The Burning

The Burning By Jackie Tritt

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Cover Art © 2006 Michael Leadingham Edited by Betty Dobson Copyright © 1998, 2006 Jackie Tritt. All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder. ISBN 0-9782157-2-9 Published by Intellectus Enterprises www.intellectusenterprises.com

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Table of Contents Prologue ........................................................................................................................ 2 Chapter One ................................................................................................................ 3 Chapter Two..............................................................................................................13 Chapter Three ...........................................................................................................22 Chapter Four..............................................................................................................32 Chapter Six.................................................................................................................51 Chapter Seven............................................................................................................60 Chapter Eight ............................................................................................................70 Chapter Nine .............................................................................................................80 Chapter Ten...............................................................................................................89 Chapter Eleven ....................................................................................................... 101 Chapter Twelve...................................................................................................... 111 Chapter Thirteen................................................................................................... 122 Chapter Fourteen................................................................................................... 133 Chapter Fifteen ...................................................................................................... 145 Biography of Author ............................................................................................. 154

The Burning

Prologue The flames were all-consuming. They licked the weatherboard walls of Peter Halliday’s shed and nibbled at the timber lining boards stacked in the rafters. They blackened and eroded the kiln-dried hardwood studs that formed the skeleton of the walls. They lapped at the pools of oil on the concrete floor. They went up with a whoosh as they met the flammable fuel that spilled from upturned petrol cans. They melted the soles of the man’s boots and ran along his petrol-soaked jeans and green-and-cream-checked shirt. They blistered his freckled skin and fed on his fat and sizzled in his red, springy hair. They burned the ends of the clump of black straight hair that was gripped tightly in his fist. Their smoke filled his lungs and starved his blood of oxygen. The flames did not die until all the fuel was spent. Until the wood and the oil and the fat had vaporized. Until the walls had collapsed and the iron roof had clattered to the floor and buried the charred carcass. Then they died.

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Jackie Tritt

Chapter One Alan Foster felt uneasy. The heat made his collar prickle. He removed his tie and undid the top button, but it didn’t help. The wind blew hot and strong from the north, rattling the police station door. Constable Lee sat opposite, neat, cool, and efficient. She made him feel big and clumsy—which he knew he was. He tilted his chair away from his desk and stretched his arms, revealing sweaty, dark patches in his shirt. “Hot enough to boil a monkey’s bum,” he said. Jade Lee giggled. “I supposed you’re used to it, where you come from.” he said. “The heat, I mean.” “Oh yeah. I come from Melbourne. Didn’t I tell you that? I did tell you,” she said. “I was born in Clayton. Very exotic.” “Sorry—I must’ve forgotten. How come you look so cool, then, and I’m sweating like a pig? Whoops, pig! Get it? Can I get you a cuppa, then?” Foster was on dangerous ground. He’d been sent a constable who was not only a woman but also of Asian descent, even if she had been born in Clayton. They might be used to this sort of stuff in the city cop shops, but it was a new concept in Pelican East. He felt vaguely uncomfortable about the whole deal. He couldn’t wait for Vandenberg to get back from his summer break. “I’ll get it,” she said. “No, you stay where you are. Now—how do you take it?” He could cope with tea making. Start on familiar ground, Al old boy. The ceiling fan made a pathetic job of stirring warm air from one place to another. He opened the window over the sink and was smacked in the face by a blast of even hotter air. “Must be at least forty out there,” he muttered. The phone rang, and Lee answered it. “Hello, Pelican East Police Station. Constable Lee speaking. Oh, yes. Right. Mmm…okay, I’ll tell him. He won’t be pleased.” So she knows me well enough, does she, to know if I would or wouldn’t be pleased? -3-

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She stood in the doorway, smiling. “That was Constable Vandenberg, sir. Ringing from Northern Queensland. He’s been cut off by floods. No idea how long he’ll be delayed. Looks like you’ll have to put up with me for a bit longer.” She was right. He wasn’t pleased. Still, he’d have to make the best of it. He jiggled teabags halfheartedly in two cracked mugs with insides that looked like old varnish tins. They hadn’t bothered him before, but maybe the station could run to some new ones—in the interests of health and hygiene. He’d never understood why hot tea on a really hot day made him feel better than cold drinks, but it always worked and today was no exception. He lowered his bulk into his chair and pushed Lee’s tea across the desk to her. He’d been feeling vaguely uneasy all day, and now he remembered why. “How old are you?” he said, “If you don’t mind me asking.” She looked surprised at the question. “Twenty-three. Why?” “You look younger. I thought you’d be younger, just graduated and all.” “I went to uni first. I’ve got a degree in psych. It’s all in my file. Didn’t you read it?” He mumbled some excuse then drew breath. “I was hoping you could help me, because you’re young. And if you know something about psychology then that’s even better.” He looked at her sharply to see if she was listening. She smiled. “You see—we’ve been having a helluva lot of trouble recently with our youngest, Melanie. The other kids all went through adolescence without much more than pimples and the odd fit of the sulks. But Mel, I don’t know—she’s just beyond us. Whoops.” A dribble of tea settled next to the gravy from his lunchtime pie, where his belly distended his shirt. He rubbed at the spots with a tissue. “So, what’s she been up to, then?” “Since she turned sixteen, she seems to think she can do anything she likes, never mind what we think. She does things just to annoy us.” “That’s fairly normal for a teenager, isn’t it?” “Yeah, I s’pose. To some extent. But she’s taking it too far. Now she’s seeing this petty crim from Dandenong, Gary Spillane. I mean, a policeman’s daughter! I just feel like we’ve lost control. We had a big blow-up this -4-

