‘No. I’m fine,’ said Jacinta. ‘I’ll brighten up enough once I’ve got a Bundy or two in me.’
‘It must have been nice seeing Amira, eh?’
‘A hundred percent. Thanks, Danny. It was great.’
‘Listen. You’re not going to say anything, are you?’ he said. ‘To anyone? It’s really important that nobody else knows. It’s our secret, okay?’
‘Yeah, okay. I promise.’
‘Did Amira say anything? Did she tell you anything? About what happened?’
‘Not really,’ said Jacinta. ‘We talked about her dad for a bit, but … when I tried to find out what happened to her, she kept losing it. We ended up just talking about stuff.’
‘What do you mean, stuff?’
‘You know. The usual. Clothes, music, guys. Stuff.’
‘And she was okay with that?’
‘Pretty much. Why’s that?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I thought she’d be too upset to talk about crap like that.’
‘It’s not crap. Can I come out and see her again?’
‘Yeah, I’m sure we can manage it. Just remember, not a soul.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I remember.’
‘I don’t think you’re listening to me,’ said Arbor.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘What did I say?’
‘You said—’
‘Shit, I’m serious, Jacinta. I can’t be more so. The way things are, we don’t have a clue who killed Amira’s dad, or if they have any reason to be after Amira. She might be in real danger, do you understand? So you can’t let anyone, I mean anyone, know where she is. Not your dad, not your boyfriend, not anyone.’
‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’
‘Eh? What?’
‘I don’t have a boyfriend. You said my boyfriend.’
‘Oh, for shit’s sake, you know what I mean. Don’t tell anyone.’
‘Jeez, I won’t. Look, I won’t tell a soul. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Jacinta folded her arms and fixed her eyes on the road ahead. Like a ten-year-old, thought Arbor. He could only hope. He wasn’t sure, but she seemed an accident waiting to happen. The whole visit now seemed like a very bad idea.
He had forgotten it was Saturday. The lounge bar was spilling onto the street, had its own frenetic beat and was off-limits to anyone over the age of twenty-five. At just twenty-three, Arbor knew he fell nicely into the accepted age bracket, but he was in no mood to face up to quarrelsome youths with a point to prove or to fight off the attentions of silly girls like Jacinta. He dropped her at the door and, instead, nipped into the public bar. The detectives weren’t there. They were having a night off, he concluded. Either that, or having each other. He wouldn’t be surprised. Either way, he didn’t care. He bought some beer and cider to go and left as rapidly as he could. It was funny, he noted, how the locals could look at you, say nothing and yet somehow say it all.
He regretted his decision not to steal another meal from Jenny, but he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, that he might need some looking after. He didn’t want her to think that at all. But he realised he would have to wait ages for a counter meal. So he settled on three bags of Samboy chips and some Twisties. He took the beer, cider, chips and Twisties and headed for home.
Even driving just three streets and two corners, he felt a passing guilt about carrying alcohol in a police vehicle. But, thankfully, the concern was fleeting. And if the examples set by O’Reilly, Burke and Cole were anything to go by, he had nothing to worry about.
As he had hoped, the lights were on at the Webbs’. He took a chance, one that seemed more out of the ordinary than normal. After a quick change of clothes, he crossed the road, climbed the front step and knocked. Nathan answered the door.
‘Hey, Danny. What’s up?’
‘Hey, Nathan. I was wondering … I bought some grog. I was wondering if you and Mandy fancied some company.’
‘Where? Here?’
‘If you like. I wasn’t sure.’
‘Well, it’s better than that shithole you call home. Bring it in.’
‘It’s still in the wagon.’
‘It won’t get drunk there, will it?’ said Nathan. ‘Come on. I’ll give you a hand.’
They crossed the black asphalt towards Arbor’s place.
‘So how have things been going?’ asked Nathan. ‘Have you learned anything from Amira yet? Is she still out at Jenny’s place?’
‘Yeah, she’s still out there. I was hoping to talk to her tomorrow. She’s been a bit scatty. I didn’t want to push it.’
‘Yeah, I get you.’
