Murderer's Thumb

by Beth Montgomery

  A group of men jogged the boundary. Adam was dying to be out there with them. Snake had said that although six o’clock was the official starting time, things never really got going till half-past. Matt parked next to the line of cars, bonnets facing out to watch the action.

  ‘All set?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Adam said, grabbing his water bottle and bag and taking a deep breath. He followed Matt up to the change rooms where they left their bags on the benches and hung their towels. Then they were out the door and jogging down the players’ race.

  The moment Adam descended the race he could sense the waiting players’ admiration. He knew what they were thinking…big strong youth…hands like plates of meat… could probably kick the ball a fair way...

  It wouldn’t last long. Soon enough they’d look him in the eye and back away, wary and unsure. It happened every time. The Falcon Ridge-Redvale football team would be no different.

  A cluster of young men pulled up from their preliminary jog around the oval. A dozen others were doing hamstring stretches along the fence. An overweight man, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and his thongs, placed orange witches hats at strategic positions around the ground.

  Adam walked towards the main group, determined not to let his nervousness show. A few guys shook Adam’s hand. He could tell they didn’t know where to look. The coach, a square-jawed man in black shorts and T-shirt came forward. His biceps, as round as turnips, bulged from his sleeves.

  ‘G’day, I’m Birdie,’ he said. He looked Adam over as if appraising a race horse, then said, ‘You play in the ruck?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘More a half-back, defender.’

  ‘Pity, we could do with someone your size. Better go and stretch, then two laps of the oval,’ Birdie said.

  Adam jogged over to the fence with Matt. Three other blokes were already lined up, heads bent towards their knees, stretching. As Adam pressed his left foot into the fence and leant forward he heard a woman’s voice call out.

  ‘Can I get a shot or two for the Standard, boys?’

  Adam looked up. The standard what, he wondered. The girl was blonde with pink streaks, wearing a singlet and shorts, a camera held out in front of her face. Before anyone had time to react she’d taken a few snaps and moved onto the field to catch the rest of the team.

  Snake’s familiar voice rang out from behind the line of parked cars. ‘You decided to give it a go, Stats?’

  Adam waved, but didn’t shout back. He pushed into his stretch.

  Snake loped over. He looked emaciated in his footy shorts and blue singlet: all bone and sinew. His face was red; looked as if it had been scrubbed raw and his wiry hair stood out thickly from his head.

  ‘Thought you might chicken out,’ Snake said.

  Adam shrugged him off, ‘Nah, not me.’ But he couldn’t dismiss the knot of tension in his gut, the feeling that everyone was watching and judging him.

  After an hour and fifteen minutes of running, tackling, kicking and marking, Birdie told them all to head back to the showers. Adam was impressed by some of the players. Matt marked the ball, dodged and ran effortlessly, kicking it far into the setting sun. The coach’s younger brother Mongrel Byrd, a thickset man with piggy dark eyes, was relentless in defence. He tackled and punched the ball away with furious intent. Most of the others were average, or worse. Especially Snake. He had to be the worst player on the field, dropping the ball, kicking crooked and handpassing to fresh air. But no one could match his enthusiasm.

  On the way up to the showers someone clapped Adam on the back. ‘Solid work-out, mate.’

  Adam spun around. It was Mongrel. His face was scarlet and a thin vein stuck out on his forehead.

  ‘Looks like you did a bit of running yourself,’ Adam said.

  ‘Can run all day if I have to,’ he said.

  ‘You’re a fitter man than me then,’ Adam laughed.

  ‘Heard you been digging up gruesome things in the silage,’ he said, stringing out the words for emphasis.

  Adam flinched. ‘Who told you?’ he asked, immediately suspecting Snake.

  Mongrel flashed Adam a wide grin. ‘Word gets around. Small town stuff. Should come over for a beer one night. Swap a few stories, go spotlighting.’

  Adam didn’t know how to respond. Beer? This guy was pushy. What did he want? ‘I suppose…one day…yeah, right.’

  ‘How about Friday night? I’ll come round after eight.’

