by Else, Chris
'Really?' she said. 'I know Colin. He does odd jobs for me. I can't imagine it's him.'
'It's got to be somebody. Could he have been the shadow you saw today?'
'Well, yes. I suppose.'
'Where does he live?'
'Basingstoke Road. About three houses down from the Arms.'
'And he has a white van?'
'Yes.'
'With a sliding side panel door?'
'I think so.'
'A Mitsubishi?'
'I wouldn't have a clue.' She thought for a second and then looked at me, frowning. 'Oh, this is silly, isn't it? It couldn't possibly be Colin. I only saw him today.'
'Where? At the show?'
'Well, yes. But everybody was at the show.' She frowned some more. 'Good God,' she said. 'This is weird.'
'For sure,' I said. 'It doesn't have to be him. It doesn't have to be anybody on the list.'
'What about the others?'
'Well, Tackett's out in the valley. Parline lives in Church Street. I think he works in Katawai. I've seen him with a little boy a couple of times so I guess he might be married. I don't know much about Wyett except that he lives in Ramp Street.'
'Yes, well that's not exactly a recommendation, is it?'
Ramp Street was an extension of Church Street but at the other end of the social scale — a No Exit that led down to the river. The bottom of it flooded in a wet winter. Most people thought that if you lived down there you were either a loser or a ratbag or both.
'What about this bloke everyone's talking about? Cleat?'
'Don't know,' I said. 'I've got nothing to link him with a white van.'
'The police have talked to him apparently. Maybe he's in the clear.'
'Maybe.'
A silence then. We looked at the sky. There was grey cloud along the top of the range and above it, orange fading into yellow and apple green and blue.
'So,' she said, 'given all that, what do we do?'
We? I liked that. It was a sign that she felt part of it — we were in this thing together. It was good to be able to speak freely with somebody who had the same take on things as I did. It was a long time since I'd had such a straightforward talk, even if it was about who had done a murder.
'No idea.' I looked at her. She smiled. I liked it when she smiled.
***
WHEN IT CAME time for her to leave, we stood outside the front door for a few minutes, not saying anything, like we didn't want the meeting to end.
'You're good to that girl,' she said, out of the blue.
'She's good for me.'
Brenda nodded. Then she reached out and touched me on the arm.
'Stop by the café,' she said. 'Anytime.'
She turned and walked away. I watched her go, the sway of her hips, down the drive towards the service station.
When I got inside again the fear came back. I went and checked my rifle. It was where it should be — in its case and locked in the cupboard in the hall. It was safe there but pretty useless if I wanted it in a hurry. Were we in danger? Any of us? Yes, I figured we were. I put the rifle on the top of the wardrobe. I tucked the box of shells away with my jocks in the chest of drawers. Gith didn't move. I figured she was still asleep.
I walked back out to the kitchen and got myself another beer, stood there leaning against the bench, feeling the fear and the anger. I had to keep her safe. That was the only thing I knew. God, if only the cops would believe her, there might be a chance that the bastard would be caught. And then the feeling came again that it was all my fault somehow, that nothing would have happened today if I hadn't been blabbing. Who had I talked to, though? Tom and Mark and Monty. Maybe Faye Ingrest. And Hemi. Ma and the Old Man. Dolly McKenzie? Christ, well, there you go. Telling Dolly was like standing on the steps of the war memorial and yelling it through a loud-hailer.
***
GITH SLEPT FOR sixteen hours that night and the next morning she acted like nothing had happened. We had breakfast and got to work about seven-thirty. She took the pink teddy bear with her and propped it on the workbench beside the radio.
We had a dozen jobs booked that day, mostly regular services and minor repairs, and the first of them came in about eight o'clock. By nine we were flat stick. Gith was in the pit under a Falcon and I was giving an old Toyota a tune-up, all to the sounds of some big orchestra sawing away. When it was Gith's turn to pick the radio station it was always Concert FM. Around ten, Julian Smeele dropped by for gas. I went out and served him, chatted to him while the tank filled.
