‘You know,’ Jack said, ‘by itself, you wouldn’t think there was anything too sinister there, but put them all together and something isn’t adding up.’
‘Why you didn’t decide you wanted to be a detective, Jack, I’ll never know. You’re dead on the money.’
The country slipped by; the crops were looking healthy and the stock grazing close to the roads were in good nick. Some ewes were heavy with wool, others had been shorn. The grey clouds had closed in while they’d been talking to Fiona and a light drizzle had started—just enough to need the windscreen wipers on.
‘Hope those sheep she’s shorn are going to be okay,’ Dave mused as he saw the trees bend in a particularly strong gust of wind. ‘Tell me about the scene of Charlie’s death.’ He returned to the subject. ‘What he was wearing, that sort of stuff.’
It was Jack’s turn to think. ‘By the time we got there, Fiona had been taken to sit in the back of the ambulance. She was moaning and crying until the sedatives kicked in. The vic was in the front seat of the car—the driver’s side.’ Jack closed his eyes and Dave knew he was picturing the scene. Some things coppers had seen were burned into their brains. He didn’t think this would be one of them. It hadn’t been a particularly traumatic scene for a police officer—he was sure Jack would’ve seen worse.
‘I remember the hose because it was large enough to go over the outside of the exhaust pipe. I think it was some type of suction hose he used to fill the boom spray—pretty sure that’s what Bounter told me. He’d fastened it on with a large hose clamp. I hadn’t seen anything like that before.’
‘No,’ Dave agreed. ‘Mostly garden hoses with rags stuffed around them.’
‘But the crack in the window was larger because of the circumference of the hose. It was really tidy—he’d folded up towels, not shoved them in haphazardly. But it was clear he wasn’t making a mistake. The tank was only a quarter empty, so he’d filled it right up.’
‘You know that for certain?’
‘No, can’t be sure, but it hadn’t run out of fuel—it was still running when Bounter found him. Even with three-quarters of a tank, he was going to do the deed.’
Dave agreed.
Jack sat there for a while and Dave let him be. Quietness was a good thing at times.
They rounded the bend into Barker and were passing the familiar sixty-kilometre speed-limit sign when Jack said slowly, ‘I don’t think he was wearing shoes. He was rugged up—jacket and jeans. No hat that I can remember, but I don’t think he had shoes on.’
Chapter 26
‘Hey, Jo, it’s me,’ Fiona stammered into her friend’s answering machine. ‘I was … Would you mind … Uh, could you come and stay with me tonight? I’ve had Dave Burrows, the detective, here today and I’m a bit edgy. Could do with some company. Give me a call when you can.’
Tapping in her passcode for her phone, she texted Kim.
Hey, haven’t heard from you for ages. How are you?
Good Sweetie and you? I heard you were going to have a visit from my better half today. Hope it went okay?
Yep, fine. Bit unsettled tonight, but I’ll be okay.
From Dave’s visit?
Yeah. But I’m still trying to shear—bloody hard with all this rain around—so I’m keeping busy.
Gotta go, love, Dave’s just walked in. Best feed the man!
Have a good night.
Fiona put down the phone with a sigh and stared at the weather website she had brought up earlier.
The shearers had finished the sheep she had in the shed by afternoon smoko. The ones that had been left outside were wet. The rain had started in earnest at lunchtime, so Fiona had had no choice but to open the gate and let them back into the paddock.
It was just before dark when she’d driven around them and pushed the shorn ewes into the bush. They had been out grazing and she could see they were tucked up, a sure sign they were cold.
Thankfully, when she’d been shutting the gate and turned back to check on them, there hadn’t been any sheep visible, so she was sure they were still in the bush.
Carly had left to go home just before the shearers had packed up. She’d stayed with Fiona for a night and they’d spent the evening together in the sitting room with the bar heater on. Carly had brought up the baby again and the need for Fiona to take it easy. Fiona had shut her down as quickly as she could, saying she knew she had to, but this was shearing time and that meant work, which in turn meant money.
