Devastation Road

by Joanna Baker

  Steve didn’t ask what the fight was about. That wasn’t his style. But he did give me some advice.

  ‘He’s a worry, that bloke. No joke. Ya better steer clear of him.’

  I could’ve worked that out for myself, but it was nice that he’d bothered to say something. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, I want me lunch. I’m gonna lock up now,’ said Steve. ‘Only came in to see Bluey Werner.’ He’d already locked the front roller doors. We went out the yard at the side, where his car was parked, up against a steel fence.

  And then, while he was fiddling with the back door and I was staring out the entrance to the driveway, Tara appeared. She was coming from the direction of her place, heading towards the shops, flushed with the walk but looking tired, her crinkly hair hanging all around her face. I felt a stab of excitement. Under all my other problems, I realised I’d been half-hoping to run into her.

  ‘Hi,’ I called, too keenly, because of the surprise.

  If I thought I was going to get another warm look, I was wrong. She repeated my ‘hi’, flatly, and kept going.

  At the voices Steve swivelled around. He watched her walk out of sight shaking his head in wonder. ‘Nice little bod, that one.’

  I felt a rush of outrage, which he saw.

  ‘Sorry, mate. Like her, do ya?’

  ‘No!’ Now I sounded like a little kid, obviously lying. But I was already thinking fast. Here was something else I could ask him about. ‘Do you know the Rolands at all?’

  He took it the wrong way. ‘Look mate, another bit of advice from an old bloke. I wouldn’t push it with her. She’s got a few tickets, hasn’t she.’

  This was what Amanda had said, and it was pretty annoying. It wasn’t fair, the way everyone judged Tara without knowing her. But this time I didn’t rush to her defence.

  ‘Nah, too up herself that one. Ask that mate of yours. The O’Rafferty kid.’

  ‘Wando?’

  ‘I reckon she gives him a hard time. He gets that mad at her. I seen it once. Looked about ready to …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And she wasn’t bothered. I’m just saying. She’s one of the tough ones.’ Grinning at his own thoughts, Steve pulled his key out from the door and dropped it in a pocket. ‘Like that female spider that has sex with the male and then eats him.’

  The image gave me a warm feeling. ‘But you get to have sex first, right?’

  He grinned. ‘Believe me mate, sometimes it’s just not worth it.’

  ‘What about her old man?’

  ‘Roland?’ Steve snorted. ‘He’s all right. Bit of a short fuse.’ He grunted a bitter laugh. ‘Plenty of kanga. Nice for some — buy his way out of anything, old Roland.’

  He’d relaxed now, leaning back on the boot of his car. He seemed to have forgotten about going home to his family. From a pocket he produced a packet of cigarettes, which he pointed at me and, when I shook my head, he lit one.

  I thought I was on to something. ‘What does he buy his way out of?’

  ‘Like I said, bloke’s got a temper.’ The words had brought some smoke out. Steve looked at me through it for a minute as if wondering whether to tell me more. Then he turned his head and blew the rest of the smoke into the fence. When he spoke again, I got the impression he’d changed the subject. ‘Thrashes those cars of his. Hate to see the shockers. No joke, he lost it on the bend outside Mudgegonga the other day. Rear guard on the Kluger. Woulda been a fortune at the panel beaters.’

  ‘Didn’t you fix it?’

  Steve shook his head. ‘Doesn’t bring his cars here, takes ’em to the dealer up in Albury. Just as well. He’s a fussy bastard. You know how it is — some well-off blokes, they reckon they’ve gotta get everything perfect and give everyone a hard time doing it.’

  ‘Do you think he gives Tara a hard time?’

  ‘Her?’ He glanced towards the road where she’d disappeared and lifted the side of his mouth. ‘She’s a match for him I reckon.’

  This time I did say something. ‘That isn’t right, you know. A lot of people say things like that about Tara, but she can’t help having money. And she’s got some real worries.’

  I didn’t know how much I should be saying but I was sick of people getting the wrong idea. It also occurred to me that if people knew about the danger she was in, they could keep an eye on her. After all, that was supposed to be one advantage of small towns. Having everyone know you was annoying when your life was OK, but it was good if you needed help with something.