  ‘Um…OK, fine.’ The invite to drink echoed in his head. Rosemary would freak if she knew he planned on drinking. She’d probably try to talk him out of going anywhere with Mongrel if she knew. But she didn’t have to know. He had nothing else planned. And what was there to do around here anyway? Boring hole of a town. Still, the thought of spending time with a dickhead like Mongrel wasn’t inspiring.

  ‘Great,’ Mongrel said. He jogged up the race to the showers.

  Adam and the rest of the mob trudged after him. It stank inside: a mixture of wet wood, liniment, sweat and urinals. The spit and splatter of the showers mingled with the hubbub of voices. Men huddled naked under the three outlets, or snatched for towels back at the benches.

  Adam peeled off his T-shirt, wet with sweat. Then he prised off his sneakers.

  ‘You did all right,’ Matt said as he stripped down.

  ‘I’m not much good, but—’

  ‘Don’t believe it,’ Matt said. He took his necklace off and handed it to Adam. ‘L…look after it,’ he said. ‘Do you think you’ll join up?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Adam felt tired, hot and satisfied. It was great to play footy again, to get out and run till his lungs burnt. He’d missed it for too long. Country hicks or not, it was his chance to keep playing, and in the reserves team at that! And the standard wasn’t too high, he didn’t feel outclassed.

  He looked over to where Snake was getting dressed. After Adam had told him so clearly not to spread the word, it was obvious that he’d been telling the whole football club. How could he be such a bastard? Adam would have to watch Snake, not trust him with any secrets. Adam and Rosemary had been betrayed before. Kazek would be on their trail again if they weren’t careful.

  Adam was disappointed. He’d thought Snake was friendly and honest. Now he wasn’t so sure. Snake was a good nickname for him; snake in the grass.

  SEVEN

  After dinner Adam tried the key in the desk drawer. It was the right size, slotting in neatly. But it wouldn’t turn.

  ‘Shit!’

  He sighed and unfolded the note again. The eighty-ninth key? The clue was plain. There must be eighty-eight keys. Piss off! No one has that many. He clenched the small key in his hand and willed it to reveal the answer. Nothing. He placed it on the desk in front of him. Key, key, lock, turn, open, unlock, padlock. Words floated in his mind. He jotted them down on a note pad, as if brainstorming for a crossword clue that had him stumped. Nothing came of it. He twirled the pencil in his fingers until it spun around his thumb then clattered to the floor. This wasn’t going to beat him. Adam knew from experience that the more a solution eluded him, the more obsessed he became, until something in his subconscious snapped and the answer would appear. All the while Matt’s little key held his gaze, taunting him, fooling him. He just hadn’t reached that magic moment yet. Frustrated, he picked it up and went down to the Thackerays’ house.

  The red farm dog barked when he approached but wagged its tail and ambled about in a canine welcome dance. Adam patted it, let it sniff his hand as he walked to the house. The flyscreen door was closed, but the main one wasn’t. He peered inside. Blue and grey overalls hung in a row opposite the door. He was about to call out when a figure appeared in the gloom: a tall, thin, middle-aged woman.

  ‘Hello, you looking for Matt?’ she said. Her voice was dreamy, vague.

  Adam jumped back from the doorway with a start. ‘Uh, yeah…is he in?’

  The woman held the flyscreen door open with bony fingers. She studied Adam’s face impassively. H
er nose was long and sharp. Adam was reminded of a large flightless bird.

  ‘I’ll go and see, shall I?’ she said.

  She slipped back into the house and left Adam on the doorstep, the door ajar. He didn’t know whether to go inside or stay out. He hadn’t been invited in exactly, but then she hadn’t made a point of shutting the door in his face either. Curiosity won over; he stepped inside.

  He was in a small entrance room which housed a chest freezer, an assortment of brooms, a built-in cupboard, and a mop and bucket. There were pairs of gumboots on the floor, underneath the boiler suits. The door to the left led deeper into the house. The one on the right led to the laundry.

  Adam turned and noticed something hanging behind the back door. It was a wooden board of keys, dozens of them. He couldn’t believe it. The keys hung on little nails, four rows of five. Twenty hooks for twenty keys—not eighty-eight. But if each hook held multiple keys, he mused, then he might find what he was looking for. Fat chance! Something was written beneath the bottom row, in fine black letters on the wood. Adam was positive it was the same neat loopy writing that was on the note attached to the desk. It read:

  You’re not in the right key.