She had promised, though, to take things as gently as she could.
Tonight she’d decided she needed some cheer, so she’d lit the fire, all the while thanking Rob for his thoughtfulness, and was now sitting on the floor in front of it, watching mind-numbing reality TV.
The wind was roaring outside and occasionally the heavens would throw down heavy rain. Fiona drew her knees up to her chin and focused on the cooking show, trying not to listen to the weather. Her thoughts kept going out to the ewes, hoping they’d be okay. Should she check them? But there was nothing she could really do now.
Another strong gust of wind rattled the windows. She got up and went to look outside. ‘Silly,’ she said to herself. ‘It’s not like you can see anything.’ The raindrops on the window were like little translucent pebbles beading on the glass. Her reflection stared back at her and Fiona got a shock.
It had been some time since she had looked at herself in a mirror. Her face was drawn and thin—she must have lost weight, but she wouldn’t have noticed because her pregnancy would have hidden it. Her hair was in desperate need of a cut and her eyes were puffy. Looking down at her hands, she saw the dirt and mud underneath her fingernails and self-consciously picked at them. She never would have let herself go like this were Charlie still alive. She’d enjoyed dressing to please him, dressing to turn him on.
Running her hands over her stomach, she decided to have a shower. Maybe she would shave her legs. God knows when she’d done that last. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to reach all the way to her ankles, but she’d give it a go!
Checking the time before she went to shower, she decided it was too late for her to hear back from Jo. She hoped she was just hanging out at the pub or something else very tame, not meeting anyone from a dating website.
Fiona had long come to the conclusion she couldn’t stop her friend from doing what she wanted; she just hoped she’d be safe.
Finally, with Meita at her feet and the passageway light left on, she crept into bed and snuggled down in the warmth of the electric blanket.
Outside the rain continued to fall. Briefly, Fiona wondered if the creeks would be running tomorrow and if there would be any fallen branches that might block the roads.
Then she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dressed in rubber boots, tracky pants, heavy jacket and scarf, Fiona left the house while it was still dark. Meita was at her feet and jumped into the cab of the ute just as she opened the door. She curled up on the floor of the passenger side before Fiona could tell her off.
‘Don’t want to get on the back today?’ Fiona said in a croaky morning voice. She set her travel mug, full of steaming coffee, on the dash and gripped the hand bar, pulling herself up into the seat. ‘Don’t blame you. I tipped twenty-nine mills out of the rain gauge first thing. And that wind, it’s from Antarctica.’
Preheating the engine, she finally turned on the ute, switching on the heater and lights. She’d been itching to check the ewes.
If it hadn’t been raining, she was sure there would have been ice on the iron gates this morning. They were as cold as an ice cube.
It was still so dark that Fiona had to swing the ute around from side to side to try to pick up where the sheep were. The thin pinpricks of lights didn’t make it that easy to see them. Not for the first time, she wished she’d convinced Charlie to put spotlights on, not just go with the standard lights that had come with the ute.
‘Ah, there’s a few,’ Fiona finally muttered, taking a sip from
her cup. She put it back in the cup holder and rubbed one hand along her leg, trying to warm her fingers.
The green eyes of the ewes and lambs stared back at her and the lambs jumped to their feet, ready to run from the strange noisy creature heading their way. Fiona dipped her lights and stopped a little way from the mob. These were the woolly ewes.
Where were the shornies?
Picking out the two-wheel track that would take her to the other side of the bush, she drove slowly along, still sweeping the paddock with her lights.
Finally they picked up the glow of eyes in front of her.
Fiona’s heart stopped. Changing gears, she headed over to the white body and got out. The ewe was dead.
A lamb was snuggled up alongside it, trying to keep out of the wind. It looked up in fright as Fiona loomed over it. It let out a loud bleat, jumped up and sprang out of reach. Disoriented, the lamb ran in circles, bleating loudly, before running off, swallowed by the dark.