  So I told him, ‘I think Craig Wilson’s got it in for Tara, as well as me. She’s actually quite scared of him.’

  This time Steve surprised me. Instead of looking amazed at the news he looked thoughtful. ‘Funny you should say that.’

  ‘What?’

  He dragged on the cigarette, peering at me through half closed eyes. He’d got the expression off American crime shows, and it didn’t quite work with the red hair and freckles, but I could see what he was aiming at. The tough guy with something important to tell. Still thinking, he blew smoke slowly through his nostrils and flicked ash onto the driveway.

  ‘I seen ’em,’ he said. ‘Having a real barney.’ He looked up at me. ‘Tara and Craig.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Nuh. It was that Saturday morning, after the fire in her old man’s café. The one you were in.’

  The one I was in? He made it sound like a school play. ‘The one I nearly died in.’

  ‘Did ya?’ He paused, taking this in. ‘Anyhow, I seen Craig up there, at the burnt-out building. The fire engine and the Rolands and everyone had gone and he was there by himself. It was still real early, before it started raining, about seven or something. I was there changing a tyre for old Mr Dowling, across from your place, because he’s always been pretty good to me and he needed to go somewhere, and I had to get it done before I took Simone to netball up in Wang.

  ‘The car was out on the street, and I was tryin’ to get the jack into place, so that meant I was kind of bobbing down and Craig couldn’t see me, and just between you and me I didn’t want to be seen by him, right?

  ‘And then Tara rolls up. I could see her comin’ up from over her way. I thought she’d cross the road or something when she saw Craig, but she didn’t. Well, I coulda stood up and called out yoo-hoo or something, but I woulda looked a real dill, so I just stayed down behind me car. Then she went outta sight and the next thing I heard … she’s talking to Craig.’

  At the thought of it, Steve’s voice had become even higher. ‘It sounded as if she was ripping into him about something. I don’t know how I could tell that, but I thought she was. It was quiet, but, you know … nasty. Craig Wilson. I thought he’d job her, and I was gonna burst out an’ rescue her an’ everything. I was just getting meself untangled from the jack. I even stood up, but they didn’t see me.

  ‘And there she was, hands on those little hips of hers, going for it. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but Craig was getting real agitated, you know … red in the face and goin’ from foot to foot. But he didn’t touch her.’

  Steve moved his weight, stretched one elbow up to the roof of the car and watched the smoke rising from his cigarette, lost in the memory.

  ‘But he started yelling, and I heard that all right. He said something like, “You keep yer mouth shut or I’m gonna get ya” and something about being able to finish her. And he said “we”. Yeah, “We can finish ya”, that was it. And then there was something about his sister I couldn’t catch.’ He turned back to look at me. ‘Strange, really, hearing that, with poor Debbie Wilson being dead the next day.’

  ‘But he was threatening to hurt Tara, not Debbie.’

  ‘Yeah, course. I mean, Debbie was his sister.’ Steve looked apologetic. ‘Look, I dunno, mate, really, what was being said.’

  ‘But he definitely threatened to kill her.’

  That shocked Steve. ‘No. Not like that. He just … I dunno.’

  ‘But he said he’d finis
h her.’

  This made him think. His eyes went glazed again as he tried to remember it clearly. Then he said, ‘She didn’t look scared.’ He gestured with a finger, pointing at the two people in his imagination. ‘He looked angry and a bit scared. But she didn’t. Tough little biddie. She just stood there and looked at him. So I stopped being worried about her, you know? It looked more as if she was out to get Craig. He started backing away. He was still yelling but he was the one backing off. She just watched him.’

  That was Tara’s problem. She hid it too well. ‘She would’ve been scared. It doesn’t show. You have to know the signs.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you know her better’n me.’

  I was talking more or less to myself now. ‘So it’s true. He’s harassing Tara. Shit.’

  Craig put his cigarette end out on the sole of a boot and held it as he reached for the car door handle.