Arbor opened the paddy wagon’s passenger door.
‘Shit, is that all you’ve got?’ Nathan continued. ‘That won’t last long. Never mind. I’ve got a few in the fridge … And what’s this junk? Paper waste?’
He waved the chips and Twisties in the air.
‘My tea,’ said Arbor.
‘Your mum would do her nut, I reckon, Danny, if she could see you.’
‘Yeah. She probably would.’
‘We’ll see what Mandy’s got on offer.’
A quiet word from Nathan, and Mandy had Arbor seated at the kitchen table and had presented him with a plate of scrambled eggs on toast.
‘That looks great, Mandy,’ said Arbor. ‘But you really shouldn’t have.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mandy. ‘It’s no bother. And they’re free range, too. Belle at the co-op keeps a dozen chooks and sells the eggs on the sly.’ She laughed. ‘Karen Todd would go spare if she found out, I reckon.’
‘They’re lovely.’
‘I added a touch of Tabasco. Is that okay?’
‘Yeah, nice. Listen, I wanted to say … What you told me … About Salim buying up land. It seems you were right. It looks as if Salim, his brother and a few others have bought land clear up to Whitney.’
‘Shit.’
‘Any idea what they had in mind, Danny? I mean, that much land. They must be up to something.’
‘I don’t know. The Perth Ds have some far-fetched ideas. A load of twaddle if you ask me. I reckon they were looking at farming. Plain and simple. Maybe not just wheat, though. Maybe some other kind of crop. But I found out …’
‘What, Danny?’
‘Look, maybe I shouldn’t involve you guys any further.’
‘Bullshit, Danny. Spill.’
‘Yeah, spill.’
‘I found out … You know that flash new piggery of Henry Hogg’s? Well, as far as I can tell, it’s sitting on Salim Rashid’s land.’
‘Fuck me. You’re kidding.’
‘I kid you not.’
‘Have you said anything to Hogg?’
‘I tried to,’ said Arbor. ‘But he wouldn’t listen, would he?’
‘No, I guess he wouldn’t.’
‘And I’m following another line of inquiry, as well,’ Arbor continued. ‘The Blairs. It seems they might be involved with a crowd known as the National Purity League.’
‘Lovely,’ said Nathan. ‘That’s no surprise.’
‘Have you heard of them?’
‘No, I’m glad to say I haven’t. But I get the gist.’
‘Mandy?’
‘Can’t say I have.’
Arbor pushed his plate away.
‘Thanks, Mandy. That was beaut.’
‘Ready for a beer?’
‘The beers are for you guys. I’ll have a cider.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Hey, Danny,’ said Mandy. ‘Have you any idea when the newsagent’s opening again?’
‘No idea,’ said Arbor. ‘But it might be a while. Why’s that?
‘Because I’m having a bugger of a time getting my Lotto tickets. I had to drive to Ashby today and it looks as if it’ll be the same for the big one Tuesday night.’
‘Uh-huh. And how much will you be spending on it?’
‘I don’t know. A couple of hundred?’
‘Shit.’
‘I
t works out fair,’ said Mandy. ‘Nathan has his grog. I have my Lotto.’
Nathan laughed.
‘Yeah, but at least I get something out of it,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘A good time.’
‘A sore head, more like it.’
‘I’m telling you, Danny,’ said Nathan. ‘She’s been pouring money into Lotto since we got married. And she’s hardly won a thing.’
‘Never say never,’ said Mandy. ‘So, what do you say, Danny. Do you fancy coming in on it? Going shares in a few tickets? Say, fifty bucks?’
Arbor thought slowly.
‘Nah, I don’t think so, Mandy,’ he said. ‘I’ve never had much luck with that sort of thing. But thanks, anyway.’
‘Please yourself. But I’ve got a feeling my luck’s about to change.’
Nathan laughed again.
‘And you,’ said Mandy to her husband. ‘You can clear off if you think you’re getting a look at my winnings.’