‘Shit.’
Fiona stumbled back to the ute and shoved it into first, taking off before she’d shut the door properly.
There was another, and another. Dozens of dead ewes were scattered around the paddock.
At last count, Fiona had buried forty ewes. She’d rung Leigh and asked him to come and help her. She knew she couldn’t drag the ewes into the pit she’d dug with the front-end loader.
He’d come as quickly as he could, bringing one of his workmen with him.
They’d worked silently, side by side, until the task was done. Fiona had thanked him and gone into the house and shut the door without another word.
Sinking down into the office chair, she tried to work out what had gone wrong. There were no dead lambs, just ewes. Normally, ewes that had died of exposure were found up against a fence, dying as they tried to find shelter. These ewes were scattered. Some were together, others had died, only their babies with them.
Fiona realised she was covered in mud. It was caked on her hands and pants, and she couldn’t bend her fingers.
A tear slipped down her cheek. A rush of emotion overtook her. She rested her head on her arms on the desk and wept. Then there were arms embracing her, but Fiona didn’t move.
Her tears were for her ewes, her Charlie, her life, her new baby. She began to release all the emotion of the last five and a half months.
‘Shh, shh.’ Hands ran over her hair.
Finally, when she slowed down, she looked up at Jo.
‘Leigh told me what happened,’ she whispered, pushing Fiona’s hair back from her face. ‘It’ll be okay. It will.’
‘My fault,’ Fiona hiccupped. ‘I should have cancelled the shearing. I knew the weather was coming.’
Jo didn’t answer, she just pulled her closer and kept hugging her.
Fiona woke from a deep sleep. Both the events of the morning and the crying had exhausted her. She lay in bed, listening to the sounds of Jo down the hall. The radio was on and music filtered through. She could hear the washing machine going and smell bread baking.
The wind was still blowing from the sound of creaking rafters and rattling windows, but she couldn’t hear any rain.
Lying in the warmth of her bed, she didn’t want to get up. Maybe she could lie here for the next three and a half months until the baby was born. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with people wanting money, or a company wanting to buy her farm, or a dead husband … Or dead ewes. Hot tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and onto the pillow.
Down the hall, Jo’s mobile phone rang.
‘Hi,’ she answered in a clipped tone.
Fiona raised her head, listening. That wasn’t Jo’s normal tone. She sounded annoyed.
‘Yeah, she’s asleep. Been there for a couple of hours.’
Silence.
‘I’m doing some washing and a bit of cleaning. Don’t think she’s had the energy to do too much for a while.’
The floorboards creaked as Jo’s voice moved closer to Fiona’s bedroom. Instinct told her to roll over and pretend to be still asleep.
‘Hmm. Yeah. Okay.’
The door squeaked open and Fiona assumed Jo was checking on her.
‘Really?’ she sounded surprised. ‘Mining? Well, that makes a lot of sense.’
More silence.
‘I’m not sure. She needs me here.’ Her steps were quiet as she backed away and closed the door.
‘No, I’m not going to convince her of that. You know that as well as I do. She won’t. I’m going now. Bye.’
Fiona wondered who she was talking to. It hadn’t sounded like a happy conversation and it had involved her.
Lying there a bit longer, her eyes closed of their own accord and she slept again.
‘You are a sleepy head!’ Jo said, coming into the bedroom with a cup of tea.
Fiona rolled over, bleary-eyed at the noise. ‘Hmm,’ she said, before licking her lips and rubbing her hands over her face to try to wake herself up. ‘Didn’t know I was so tired.’
‘Really? You must have been the only person who didn’t.’ Jo smiled at her. ‘Here, have a sip.’ She pointed to the cup she’d put down on the bedside table.
Pulling herself up onto a pile of pillows, Fiona reached for the cup and took a mouthful. ‘That’s yummy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Dave Burrows called while you were asleep.’