Julian is a tall, good-looking bloke with an upper-crust Pommie accent. I guess he and Susie belong to the same sort of set as the Marsdens. They are nice enough, though, and fit in pretty well with the locals. Gith and I did the work on all their vehicles, including the classic MG, which was a lot of fun. We started talking about cars that day: the parade at the show and whether it would be a good idea to get a rally going come next summer. Somehow we got on to Jim Parline's Zodiac, and that took me on to the next thing.
'Jim's got a brother. Rick. Do you know him?' I asked.
'I do, actually,' Julian said. 'He's a customer of ours.'
Which meant that he had a bit of money.
'I gather his people used to own a farm down towards Katawai,' Julian went on. 'The old house is still there. It's pretty derelict now.'
'Where is it?'
'You've probably seen it. It's on the right going south, about six kilometres. When they widened the road they took out most of the front garden.'
Yes, I thought I remembered it.
'Any reason you're interested in Rick?' Julian asked.
'No, just curious.'
***
WHEN HE HAD gone I took the poster for the Annual Show down from the window. That reminded me of the day I'd seen Anneke Hesse and I stood there for a while, behind the till, looking out at the forecourt and trying to remember just what had happened.
We have four pairs of pumps. One and two and five and six are out nearest the road, three and four and seven and eight are next to the shop. The white van had been at pump number five. Monty had been at seven and Mavis Blake at eight. What about six? I couldn't remember. And where was the red Holden? At one. And the grey Camry wagon with the labrador? It was hard to get it clear and in the end it was bugging me so much that I went into the back room, grabbed pen and paper, and drew myself a picture.
That was kind of what I remembered, although when I came to look at it, it didn't make sense. If pumps two and six had been empty, then the Camry wouldn't have pulled into pump three, behind Monty. It would have gone on to six. So had there been seven cars? Maybe there was a white wagon at six. That could be why Mavis and Monty had got things wrong. If there were seven cars, had the cops tracked down all the drivers? I had to talk to Gith about it.
I folded the paper and put it in the pocket of my overall. Then I put the kettle on for a cup of tea.
Outside there was a black Nissan Cefiro parked on the forecourt next to the air pump. I headed into the workshop. Gith was standing beside the Falcon with a man — Ray Tackett. He was talking to her. She had her hand on her hip and was listening with a not-believing sort of look on her face.
'Gidday,' I said.
Ray turned. 'Gidday.' He looked kind of awkward but then he came towards me, grinning in a way that might have been friendly.
'Something we can do for you?' I asked him.
'Not specially. Just wanted to . . . well, you know, say sorry for yesterday.'
'Okay.' I didn't like him and I didn't trust him so I couldn't figure out what I was meant to say. Ray was a big bloke, a bit taller than me and solid across the shoulders. He had short spiky hair and blue eyes, a mouth that looked like it was going to snarl at you any minute. Right now, though, it had that big grin on it, a grin that didn't go with his eyes.
He stuck out his hand. I didn't know what else to do so I shook it.
'Bloody stupid,' he said. 'All that carry-on. My old man and your
old man, they're as bad as each other.'
'Yeah,' I agreed. 'They're a couple of prickly old buggers.'
'No need for us to get caught up in it.'
'No.'
'And I just wanted to say there was no disrespect to . . .' He turned and looked over his shoulder. Gith was standing a couple of metres away. 'What's your name, love?'
Her mouth moved round, trying to get a word. 'Gith,' she said.
'That's right. Gith.'
I didn't like his tone. There was something nasty in it.
'Listen . . .' I started but he stopped me.
'S'okay. S'okay.' He lifted his hands to calm me down. 'We're friends here, right? We're all friends. And your little lady there . . .' He looked at Gith again. 'She deserves the respect of a lady. That's all I want to say.'
'All right.'
'And I don't see any reason why I shouldn't buy my gas here now and again, no matter what my old man thinks.'
'You want gas?' I asked.
'Not right now. But . . .' He shrugged. 'You never know.' He turned away, walked over to his car, opened the door. He gave a wave to me and then pointed his finger at Gith, made like he was firing a pistol.
