandparents but a nice person who will listen and not judge.”

  His eyes crazy, the boy shrieked, “I’m not crazy.”

  “You’d better leave,” Raymond said.

  So Hirsch went next door.

  CHAPTER 27

  WHERE FINOLA ARMSTRONG TOLD him a little of her recent history.

  “When Eric died, men came crawling out of the woodwork. I suppose they thought I’d be an easy touch.”

  “Did that include Ray Latimer?”

  She shook her head. “His father, randy old goat.”

  They contemplated that. Armstrong said, “I think Ray was sniffing around a nurse at the time.”

  They were seated on a pair of frayed veranda chairs, behind an untamed vine. Hirsch caught glimpses of her yard and sheds and heat-stunned sheepdog and the dusty HiLux through the glossy leaves. Owing to the angle of the house, the burnt patch of grass and star thistles lay a few degrees out of sight.

  He said, “But you got talking and things developed because there’d been a grass fire.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now we have another fire.”

  “Uh-huh. But that first fire,” Armstrong said, “we blamed on a cigarette tossed out a car window.”

  Hirsch, his gaze alighting on the farm dog, saw it take a bite of the air and subside. A fly buzzed at its eyes. It snapped its jaws again. “Now you know better. You think it was Craig.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “But this time you caught him at it.”

  She nodded. “I’d just come back from dropping Jack off at school.” She paused, shook her head in disgust. “More fool me. Why should I do the school run? Not my kids.”

  “You took Jack, not Craig?” checked Hirsch.

  “He didn’t show for breakfast and I didn’t think it was my job to get him ready for school. I mean, he’s fourteen and he’s not my kid. Anyway, when I got back, Ray was sitting at the kitchen table, going, ‘Did you think to buy milk? Did you pick up the Advertiser?’ He wanted me to drive all the way back and get his precious milk and newspaper. Needless to say we had an almighty row and I stormed out.” She shook her head. “Call it a temporary insanity. Can’t believe I contemplated moving in.”

  Armstrong wore boots, jeans and a checked shirt. A practical woman, who for a time had had her head turned by a man whose sons were losing the plot and who might have arranged the murder of his wife. Hirsch said, “And meanwhile Craig’s not in bed but out in the paddock throwing lighted matches on the ground?”

  “I spotted him as I was driving in.”

  “Any theories?”

  “Yes. He’s fucked in the head, pardon my French. Last summer he learns he’s not so special: his old man’s broke and he has to attend the local high school. And this morning? Take your pick: His mother’s suicide, my presence in his life, the way his father and grandfather treat him, life at school … All of the above.”

  “Have there been other fires?”

  “Not that I know of.” She stared at him. “That boy needs help, before it escalates. You can see how dry it is, and a hot summer coming up.”

  “Mr. Latimer said he’ll find a counselor for Craig.”

  She snorted. “They all need it.”

  “In what way?”

  “Craig’s a pyromaniac in the making, Jack’s just sad, the old man is a bully and a sadist and so is Ray. And lazy. He would sit around watching TV and drinking beer and expect me to cook and clean for him. I’ve got a farm to run. So has he, except he’s stuffed that up.”

  Hirsch said, “His treatment of the boys.”

  “What about it?”

  “Do I need to inform Children’s Services?”

  “A bit harsh,” Armstrong said, but she bit her lip. “Ray’s hard on them,” she said, “but he’s not negligent. Not really.”

  “Mrs. Armstrong, where’s the ring he gave you?”

  “You don’t miss much.”

  Hirsch waited, and after a while Finola Armstrong said, “Like I said, the youngest boy is sad, and it turns out one of the things he’s sad about is the fact that I was wearing his mother’s ring.”

  She gave Hirsch a look, a crumpling of defenses. “I had no idea it was hers. I thought he’d bought it specially for me.” She coughed and swallowed. “I challenged Ray. He said the ring was special, special to him, it had been his mother’s ring. I gave it back. Couldn’t wear it.”

  They each stared at nothing. Finola Armstrong broke the silence. “That was probably the beginning of the end. The other big thing was money.”

  “Money?”

  “Something about his wife being due an inheritance but it hadn’t been released yet and could I tide him over with a loan? Or better still, we could get married and amalgamate our properties into one big one.”

  “While you cooked and cleaned.”

  “Exactly.”

  Armstrong rubbed her palms on her thighs, embarrassed. “I know I went a bit crazy this year, you know, love is blind and all that, but at the same time I do have a head on my shoulders.”

  She indicated the house, sheds and farmland with a little sweep of her hand, and Hirsch knew she had survived, even prospered, using her own wits. She was a good farmer, a good manager. She was canny. A partnership with the Latimers would not have been canny.