He had had six, but it felt like he had had a dozen. It was barely twenty metres from the Webbs’ door to his own, but he could hardly keep a straight line. He could sense Nathan and Mandy watching him from the doorway, still very much sober. Had he drunk that much more than them? He wasn’t sure. It was more, he felt, that some floodgate inside him had opened. He fumbled with his keys, finally getting the door open, and then stumbled down the hallway.
His bed was an old iron frame job, a single, the bed he had grown up with and brought up with him from Mandurah when he had moved. It was at least ten centimetres too short for him now and it left his feet perpetually dangling in air, but it was his bed. Until the time came when he needed a wider, bigger bed, into which he might invite a regular partner, this was where he belonged.
He fell, clothes on, and closed his eyes. But he wasn’t tired. He had too much on his mind. Too many unanswered questions. He didn’t want to think about them, though. He wanted Jenny. In spirit, at least. He took out his phone. It was barely ten o’clock. He had thought it was later. He hesitated for a moment and then called.
‘Hi, Danny.’
‘Hi. How’s it going?’
‘Fine. Amira’s just watching telly. You?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. I just got back from Nathan’s place. We had a few drinks.’
‘Yeah, I thought so. You sound like you’ve been drinking.’
‘Do I? Sorry.’
‘No. It’s cool. So, what was it you wanted?’
Just to hear your voice, he thought. But he couldn’t tell her that.
‘No, nothing. Are we still on for tomorrow?’
‘Yeah. We sorted that.’
‘Yeah, so we did.’
‘Good night, Danny.’
‘Yeah, good night.’
He hung up, held the phone momentarily like a guiding light. Then he placed it on the bedside table, rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again. He would dream about her, he decided. It was either that or dream about the dead.
SUNDAY
‘So which one are you?’
The tone was caustic and mean.
‘What’s that, Sarge?’
‘Which one are you? The Lone Ranger or Tonto? We’ve hardly seen you in two days.’
‘Yeah. It’s the Rashid girl, Sarge. I’m still looking. But I reckon I’m pretty close to finding her.’
‘Yeah, well. You’d better be close. I’ll give you until Monday, then we’re moving on. We’ve got better things to do. She could be in bloody Pakistan, for all we know. If what the Ds have turned up is anything to go by, there’s a whole lot of malarkey going on.’
‘Where are they?’
‘I’ve no idea. They could still be asleep, for all I know. Either that or in the pub. While you’ve been gone, they’ve been using the lounge bar as an office. Drinking and working at the same time. Not on, I reckon.’
‘Do you mind if I skip the filing, Sarge? I need to use the PC. There’s a couple of things I need to look at.’
O’Reilly hesitated.
‘Yeah, if you must,’ he said. ‘I guess you can twist my arm. If you need me, I’ll be watching the cricket. I don’t know why, though. We’re on a hiding to nothing.’
‘Maybe we need some more sandpaper,’ said Arbor.
‘Yeah, maybe we do.’
O’Reilly switched on the television, sat back and relaxed.
‘I’ll be good and glad when those Ds have gone,’ he said. ‘They’re making the place untidy.’
Arbor tried a search again, this time focusing specifically on the National Purity League. The hits were few, but one, in particular, drew his attention. It was a member’s blog about their 2018 Annual Roundup, held back in August. There were lots of words, to Arbor inciting and hateful. He skimmed through them, focusing instead on the dozen or so photographs. There were the usual bonfires, banners, flags and effigy burnings, but also, Arbor paid close attention, a few crowd shots. He zoomed in, looking for familiar faces.
‘So, Sarge?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The detectives. Burke and Cole. You say they’ve got it all worked out.’
‘From what they’ve told me, they have. Pakistani mafia, they reckon. Why’s that?’
‘I dunno. It’s just, I’ve learned a few things myself. Things I reckon they should know.’
‘Well, you can tell them until you’re blue in the face. But I’m not sure they’ll listen. I’m pretty certain they reckon they’ve got it all wrapped up. As far as I know, anyway.’
‘Do you mind …?’ said Arbor
‘Do I mind what?’
‘Do you mind if I go see them? And have a few words?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Go for it. Do what you like … Here, bring us back a dozen, will you? VBs.’
He passed Arbor a fifty.