Fiona was suddenly awake. ‘What did he want?’
‘To ask you a couple more questions. Something about the drone that you’ve been seeing.’
‘Not much I can tell him there. I just see it.’
‘Yeah, well, give him a call when you’re feeling up to it. I told him what happened today, so he’s not expecting to hear from you until tomorrow.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Carly rang, too.’
Fiona groaned.
‘Man, are you in for it!’ Jo grinned broadly. ‘I had to hold the phone away from my ear, she was talking so loudly. Something about overdoing it?’
‘Brilliant. Just what I need.’
‘Oh, Fee.’ Jo sobered. ‘You know she means well. She loves you, just like we all do.’
‘I know, I know.’ Fiona sighed and took another sip of her tea. ‘I’m lucky to have her. And you.’ She reached over and grasped Jo’s hand, holding it firmly. ‘Thank you for coming today.’
‘I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.’ Jo got up from the bed and walked over to the window, crossing her arms as she looked out. ‘The chemical company has called and said there was nothing wrong with the batch of chemical. But I don’t suppose we thought there was really, did we?’
‘I was still hoping,’ Fiona replied.
‘Yeah.’
Fiona threw off the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘I feel like pancakes for tea,’ she said.
‘That’s a great idea! I haven’t eaten pancakes for years!’
‘My birthday falls on Mother’s Day some years,’ Fiona said, pulling on her dressing gown. ‘When I was home from boarding school on weekends, I’d sometimes bring friends home. Anyway, this one weekend I had four girls with me, I think, and it was Mother’s Day and my birthday. We got up and cooked Mum a Canadian breakfast, then we went back to bed, and she got up and cooked us brekkie in bed. It was a really fun day.’
‘What’s a Canadian breakfast?’ Jo asked, picking up the empty cup and walking towards the kitchen.
‘Pancakes, bacon, banana, walnuts and maple syrup. Exactly what I feel like now. What do you say?’
‘I say you’ve got pregnancy cravings. That sounds so revolting it could almost be yummy.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that! It is.’
Chapter 27
He picked up the phone and barked hello.
‘I’m not seeing any results yet,’ said a voice at the other end.
‘Look, mate, I’m trying,’ he replied sharply. ‘I know you want as much as you can get. I do, too.’ He glanced through his office door and realised the secretary
was looking at him in a strange way. Wanting to get up and shut the door but unable to make the phone cord extend that far, he lowered his voice. ‘I heard from a source the other day that there’s a journo sniffing around.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘I’ve got no idea.’
‘You need to make it happen. We’re running out of time.’
‘Leave it with me.’ He slammed down the receiver and blew out a breath. He had plans, but he was going to need to put them in place earlier than he’d originally thought.
Getting up from his chair, he stomped over to the window. The weather was clearing.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ he told his secretary, needing to get out of the office. ‘Probably won’t be back today.’
‘I’ll take messages for you then.’
He nodded and yanked open the door, heading out into the street. Pacing quickly, he made a beeline for the park, hoping the space would calm him down. There was too much pressure from all different sections of his life at the moment. He was scared he wouldn’t be able to hold it together for much longer.
Taking off his shoes, he felt the cold grass under his feet. That calmed him slightly, but not enough. He needed a release. That meant another girl.
His breathing quickened.
His need for a woman was so strong. Curling his hands into fists, he banged them into his thighs as he walked. He wanted to hold onto someone. To feel soft, yielding skin under the pressure of his strong fingers. To hear her yelps and, occasionally, her whimpering pleas to be released. The appeals usually came when he put the blindfold over their eyes and tightened the straps around their wrists. If they were awake, which was rare.
The TV news the previous evening had shocked him. The fact that the police had connected four of his victims through their investigation had also upped his anxiety. He’d never been cocky enough to think they wouldn’t link the women together, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. The good thing was that only some of the women had gone to the police. And if they hadn’t done it in the first place, he hoped they wouldn’t come forward now.
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