  “I’ve just been next door,” Hirsch said, “and Mr. Latimer said he’d be happy to pay for the damaged fence.”

  “I should hope so. But I imagine he wants to know if I’ll take further action. Tell him no. I’m well rid of that mob.”

  Hirsch got up to go. She said, her head at an angle, “One other thing: I was at my sister’s when Alison Latimer died.”

  Hirsch agreed that she was.

  “And Ray was in the lockup and his father was away with Craig and Jack.”

  “Yes …”

  “It’s just that Ray and Leonard kept reminding me of that, drilling it into me, as if it might be important.” She shrugged. “That’s all. Thought I’d mention it.”

  After a beat, Hirsch nodded. “Glad you did.”

  CHAPTER 28

  HE RETURNED TO VIMY Ridge.
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  Kropp was there, waiting on the veranda, his police Explorer gleaming in the driveway. Hirsch said, “I suppose your mate called you?”

  “Don’t get on your high horse, son. The man’s a mess. His wife, and now this.”

  Sounds from within, the wailing boy and the murmuring father. “Sarge, I’m dealing with it.”

  Kropp ignored him, stared out across the landscape to the Razorback. “You went to see the Armstrong woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Not interested in pressing charges. Expects Mr. Latimer to pay for fence repairs.”

  Kropp nodded. “Okay, this is how it pans out. A passing motorist flicked a cigarette out the window, setting off a grass fire. Local units attended, and with the help of neighbors the blaze was quickly extinguished. That’s the public face. Privately, the kid gets counseling, the blokes manning the trucks get a six-pack of beer each, and everyone’s happy. All right?”

  “How do you know I haven’t already managed to negotiate most of that? You think because I’m a dog and a maggot I’m not also a good policeman? Fuck you, Sarge.”

  Kropp blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard.”

  Kropp looked amused. “Fair enough. Now, let me sit with my friend for a while. You head on back to town.”

  “I’ve still not spoken to Mr. Latimer about his wife. He won’t return calls, he won’t open the door to me, and I’ve had enough. No more bullshit from him, and no more from you, Sarge. It’s been too long. And for Christ’s sake, five minutes after his wife dies, he moves his girlfriend in? How broken up can the guy be?”

  The men stared at each other. “The super asked me to prepare a brief for the coroner and that’s what I’m trying to do,” Hirsch said. “If interested parties refuse to speak to me, how does that look? It looks like guilt, it looks like having something to hide. I don’t care that Ray Latimer is your mate, stalwart of the football club and all-round good bloke or that he suffered a tragic loss: I am not leaving until I’ve sat down with him and asked my questions.”

  After a gap in time, Kropp said, “I worked with Marcus Quine, you know. In the early days, Port Adelaide.”

  Hirsch said nothing.

  “He got the job done.”

  Hirsch said nothing.

  “But he did cut corners.”

  Was that an admission that Hirsch had got it right about Quine? He continued to watch the sergeant.

  Who said, “But I don’t care if a fellow police member swindles the Children’s Hospital and violates a busload of nuns, you do not do the dirty on him.”

  Kropp didn’t wait for a reply but banged his way into the house, calling, “Ray? You there?”

  Surprised, Hirsch followed his sergeant, catching up just as Kropp rapped his knuckles on the bedroom door, calling, “Ray? It’s Bill. We need a quiet word about Allie.”

  Hirsch grabbed his arm. “Sarge?”

  “What?”

  “Butt out.”

  Kropp shook him off. “What, you don’t think I can do the job properly if a friend’s involved?”

  “Sarge, if you sit in on my interview with Mr. Latimer, my report will say so. If you say one word to, or for, Mr. Latimer during that interview, my report will say so. And what Superintendent Spurling or the coroner make of that, I can only guess, but it won’t look good.”

  “You’re a grade-A cunt, son,” Kropp said.

  “And proud of it, Sarge.”

  Kropp stomped out, a heavy man, brutally unhappy. The front door slammed. Hirsch heard the Explorer roar and kick up a little gravel.

  LATIMER INSISTED ON USING his study, a dim, unloved cave, the lone armchair a long way from the desk. “Mr. Latimer,” Hirsch began.

  Latimer started talking. “No one will tell me when or even whether I’ll get the inheritance. Do you know? If the inquest shows she shot herself while of unsound mind, that won’t affect the inheritance, right? It’s unrelated? Only I know some insurance policies won’t pay out on a suicide, but this isn’t an insurance policy, it’s an inheritance. The state can’t touch it, can they?”

  Hirsch blinked. He was always meeting men and women who had the tact and emotional intelligence of a slab of concrete, but it always surprised him. “Mr. Latimer, you agreed to talk to me about your wife. I can’t advise you on the legalities or otherwise of an inheritance.”

  But if you killed her I’ll see you don’t get a penny of it.

