Murderer's Thumb

by Beth Montgomery

  After that we played cards. Emma and Mongrel finished off the beers. Meredith and I shared one between us. I don’t like beer much. Too bitter.

  We got home after eleven. We decided to meet again next week and have another go at contacting Elaine.

  The other thing that happened last night was that Mum rang just before Emma picked me up. I don’t know why Mum bothers. All she talks about is herself: her gym, her promotion and her stupid share portfolio. I could have been one of the Thackerays’ cows on the other end of the line and she wouldn’t have known. The only thing she wanted to know was whether I was still attending school and how I should stick with it. I told her to piss off. Then I hung up.

  Nag, nag, nag, criticise, criticise, criticise. I can’t wait till I’m sixteen, then I’m out of here and Mum won’t have a clue where I am and I won’t care.

  M.T.

  Sunday 10 September

  It worked! I saw Emma today. She told me I was invited to Matt’s party. I’m so rapt! They’re going to hold it on the lawn in front of the house. They’re putting up a big marquee and just about everyone from the district is invited.

  I can’t wait. It will be so good! I don’t know what I’m going to wear, though. I’ve got my black dress, but I don’t think it’s going to be that formal. Plus I’ll freeze to death. Maybe just my black embroidered top and my black skirt and boots.

  I saw Matt again today. I asked him if he was looking forward to his birthday. He is. He asked me if I’d seen any more rats. When I said I hadn’t, he looked disappointed. He stood there for a few moments and neither of us knew what to say. Then he said, ‘I want you to come. Say you’ll come to the party.’ And I said, ‘sure’. As if I’d miss it.

  He walked off then but he kept looking back at me and smiling. It’s the spell. I know it is. It’s worked better than I expected.

  M.T.

  Monday 11 September

  Another crap day at school. I couldn’t concentrate. We were given this huge assignment to do in science. It really sucks. I got into trouble because I wasn’t listening. I think the next spell I do is to vex my science teacher. He’s such an arsehole. I’ll devise something. I’ll have to read more of the spell book.

  I’ll have the place to myself tonight because Frank and Aunty Jane are going out. Some meeting in Booradoo about building regulations. They’ve been looking to buy a block of land closer to Booradoo, where they both work at the supermarket.

  Now it’s dusk. I’m sitting on the verandah writing this and it’s almost too dark to write. It’s cold, but I’m rugged up. I can still see the Thackerays’ house from here, well the roof anyway. We’re a bit higher up the hill. The tanker truck has just been. It comes up the road every second evening to pick up the milk.

  There goes Colin, driving off in his ute. Its tray rattles as he drives over the cattle grid. I’ve got his routine worked out. He’s going down the pub. He either goes out fishing or to the pub. Late in the evening towards dark, he’s off drinking. In the daylight, if there’s his tackle box and a bucket and rods and stuff, then he’s off fishing.

  Matt’s in the shed still but I know he’ll come past any minute.

  M.T.

  Tuesday 12 September

  Last night was great. Matt came over to me on the verandah and we talked for ages, until it got dark. Well, when I say talked, I guess I did most of the talking. I asked him about the cows and he’s got a favourite, one with a totally black face. Her name’s Greta. She’s always pushing to be the first in line. I said I thought they just had numbers and he said they did, but that he and Emma named some of them too. Greta’s number is 5663. He said I ought to come and watch them milk one day.

  I told him I was scared of big animals like cows and horses. He said he was scared of people. I asked him how he’d cope at his party and he just shrugged and said there wouldn’t be that many people, just guys from the cricket club and the footy club. He loves sport. He’s pissed off they lost their footy final on the weekend.

  I don’t know much about footy so it was hard to think of questions to ask him. That’s how you get him to talk. Just keep asking questions, but he still won’t say much.

  He wanted to know what I was writing about. I told him about my journal, that it’s where I keep my secrets. He thought that was strange. He said that he kept his secrets in his heart but other people kept theirs in their heads. I don’t know what he means exactly, and he couldn’t explain it. He was too embarrassed.

  It started getting dark so he left. I watched him stroll down the hill, his long arms swinging as he walked. He looked back at me and waved. He’s so cute. I really like him.