‘Buy yourself something if there’s anything left,’ he said. ‘I think you need to relax.’
Arbor left the PC as it was, the zoom nice and tight on a laughing Gertie Blair.
The hotel wasn’t officially open. It was only nine-thirty. But Rusty Piper would serve anyone at any hour if it meant a dollar. And if the law, meaning Burke and Cole, were willing to turn a blind eye, even participate in the misdemeanour, then so much the better.
Burke and Cole had the lounge to themselves. Burke was on the lager, Cole the stout. Not bad for nine-thirty, thought Arbor. And they had sweet-talked Piper into breakfast. Steak, eggs and chips.
‘Join us, Constable,’ said Burke. ‘I’m sure the publican can rustle up some grub for you.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Arbor. Although he was hungry, he didn’t fancy an extended visit. But he joined them nonetheless.
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ he said. ‘This Rashid thing. The murder. I think you’ve got it wrong.’
The detectives laughed.
‘Is that right, Constable?’ said Burke. ‘And how’s that, then?’
‘I couldn’t help myself,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ve been checking out the Blairs. Next door to Jenny Martin. I reckon they’re members of the NPL.’
‘The what? Who are the NPL when they’re at home?’
‘The National Purity League.’
‘Yeah, okay,’ said Burke. ‘We’re listening … I guess. But be quick.’
‘The NPL,’ Arbor continued. ‘They’re white nationalists. They started out in Queensland. Now they’ve got a fair-sized following here. And as far as I can tell, they are operating from inside the ARU.’
‘Inside the what? Christ, Constable. Make some bloody sense.’
‘The Australian Rural Union,’ said Arbor.
‘Hell, you’ve got a right conspiracy going on here, haven’t you?’ said Burke. ‘And how did you make the link? Between the Blairs and this Purity League mob?’
Arbor could see the hole in his logic before he drove through it.
‘I saw a sticker for the ARU on their vehicle,’ he said.
Burke laughed again.
&
nbsp; ‘And what? That’s it?’ she said. ‘What else have you got?’
‘I found a photo, too,’ said Arbor. ‘Of Gertie Blair. The daughter. At an NPL do.’
He could feel the detectives’ loss of interest and his own growing desperation.
‘But if it’s not them, there might be another possibility,’ he said.
‘Uh-huh? And what’s that, then?’
‘It’s Henry Hogg,’ said Arbor. ‘He lives out Whitney way. He runs a piggery. I checked out all that land that Salim Rashid and his mates have been buying and it turns out that Hogg has been building on some of it. I reckon if Salim had known about it, then there would have been sparks, for sure.’
‘What is this, Constable?’ said Burke. ‘Old MacDonald’s farm? So who is it? The Blairs or this Hogg character? Or do we round up the whole lot of them? Or maybe the whole fucking town? And on what basis? Membership of some poxy little social club or what might easily be a typo on a fucking map? Go away.’
Arbor thought for a moment. He felt the strongest compulsion to tell them about Amira, about how she was safe and well and with Jenny Martin. But then he remembered Burke’s barb: ‘We’ve got first dibs.’ No. To hell with you, he thought.
‘I reckon I’m close,’ he said in the end. ‘I don’t think it has anything to do with his Pakistan connections. I reckon it’s closer to home.’
‘That’s what seven weeks of policing tells you, does it?’ said Cole. ‘Look, Clear off. Come back when you’ve got something solid. And you’ve only got until tomorrow morning. After that, the book’s closed and you won’t see us for dust. You got me?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got you,’ said Arbor.
‘Good. Now, if you’re not joining us for a meal, piss off and leave us in peace. My chips are getting cold.’
‘Yeah, all right.’
He left them to it and approached the bar for O’Reilly’s beers. Typical, he thought. It cost him another ten from his own pocket. Beer in hand, he stepped out into the sunshine. He took out his phone. That now familiar voice.
‘Hi, Danny.’
‘Hi, Jenny. Listen, I’ve really had it here. I’ve a fair idea what’s going on, and I tried explaining it to the Ds, but they won’t listen. I might as well bang my head on the wall.’
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