'Bastard!' I said, as he drove off.
Gith came up to me, looked at me with a puzzled sort of frown.
'What was that about?' I asked.
She gave a shrug, like it made no sense to her.
'Did he say sorry?'
But then I thought, why would he say sorry to her? She wasn't there when we'd had the face-off. 'Did he come on to you?'
'Narg.' Well, not really.
I didn't like it.
'Did he . . .' It was one of those times when I didn't know what to ask her. I felt there were things I had to know but I didn't have the words to make the questions come out right. At least I could see she wasn't worried. In fact she just seemed to think it was weird, like I did.
'He's not the bloke who grabbed you yesterday?' I asked.
'Narg.'
'And he's not the bloke who was in the white van?'
'Nar, nar.'
'Let's have a cup of tea,' I said.
I made it in the back room and brought it out to the workshop. We stood together leaning on the bench. I showed her my map of the forecourt on the day Anneke went missing.
'Is that right?' I asked.
She looked at it. Then she shook her head.
'Okay, how does it go?'
'Camthree.' She pointed to the Camry that I'd put at pump three and then at pump two. 'There.'
'So, what about pump three? Nothing?'
'Gith.'
'And what about here?' I pointed to pump six, the one on the inside of where the van was.
She grabbed the pen from the pocket of my overalls and bent over the paper. She drew a station wagon.
'White?'
'Gith.'
'How big? Two litre or more?'
'Narg.'
'Laser, then? Or Mazda.'
'Nar, nar.' She waved her hand to slow me down.
'Thoyota,' she said. 'Corolla.'
'A Corolla wagon.'
'Gith.'
'You know the driver?'
'Narg.'
'An out-of-towner?'
'Gith.'
So that was it then. Monty and Mavis had mixed up the two vehicles.
'And you're sure Anneke got into the van?'
She jabbed her finger at the paper three or four times. She was sure.
It made sense. Anneke got out of the red Holden at pump one and walked along the forecourt, heading towards where the cars would pull out so she could hitch another ride. She would have gone straight past the van on the driver's side. Easy for him to ask if she wanted a lift. Easy for her to say yes.
'So,' I said, 'what happened? The bloke asks for forty dollars' worth. What did you do then? You went and stuck the nozzle in his tank and set the pump. Then I guess you served somebody else.'
'Gith.' She pointed to pump six, where the Corolla wagon had been.
'And when you got back to collect the money Anneke was in the van?'
'Gith.' She stopped. Then she made like she was stroking something. 'Dog,' she said.
'There was a dog there?' I asked.
'Gith.'
'In the front seat of the van?'
'Bag.' She stretched her neck. 'Head. Theat.'
'In the back, then. With its head over the seat. What colour? Brown?'
'Blag.'
A black dog. God, this was new.
'Anything else?' I asked.
She looked at me and opened her eyes in a mad kind of stare.
'The bloke had big stare-y eyes, right?' I remembered the drawings with the eyes like two fried eggs.
She nodded. 'Gith.' Or maybe not.
I didn't get it. Why would Anneke get into a vehicle with somebody who had mad eyes? Was it the dog that made it seem okay?
***
LATER THAT DAY Ma dropped by. She said she had come into town to see Len but I figured that wasn't the only reason. We stopped work and made her a cup of tea while she told us all about the RW collection. It seemed it had been a big success, and Joanne had got herself enough brownie points to keep her happy for a while.
Ma wanted to know how Gith was.
'That was a terrible thing,' she said.
Gith shrugged, almost like it didn't matter that much.
'You sure you're okay?'
I went to take Gith's arm to show Ma the bruise but I got pushed away.
'Terrible.' Ma's face was full of worry. 'Have you talked to Hemi?'
'No,' I said.
'Are you going to?'
I didn't answer.
'If you don't I will,' she said.
'I'll talk to him.' I wasn't sure I would though.