  M.T.

  Wednesday 13 September

  Last night I went and watched the milking. Matt was so embarrassed. He wouldn’t look at me and his face was scarlet. Emma came with me and explained the whole process, how the milk travels along the pipes into the vat. We were too late to see Greta. She’d already finished her time on the merry-go-round. That’s what Emma calls the big round platform.

  Then Emma came over to my room and we sat for a while and listened to music and flicked through some magazines and stuff. We did some quizzes together and we’re so different, except for our taste in guys. We both go for the strong, silent type. But she’d prefer a sporty guy. I’d prefer a creative one.

  I can’t wait for Matt’s party. Only three days away! She reckons anything I choose will be fine. She likes my taste in clothes, especially my funky boots. I devised a spell for her to put Loody off. She has to burn some foul-smelling herbs over a green candle with something that belongs to him. If it works I’ll try something similar to get Mum off my back. But Emma said it sounded stupid. She probably won’t try it. Gutless.

  M.T.

  Thursday 14 September

  It rained all day today. I curled up in bed and didn’t go to school. I spent my time eating toasted sandwiches and reading the spell book. I finally finished it. I wished there was a section on reaching departed spirits.

  M.T.

  Friday 15 September

  I went to the library today and checked out some of the local papers. I looked through the death columns for anyone called Elaine but they only went back three years. The librarian told me the Booradoo Standard office has back copies from ages ago. But that would take forever. After lunch we had science, so I wagged and went to the cemetery. I found three Elaines. One died in 1916. No kids. There was an older Elaine who died in 1985, at the age of seventy-four. But I found the grave of Elaine Ludeman (nee Carmichael), wife of William. Died in 1937, and had eight kids after her name. That’s who our spirit is. No wonder Loody left early, scared shitless of his great granny.

  Mum rang to talk again last night. Luckily Aunty Jane answered the phone this time. I signalled that I wouldn’t take it, so Aunty Jane talked to her instead. It’s obvious that they don’t get on either. I reckon they never have, even when they were little, but neither of them has said it. It’s just body language. Aunty Jane crossed her free arm in front of her chest while she held the receiver, as if she was shutting Mum out. She didn’t get many words in either, just a ‘yes, yes’ here and there and a ‘she’s doing fine’. I left the room. I hate it when they talk about me.

  M.T.

  Saturday 16 September

  Last night we snuck out again and met at the shack. It was heaps better this time. The guys didn’t muck around as much. We summoned Elaine again. I asked if she was Elaine Carmichael and she said yes. Loody said ‘Where’d you get that name from?’ all surprised looking. I told him I’d been to the cemetery. He reckoned I was weird. I challenged him. Said go on, ask her anything you like. She’ll tell you.

  He didn’t though. Just kept giving me nervous looks. I reckon I’ve got him spooked.

  Meredith asked Elaine about where she used to live. She said Redvale. It started to rain then and Emma leant closer to me, sort of snuggled up. Then there was this huge rush of wind and rain, heaving at the door and windows.
Meredith stood up suddenly. Said she didn’t want to go on. She was shivering and her eyes were huge. She stood over by the fire and warmed herself.

  I looked at everyone else. Loody sat back with his hands behind his neck, stretching, acting cool. Emma didn’t care what was happening, she just wanted another drink. Mongrel was the only one who wanted to go on, but I said it was useless now we’d broken the circle. They don’t get how powerful the energy is.

  We stayed for a couple more hours, playing five hundred and drinking the cans Mongrel had brought. There were mixed drinks this time so we girls were getting stuck into the vodka and orange. Meredith and I shared a hand and went partners with Emma. Meredith plays really well. Loody tried to go eight hearts about six times, and stuffed up every time. Dickhead. Mongrel was getting pissed off with him.

  It was still raining by the time we finished and Emma was stoked. We walked home with Loody’s Drizabone coat over our heads. The boys dropped Meredith off at her place. Emma and I had fun getting through the fences, because she was so pissed and we had to pass the coat over and it got caught in a strand of barbed wire. We got home after midnight, wet, but it was a good night.