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” Latimer said.

  “Very well. What was Alison’s state of mind in the last few weeks and months of her life?”

  “Depressed. Irrational,” Latimer said. His dark, hard man’s good looks contracted. “Made our lives a living hell.”

  “In what way?”

  “Didn’t look after herself. The place was a mess. Forgot to cook or shop. Screamed her head off at us one minute and begged forgiveness the next. Then in the last few days this sort of calmness came over her. I can’t describe it.”

  “She was happy?”

  “I wouldn’t say happy. More … like she’d come to a decision.”

  “A decision to leave the marriage now that she had an inheritance to fall back on.”

  Latimer shook his head. “That wasn’t it. More like she’d decided to end it all.”

  “Not upbeat, happy, looking forward to the near future?”

  “Who have you been talking to? That bitch across the road? She wasn’t here, Allie’s parents weren’t here, you certainly weren’t here. I was. Craig was. Ask him.”

  “And Jack?”

  “You leave Jack out of this. He’s just a little kid. He’s not … strong.”

  Nor is Craig, thought Hirsch. “Did your wife threaten suicide at any time in the last weeks and months?”

  “No. But she had tried once before.”

  Had she? Hirsch was having doubts. There was no direct evidence, only hearsay. “Was she depressed by nature?”

  “Up and down.”

  “What was her relationship with your father like?”

  Latimer bristled. “What relationship? What are you implying?”

  You can’t be too careful with your word choice, thought Hirsch. He spelt it out: “From all accounts, she had a close and happy relationship with your mother. She had a close and happy relationship with Mrs. Street across the road. That’s what I mean by relationship. Was she close to your father or did they quarrel? I understand he’s a … forceful man.”

  “My father loved her like she was his own. If she was nervy around him that says a lot about her, not him.”

  “Did he urge her to pay the inheritance into the business rather than leave the marriage?”

  “My father’s not the type to interfere like that. His view was I was well rid of her. She was splitting up the family, taking Jack away with her. Craig chose to stay with me.”

  “Well, did you urge her to reconsider? The farm’s struggling, you told me that yourself. The inheritance would have helped carry you over until prices improved or the rains came.”

  Latimer curled his lip. “What do you know about farming? Look, we’re not that far gone. It’s all cyclical anyway. You wouldn’t know that, being on a regular salary.” He grinned crookedly. “Plus your other perks.”

  Hirsch bit. “My other perks? Or do you mean all police officers get perks?”

  “You. I know all about you. Happy to belong to a crooked squad yet quick to dob the others in to save your own skin.”

  Hirsch smiled. “So your wife’s inheritance wouldn’t have been a godsend? Surely it would have eased the pressure? Craig could have returned to his boarding school. Apparently he was happy there.”

  “A hundred and sixty thousand dollars doesn’t go far, not if you’re on the land. All I wanted to do was save my marriage, not grab Allie’s inheritance.”

  “But you just said she made your lives a misery.”

  “Only at the end, it would’ve blown over.”

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bsp; “If she did make your lives a misery, perhaps it was because you had other women.”

  “I still loved her.”

  “Really? You told Mrs. Armstrong last year that the marriage was over.”

  “I never said that. She misunderstood.”

  “You were quick to move her in.”

  “Not that quick.”

  Hirsch gave Latimer a scoffing look and let the silence build for a while.

  “She’s being magnanimous about the fire.”

  Latimer shrugged.

  “She could have pressed charges against your son.”

  Latimer grew heated. “Didn’t take her long to shoot through on me, though, did it? Didn’t stay around once the shit hit the fan. And have you seen the condition of the fence? Half falling down, and I suppose she wants me to spend top dollar repairing it.”

  Hirsch was fascinated. “I think the engagement ring was the final straw.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She thought you’d bought it specially.”

  “It was my mother’s ring. I can do with it what I like.”

  “You gave it to your wife.”

  “Of course. Then when she left me I got it back.”

  “She left it here when she went to stay at her parents’?”

  “Yes.”

  “But she had a close and loving relationship with your mother and it would have meant a great deal to her to wear the ring.”

  “Who knows what went on in her mind. Can we stop now?”

  “Returning to the inheritance.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “At the start of the interview you seemed quite concerned that you might not get it. Why, if it’s no big deal?”

  “Of course it will help, I’m not an idiot. I’ve got two mouths to feed and no one to help me.”

  “What were your thoughts when you heard about the inheritance?”

  Latimer looked dumb. “Nothing much.”

  “Well, did you think it would save the farm from ruin? Did you fear it would give your wife a measure of independence, give her the nerve to leave you? That wouldn’t look too good, would it? Make you look a bit of a fool?”

  “I don’t have to listen to this. Why don’t you just shove off and leave us alone.”