She looked at me. Then she brightened up. 'Anna,' she said. 'Bill and Leece's bitch has pupped. Just last night. Four, there are. I haven't been up to have a look yet but I bet they're cute. Would you like to see them?'
'Gith.'
'Well then, why don't you come out on Saturday? We can spend some time together.'
Gith nodded. Pleased as Punch.
'I don't mean him,' Ma went on, flicking her thumb at me. 'Just you. You can stay the night with us. What do you say?'
I guessed this had been the plan all along. Ma wanted to do some mothering. I remembered what she had said yesterday about me and Gith having some time apart. Gith, I could see, was suddenly worried, and I felt my own twist of fear. But it would only be one night, and maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing.
'It could be fun,' I said.
'Gith.' She kind of smiled.
Ma was happy. 'I'll pick you up before lunch then.'
As she left I told her about Ray Tackett.
'He apologised?' She was surprised.
'Yeah.'
'Doesn't sound like the Ray Tackett I know. He's a bad 'un, that young man.'
'For sure.'
'Him and his shady mates. Drugs and so on. Leece says he feels guilty because of his brother.'
'Guilty?'
'Because Bobby's handicapped and he isn't. Could have been the other way round.'
I wanted to say that if they had been the other way round Bobby would have been Ray and Ray Bobby but that didn't seem to make sense.
'But he looks after Bobby,' I said. 'He always has. I'll say that for him.'
'That's true.'
'And Bobby's a good bloke. Basically.'
'Bobby doesn't have the brains to be anything else. Should have called him Booby.' She gave a laugh. I thought she was being a bit rough.
'Anyway,' I said, 'we know it wasn't Ray who got Gith.'
'Do we?'
'Sure we do. He was here, talking to her. She would have picked him. She would have said.'
'Hmm.' She didn't sound like she wanted to believe it.
'So you can tell Dad that, eh?'
She drove off and Gith and I got back to work.
I thought
about Ray Tackett and how I had never got along with him. It was hard to say if it was down to the bad blood between our families or something about him that always seemed to get under my skin. It seemed he was doing all right for himself these days, hiring casual labour and doing contracting work. I was surprised at Ma talking about drugs and bad company, but maybe that was just a hangover from the early days — he was kicked out of high school for smoking dope.
What the Tacketts said and did was always good for a moan round the McUrran dinner tables. Sometimes I thought the real reason for keeping the fight going was just to give everybody something to talk about. I remember one time there was a big storm up the head of the valley and the stream flooded down by the Tacketts' place. Gray had maybe a thousand head to shift to higher ground and the Old Man took Bill down to help. They were our neighbours, after all. For a few months after that, Gray and the Old Man managed to be polite to each other, but then something happened to upset somebody and it all went back to how it was before.
***
BILLY CLEAT TURNED up that afternoon, shuffling up to the open side of the workshop and hanging around. Gith didn't see him. She was in the pit under a car.
'Yes?' I said, walking towards him, trying to steer him away. I made a move to grab his arm but I found I just couldn't touch him. 'I told you to keep away from us, didn't I?'
'Yes, Mr McUrran, sir. But I owe you a favour. You been very good to me. Sir.' He was staring down at his feet, dirty old sneakers with the laces undone.
I looked behind me, making sure Gith couldn't see us.
'I told you,' I said, 'it's all right. I don't need anything.'
'Just a little job, sir. Just a little job.'
Jesus! I wanted to hit him. My fist was already balled up.
'Anything at all, sir. Just a little job.' He looked at me with his big brown moony eyes but he couldn't hold it for more than a second.
'All right,' I said. 'All right. If I give you a job will you bugger off?'
'Oh yes, Mr McUrran, sir. Oh yes I will.'
'Right. There's a bloke that lives in the third house down from the pub in Basingstoke Road. His name's Colin George. There's another bloke, Rick Parline, lives in Church Street. Not sure of the number but there's a tiled roof and a fancy garden with two tall pointy trees. Both of them have white vans. I want to know the makes and registration numbers. I also want to know if they own dogs, and if they do, what colour they are. Got that?'