  ‘Look, mate, after seeing what I seen I don’t reckon you need to worry. She can look after herself.’ Then he said something that I would remember later. ‘If it ever came to real trouble — if Wilson or anyone else really went after her, I reckon Tara’d surprise you.’

  Chapter 19

  I don’t always do what Chess tells me, but having a go at Wando seemed a good idea. That afternoon, I took him to Burrendong Falls to pick his brains. He wouldn’t have come if he’d known that’s what I was going to do, but he had no idea. Usually I leave Wando alone if he doesn’t want to talk about something. I thought we might meet Daniel or Amanda at the falls, and if we did I’d forget about the big mystery for a while. But if we were alone, I’d see what I could get out of him.

  I did feel a bit guilty about having a secret plan, but things were getting serious. For one thing, I had to find out the truth before Craig caught up with me again.

  The rain had completely cleared and, being December, it was heating up fast. It was going to be nearly thirty and in weather like that, Burrie Falls is the only place to be. It’s about five kilometres from Yack, along the road to Beechworth. It’s more of a river than a waterfall, and more of a creek than a river, coming out of scraggy bush and running down smooth sheets of granite, forming pools on the way. At a couple of points ledges provide spouts of falling water just big enough to get under.

  Wando and I come here a lot. Our favourite pool has a good waterfall and is over a metre deep, so you can choose between being bucketed by moving water, or lying down. When you get into it you come straight off baking rock and the water is painfully cold. You can feel your body closing up against the shock of it and then gradually opening and taking in the new temperature. I thought this might loosen Wando up a bit and chose this precise moment to begin my questioning.

  ‘Chess reckons there’s a connection between Debbie’s death and Jeanette Carmody being run over.’ He didn’t protest so I went on. ‘And we both reckon you and Tara know something about it.’ I uncurled a bit. My bruises were fading into numbness. ‘And you know something about that necklace Debbie had. I don’t care what you say.’

  What Wando said was, as usual, nothing.

  ‘It’s pretty heavy stuff, I know, but we can still talk about it. Debbie’s death was no accident. I want to know more about it.’

  Wando stuck his head under the waterfall, pretending he hadn’t heard. He stayed under there a long time, but that didn’t worry me. After a while that pounding water really gets to you. Already he was pushing his lips forward into a pipe shape so that he could breathe without drinking. He couldn’t stay under there forever. I lay back in my pool and waited.

  When he came out I went on steadily, ‘The necklace has to be connected with this. Debbie and Jeanette both owned it and they’re both dead. And it was really important to them. Craig Wilson’s desperate to get his hands on it. His mother only asked us round there to see if we had it, and he had a go at us that same day in his driveway, remember? And last night —’

  Wando pushed himself up from the pond so fast the water made a slurping sound around him. He ran heavily across the rocks and was back at our towels before I had time to realise I’d lost my audience.

  It left me not knowing quite what to do. Chasing him would put him right off. And I wasn’t relaxed enough to lie back in the water. For a few minutes I just sat there, sad and stiff and all alone, like a concrete frog in a goldfish pond, thinking that, as far as interrogations go, it hadn’t been a good start.

  The falls were in a shallow gorge, closed in by scratchy bush — thin rocky soil and small dry-looking trees with a lot of dead wood. It looked as if it had been like this for a million years and it probably had. On days like this the bush held the heat in around you, until you could feel it ringing in your ears. Finally I did lie back in my pool, concentrating on the water brimming and sliding against my skin. I lay like that for a while, trying to work out how to get through to him, but nothing came. Then I leaped up and followed him.

  The granite was sand-papery enough to stop you slipping, but parts were broken and uneven. The sun had been on it for hours now and it could’ve barbecued a steak. The trick was to get as far as you could before your feet quite dried, and then to run like hell. I am not good at this, even when I’m not injured. I began the journey hopping like a stiff-legged mountain goat and ended with burning feet in a display of lop-sided acrobatics. My last leap landed me half on my towel and half on Wando. Normally this would result in an idiotic wrestling match with us both putting on yells of exaggerated pain, but today he just pushed me away and stared off downstream.