  I watched Matt drive off somewhere today. He drove the green sedan with the ‘L’ plates on. The Brolga sat in the passenger seat, with her jaw thrust forward, peering over the top of the bonnet as he drove past the tractor shed. Matt told me he’s been driving around the farm ever since he was twelve, when he could reach the pedals of the ute, so I don’t know why she looked so nervous.

  Colin and Loody were setting up the marquee between the tractor shed and the house. Loody waved and called out ‘G’day’. As if I was his best mate or something. I just waved back. Colin gave me a filthy look. Only three more hours till the party! Woo-ah!

  M.T.

  Part three lies on the fate line.

  Rock on rotten postscript hide (6,4,4).

  FOURTEEN

  It was ten past eight when Mongrel parked his Holden Rodeo in Adam’s driveway. Rosemary sprang from her seat and rushed to the window, pinched folds of curtain together to peer outside and glanced back at Adam. ‘It’s him.’

  ‘So!’ Adam was already opening the back door.

  ‘When will you get home?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Try to be in before midnight,’ she called after him.

  He slammed the door.

  Mongrel’s Rodeo was in much better shape than Matt’s ute. The cabin was clean, no cobwebs, no dust, and apart from the shake and rattle when Mongrel turned the ignition, there were no clattering noises either. Adam stared out the window as they went down the driveway. To his left, the milking herd stood lazily in the faded brown grass of the front paddock. Tomorrow he’d be milking again. He was looking forward to it.

  ‘We’ll go out past Loody’s joint,’ Mongrel said as they reached the Redvale-Booradoo road. ‘Heaps of bunnies in the hills there.’

  ‘Right,’ Adam said and kept staring out the window. It was easier to talk to Matt; Mongrel just pissed him off. They drove without speaking until Mongrel said: ‘Been shooting before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Piece of piss,’ Mongrel said and went on to detail how many types of animals he’d shot this summer in the hills around Redvale.

  ‘Unreal,’ Adam said, hiding the contempt in his voice. If only he were back in Deakin Hills, and not stuck in this dead, dry outpost. Falcon Ridge was so boring it produced idiots like this. What a wanker getting so wound up about shooting ferals with his 22.

  They drove through Redvale, past the turnoff for the football ground and onto the gravel road to their right. Taking the bend, Mongrel floored the accelerator, spinning the back of the tray out.

  The scrub at the side of the road rushed towards them. Adam leant back in panic, his body rigid. Mongrel corrected the steering and Adam relaxed, but his heart was thudding, his face was flushed, and there was a surge of clarity in his brain that was electrifying.

  Mongrel grinned at him. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t like snakeys?’

  ‘Piss off!’ Adam snorted. ‘Do it again.’

  Mongrel slowed to first gear, then hit the accelerator without mercy. The motor roared and the wheels spun, flicking gravel in a spray behind them as they fishtailed up the road. Adam swayed in the cabin, gripping the seat with clenched leg muscles and knuckles taut like eagle’s talons. His mouth was open, half shouting, half laughing.

  Mongrel eased off and straightened the wheel. ‘You’re not gonna chuck on me, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Adam said indignantly.

  ‘You looked shit scared back there.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘First timer, eh?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never hooned around? Never gone paddock bashing?’ Mongrel shook his head, ‘Poor city kid. Don’t know what you’ve missed. And how old are you? Seventeen, eighteen?’

  ‘I’m fourteen.’

  ‘You’re bullshitting me.’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Must be a wog, name like Statkus.’

  Adam stared out the window again. What was it with this idiot? Couldn’t help himself, had to pick a fight, no matter what. Adam ignored the bait. ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘Pick up Loody. He lives just here.’ Mongrel pointed to the right.

  They turned at the next driveway and followed it up the hill to a small house with a neat well kept garden. Loody appeared at the front door and slid on his boots.

  ‘You bastards took your time,’ he said.

  ‘Had to drive slow so Stats wouldn’t get car sick,’ Mongrel said.

  Adam hid his irritation. They were never going to let him forget that morning’s spew at the silage pit.