  A joke, a musical reference or another clue? It had to be. The image of the piano back in his lounge room flashed into Adam’s brain. Pianos had lots of keys—maybe eighty-eight.

  The sound of footsteps padding down the hallway made him draw away from the keys. Matt came into view, his eyes hopeful, mouth slack.

  ‘I’ve brought your key back,’ Adam said.

  ‘Was it any use?’

  ‘No.’

  Matt shrugged and struggled to get his words out. ‘Maybe you should pick the lock,’ he finally said. He put the key around his neck and sighed.

  ‘I might,’ Adam said.

  ‘I reckon our cows will do well at the end of the month,’ Matt stuttered. ‘I like herd testing.’

  Adam stood dumbfounded. What was he talking about? He tried to direct the conversation back to the key. ‘Why do you wear it around your neck?’

  He blushed and stared at the floor. ‘She told me to.’

  ‘Who? Who gave it to you?’

  Matt smiled. ‘She was special, like a wild bird. They both were. But I think she’s dead now,’ he said wistfully.

  ‘Do you mean Emma?’ Adam began.

  ‘N…no.’

  A voice from the hallway interrupted. It was Mrs Thackeray. ‘I think it’s time your friend went home now, Matthew,’ she ordered.

  Matt worked his mouth furiously, ‘Y…You better go,’ he said, forcing the door open and pushing Adam out.

  Dusk was falling. Adam hurried home, puzzled at Matt’s behaviour. How could a grown man be controlled by his mother like that? And by his sister, for that matter? It was as if Matt was still a kid, not someone in his early twenties. And the strange things he said sometimes, stuff about droughts, herd tests and butterfat, straight out of left field. Something wasn’t quite right with Matt, but he couldn’t work out what.

  Snake had warned Adam that the Thackerays were a bunch of weirdos. How true. Even Mrs Thackeray was kind of strange: vague or preoccupied or something.

  As Adam marched up the dusty road, Colin drove towards him in the ute, a Toyota with a metal tray. Adam waved. The farmer lifted a finger from the steering wheel in reply, but didn’t smile.

  The ute rattled past, followed by a stream of dust. Adam coughed it down and resisted turning to swear after his boss. He could cope with the dust because he was so keen to pull the piano apart and find the missing key.

  Back at the house his mum had set up her potter’s wheel on the verandah outside the lounge room. A power cord snaked out the open window. What the hell was she doing? Couldn’t she contain it to one room?

  The light globe on the porch attracted small moths and beetles that fluttered drunkenly against the wall and ceiling. Rosemary was tying the strings of a plastic apron around her back.

  ‘You and your pots taking over the whole house now?’ Adam said in a sour voice.

  ‘It’s like a furnace in the spare room. I’m sure this place isn’t insulated.’

  Adam didn’t want to talk. He was in too much of a hurry.

  ‘Don’t forget it’s your turn to wash up,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll do it later,’ he said and went inside, making straight for the piano. He counted the keys, two by two, white first, then black. Yes! Eighty-eight. He felt a rush of satisfaction. Now he was on the right track. He made a thorough inspection of the instrument, feeling each panel, peering underneath. He lifted the lid on top. The smell of dust was overpowering. He looked inside. Nothing but shadows. He let the lid drop with a thud.

  ‘What are you doing? Smashing the furniture?’ Rosemary called from outside.

  ‘It’s OK, just checking out the piano.’

  ‘Don’t be rough with it. They’re supposed to be delicate.’

  ‘Sure, Mum,’ Adam said as he left the room to get a torch.

  When he returned he tilted the lid back again and shone the torch. Rows of wooden arms, covered with felting and a thick coat of dust filled the guts of it. But there, just below him at the edge of the moving parts lay a key, small and rusted. He scooped it up.

  Adam gave a strangled yelp when the key fitted perfectly into the lock. He took a deep breath and turned it. The drawer opened. Old newspaper lined the base. The only thing in the drawer was a black plastic cylinder, the type used to package photographic film. That was what had made the noise, rolling around. Adam levered the lid off with his thumbnail. Paper was stuffed inside. He pulled it out and examined the writing on it, the same loopy style as the note on the key board. He read the message, enthralled.