  At the bottom of the falls, before the bush closes in again, there’s a deep black pool we called the Ink Well. There were two guys down there, lumpy muscles and super short hair-dos, standing on a ten metre cliff.

  There were signs everywhere not to jump off the rocks of the Ink Well. There was even a legend we all knew about a kid who brained himself and was now a vegetable. I wondered if the army boys knew the story. They looked as if they were thinking about giving it a go. And they had an audience, two girls with suntans and shining hair, standing well back from the edge, calling and laughing.

  Last summer, Wando and I had brought a couple of girls here. He’s had this girlfriend, Jenny, for more than a year now. It’s one of those relationships where they never talk to each other, just go a few places and then disappear into the dark together. I went out with three different girls last year and we’d spent nearly all our time talking. On the whole, I thought, Wando had the right idea.

  I was worried those guys were going to jump. If there’s one thing guaranteed to lead a bloke to do dangerous things it’s the desire to impress women. I badly hoped they wouldn’t do it. It had been done before and the water was deep enough to catch you if you aimed it right, but the way things were lately, I felt there was a high chance that someone would end up minced.

  Their girlfriends saved them. They got bored and walked away, leaving the guys to follow them, whacking and shoving at each other and pretending not to feel stupid.

  I turned to Wando. For a minute I hesitated, studying the side of his face. Wando only ever had one expression — grumpy and confused. It was more his body that showed how he felt. Today he had his legs bent up in front of him and his hands down beside his feet, which curved his back into a turtle shell. I’d had this treatment from him before. Sometimes it meant he wanted you to keep talking until he got over it, but sometimes it meant he wanted you to rack off. Usually I could tell. Today I had no idea. I kept going anyway.

  ‘I’m not dropping it, you know. I want to know why that necklace is so important.’

  Wando mumbled without looking at me, ‘I don’t know why. It’s not important.’

  ‘OK. Look, probably you don’t know why. But you must know something.’ I edged down the towel a bit, further into his line of vision. ‘When Jeanette was run over … was there anyone else there? Did someone push her under that car?’

  Finally Wando did say something, sulkily, mumbling into his knees. ‘There was no one else. The g
round was wet. The police checked the footprints. There was only us on one side and Jeanette on the other.’

  ‘OK, but you might’ve seen or heard something and not realised what it meant. Let’s think about it. Maybe I can spark off some great idea in your mind.’ I went for some comedy. ‘Oh. No. God. That never happens, does it mate.’

  Waste of effort. He didn’t budge.

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ I said. ‘Craig Wilson burns things down. He burns a lot of things down out along Devastation Road, and last week he burned down the Rolands’ café and stole some stuff.’

  ‘Did he do that?’ said Wando.

  ‘Yeah. Never mind that. Eight years ago, when he’s doing Station Road, there’s this girl, Jeanette, hanging around. Maybe she sees something. And she has this necklace, the Eye of Ra. She goes around saying it’s the eye of God, or whatever, and she says she can see the bad things people do. And one day, out near Craig’s place, she gets mown down by a car.’ Even this didn’t shock him into talking. ‘OK, so maybe it isn’t Craig. That’s what we’re trying to find out. Because, lo and behold, before she died, Jeanette had already passed all her stuff on to Debbie. The poems and pictures and the necklace.

  ‘Debbie keeps it hidden for years and years. And the minute she gets it out — boom. Goodnight.’

  Wando wriggled a bit at that, but didn't say anything.

  I went on, ‘And what had Debbie told us? That she knew things, and was wearing the necklace to stir someone up.’

  ‘Well, it worked, didn’t it,’ said Wando flatly.

  ‘You see, though, don't you? This whole thing isn’t just about a couple of girls knowing something and then dying, it’s about girls owning a necklace and then dying and losing the necklace. And Craig wants the necklace back.’

  Wando threw his head to one side. It might’ve been a shrug. Maybe I imagined it. I’d had more response talking to my poster of James Bond that I kept for throwing darts at. But I wasn’t really expecting Wando to dance up and down with excitement about my theories, and the talking was helping me to think, so I pushed on.