  The cowboy laughed and picked up a long kit bag that lay beside the door. He loped over to the Rodeo, put the bag in the tray, then leapt in after it.

  Mongrel turned the Rodeo around and headed down the drive, back onto the road. Within minutes they’d turned onto a narrow climbing track which skirted the side of a bare hill.

  ‘This is it, kid,’ Mongrel said to Adam as Loody unlatched the gate which barred their way.

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We wait,’ Mongrel drawled. ‘Suck a stubbie and wait.’

  Mongrel parked the Rodeo beside a lone gum tree. Adam got out and surveyed the paddock. It was almost twilight and the shadow of the tree stretched long into the gully below them. A fringe of coarse bushes followed the fence line downhill and the grass underfoot was tough and colourless, growing in sparse trimmed clumps.

  ‘Have a beer, Stats,’ Loody said. He sauntered over and passed him a stubbie.

  ‘Thanks,’ Adam said, sniffing the bitter fumes before he drank. He took a swig and tried not to grimace. As he swallowed he was aware of so many scents in the still air: the woody perfume of the grass, the acrid smell of cow shit, a puff of phosphorus as Loody struck a match, and a whiff of his cigarette smoke. ‘Not much action,’ Adam said.

  ‘Wait till sunset, everything moves then,’ Loody said.

  ‘This all you guys ever do?’

  ‘Beats stuffing around with telescopes.’

  Adam gave him a surly look.

  ‘I saw youse two yesterday. Think I’m fucken blind?’ Loody said.

  Adam took another swig of beer.

  ‘Colin’d be eggstremely pissed off if he knew you were in there. There’s chemicals and stuff. What were you doing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Adam said.

  ‘You don’t want to spend too much time with that Snake Patterson. He’s a fucken girl.’

  Distaste grew in Adam’s gut. Who was Loody to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do, and who he should or shouldn’t hang out with? ‘Snake’s all right,’ he said. ‘We were just mucking round, playing running targets and stuff. He was lining me up as I ran. Like you would with a gun.’

  ‘We haven’t got telescopic lenses, you dickhead.’

  ‘Same principle.’

 
; ‘Kids’ stuff, more like. You weren’t looking for something, were you?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘That missing diary.’

  ‘As if !’ Adam said, confident he hadn’t flinched or blushed. Years of hiding things from Kazek had taught him the art of keeping a poker face.

  Mongrel walked over to them carrying a shotgun that Adam assumed had broken in the middle. ‘You can use this, Stats. It’s my old twenty gauge. You slot the cartridges in here like this, shut the gun…’ he snapped it shut and passed it to Adam, who now saw that the gun was undamaged, ‘… rest the butt against your shoulder, point and shoot. Shit easy.’

  Adam felt the weight of it. It was lighter than he imagined. He touched the barrel. It was cool and oily on his fingertips.

  ‘Here’s the safety catch,’ Mongrel indicated. ‘Keep it on unless you’re about to shoot and never point the bastard at anyone, even if it isn’t loaded. Got that! Shooter’s golden rule. Don’t want any more dead bodies lying round.’

  Had Adam heard right? It was the first time Mongrel had said anything half sensible. ‘So how do I, you know, line something up?’

  Loody pointed out the sight at the tip of the wood: a small piece of metal with a notch carved through it. Adam squinted his good eye and took aim. It was a bit like looking through the telescope only nothing was magnified, and with the light growing dim it was getting too hard to see anything.

  Taking aim infused him with a sense of invincibility. Visions of a hundred action movies, cop shows and war films raced through his mind. He imagined what it felt like to be a cowboy, like dickhead Loody. He hid the urge to laugh. He felt stupid. But then another image came to mind. Witold had held a rifle, if not as a policeman, then definitely in the military police during the war. Adam remembered the photo of Witold in the cobblestoned square, gun slung over his shoulder. The weapon went with the uniform. The thought stayed with him and he took pride in it. He rested the shotgun across his arm and waited for the darkness.

  As dusk came so did the rabbits. They snuck from the cover of the vegetation, edging forward, back legs flicking in a flash of pale fur. Adam counted five. There were probably heaps more.