  Em’s gone. They say she’s run away. Bullshit. I reckon she’s dead but it’s all been covered up. I’ve hidden my diary because it’s evidence. If I don’t survive, hopefully it will. So if you find this, search for the diary, search for the truth, search for me.

  M.T.

  Part One lies at the Mount of Venus… Hymn it ice guinea pig mix (7, 6) Too bold concealed (3, 4)

  Another cryptic clue! Adam was certain. ‘Too bold’ had to be ‘old boot’, the number of letters fitted exactly. But the second line puzzled him. He rubbed at his wonky eye. And what was the Mount of Venus? He’d heard the expression before, but only to do with girls’ anatomy.

  The paragraph before the cryptic message bothered him. Was it Lina, desperate for help? But no, the initials were wrong. And who was threatening her? Adam kicked off his sneakers and lay back on the bed, holding the note. Of course, it could be a hoax. Just an elaborate joke. But why go to such trouble to hide everything, unless the writer was in danger?

  And why didn’t she go to the police? He considered Barry Timothy and his smarmy attitude. There was something revolting about him that made you want to tell him to shove it. Perhaps MT didn’t trust him either. Was he part of the ‘cover up’? It was possible. Cops went crooked from time to time. He’d heard snippets on the news: ‘officers stood down…corruption allegations…pending further enquiries,’ blah, blah, blah. He never took it all in. But it didn’t surprise him. Police officers were like everyone else, capable of the best and the worst of human behaviour. Only they were supposed to fight crime like his grandfather Witold did, not become part of it.

  EIGHT

  On Tuesday some of the boys in Adam’s class invited him to have a hit of cricket on the oval at lunchtime. He had to decline because he could never pick up the flight of a cricket ball. It meant that he had only Snake for company, whom no serious cricketer would invite on their team. Five minutes into lunch and Adam had heard enough of Snake’s running commentary on the history of the Falcon Ridge-Redvale Football Club.

  ‘Will you shut up about football!’ Adam snarled.

  Snake wasn’t bothered. ‘Well you haven’t been your usual “Mr Inquisitive”. I thought I’d fill in the gaps.’

  ‘Look, I’m pissed off, ri
ght,’ Adam said darkly. ‘I don’t appreciate it when I ask people to keep their mouths shut and they don’t listen.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Adam scowled at him. ‘I mean about what I told you on the bus yesterday.’

  ‘Yeah, so? I didn’t say anything—’

  ‘Well how come Mongrel knew all about it at footy training?’ Adam said.

  ‘How do I know? Loody probably told him.’

  ‘Loody?’

  ‘Yeah. They go shooting together.’

  Adam glared at Snake. ‘And you haven’t said a word to anyone?’

  Snake was finishing off a round of ham sandwiches. ‘Dying to, but I won’t,’ he said, spraying bits of half-chewed bread into the air.

  Adam shook his head and sighed. Why did he jump to conclusions like that? He should have trusted Snake. Even so, his reasoning was sound. Rosemary and Snake were the only people he’d told and as he’d only known Snake for a bit over a week, he was right to be cautious. ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking at the floor. ‘I’m paranoid about mates not keeping secrets.’

  ‘Well don’t tell them any then.’

  ‘You make it sound easy,’ Adam laughed.

  Snake clapped him on the back. ‘It is easy. But you’ve got to realise that everyone knows your business in Falcon Ridge. You only have to scratch your arse and the whole district knows.’

  ‘Nosy bastards. Come on. Let’s go to the library. I need to check something out on the internet.’

  ‘Nosy bastard yourself.’

  Adam and Snake pushed through the glass doors of the library. A hot day stink, the smell of old socks greeted him. Adam shivered in the air-conditioned atmosphere. He was suddenly aware of how sweaty he was; the back of his neck felt clammy.

  They walked over to the computers. One was free. Adam brought up Google and began to type. ‘What do you know about the Mount of Venus?’ he said to Snake.

  His friend looked stunned. ‘Excuse me?’