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morning. I was as close as I’ve ever been to hitting her.” He concentrated on the stains on his belly. “Why was that?” “Oh, she was prancing round the house cleaning her teeth. That riled me to start off with. Mouth full of white goop, splashing everywhere. Said she was going to spend next weekend with Gary at some music festival over the other side of Melbourne, camping. Of course I said oh no, she wasn’t. ‘How’re ya gonna stop me?’ she says. ‘Lock me in my room? Handcuff me to the bed? Put me in the lock-up?’ Me and Dot, we’re just at our wit’s ends. Don’t know what to do with her. We even think she’s been climbing out of the bedroom window at night to meet him. It’s bloody dangerous, apart from anything else.” He looked as miserable as he felt. The door alarm beeped as a client came through to the watch house counter. Foster partly welcomed the interruption, but wondered what new trouble he would have to cope with. “I’ll go, sir. You finish your tea.” She can’t get away fast enough, he thought. I shouldn’t burden her with my problems. She’s only a kid herself. She was back in less than a minute. “It’s a Mrs. Montague, sir. Something about missing horses, but she won’t speak to me. It’s got to be you, she says.” “Why?” She grimaced. “Could be something to do with my age, race, or sex. Or the fact that I’m a stranger,” she said. “Take your pick.” He grunted and moved through to the front office, whose long wooden bench separated him from the public. The walls were decorated with flyspattered Wanted pictures of villains, Missing Persons details, and a few recruitment posters. “Yes, Mrs. Montague. How can I help you?” She was a skinny woman, probably in her late forties. Hide tanned and leathery, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, open-necked white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Tight black jodhpurs and calf length boots made her thin legs look as if she’d borrowed them from a spider. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to talk to a … you know.” She jerked her head in the direction of the door. -5-

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“No, I don’t know. Constable Lee is perfectly able to help you. Anyway, what’s the problem?” She had an upper crust drawl and looked down her nose at him as if he’d just farted. Which he was pretty sure he hadn’t done. He’d been trying to control that aspect of his physiology since the young woman had joined his staff. “Two of my fillies have gone missing. Damned expensive they are, too.” He choked down a smart reply about whether she meant her daughters. “Have you checked your gates and fences? Could they have got out by themselves, madam?” “Yes, I have and no, they certainly could not. They’ve been stolen. No doubt about it.” “Right. Well, we’ll have to fill in a Crime Report then. What’s your address, please, and when would you say they went missing, Mrs. Montague?’ He pulled out a green form and painstakingly extracted each necessary piece of information from her and entered it in a neat italic script. “Answers to the name of Paint, does he?” “She. I told you they’re both fillies. Paint is a piebald. Princess is black, with a white blaze on her forehead.” “And what time did you notice their disappearance?” “First thing this morning. They weren’t there for their morning feed. We’ve had to supplement their feed for two months now, with this drought. I got the stable girls to have a good look for them, but they’re definitely not on the property.” “How much would you say they were worth, then?” “About two and a half thousand each.” “That much?” He glanced over the form, nodded, and looked up at Mrs. Montague. “That’ll do for now. We’ll let you know if we hear anything.” “But what are you going to do about it?” He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d tacked a “my man” onto the end of the question. “I’ll circulate their descriptions to all stations, madam. And I’ll keep my ear to the ground.” She huffed and abruptly turned on her heels and left, crashing the flywire door behind her and activating the alarm again. -6-

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He returned to the office and slid the form under a pile of documents on his desk. “It’s hard to feel like helping some of these people,” he said. “She looked at me like I’m something that dropped out of the rear end of her horse.” Lee giggled. He ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “Not getting any cooler, is it?” The door banged again, and the alarm sang out. “’Allo, ’allo, ’allo. Anybody home?” “Sounds like Ricky Martello. Local comedian. See what he wants, would you?” Lee returned almost immediately. “Says he needs to speak to you, sir.” She leaned on the doorway and watched Foster sigh as he approached the front desk. Martello was wearing overalls with the buttons undone to his waist. Black chest hair curled through the gap. “Yes, Rick. What can I do for you?” “No, mate.” He raised his bushy black eyebrows and opened his eyes and his mouth like a magician after his best trick. “It’s a case of what c’n I do fer you.” He heaved a box of apples onto the desk. “First pickings of the season. Mum knows you like the new season’s crop. These are very early because of the heat. Abbas, they are. Nice and crispy.” “Thanks. What do I owe you, mate?” “No, nothing. Look on it as a gift from the Martellos to the local constabulary.” “Can’t do that, son. Come on. How much?” “Okay, then, but the old lady’ll kill me. Ten bucks the lot. What about you, darling? What can I interest you in?” Lee shook her head. “I live by myself, thanks. I’d never get through a whole boxful.” “Lovely girl like you living by yourself? Let me know if you want any company, eh? Hot enough for you, is it? Well, I’ll love you and leave you if I can’t interest you in anything else.” As he left and jumped into his white ute, she laughed. “What a sleaze.” -7-

The Burning

“The only good that comes out of that family is their apples,” Foster said. “Have one. You’ll find they don’t have those pesky little stickers on them. Hate them. Once they’re off the apple, you can’t get rid of them. They just keep on turning up again.” He threw an apple to Lee and shambled over to the window that looked out over High Street. As he crunched into the crispness, he thought yet again what a stupid name it was. High Street for him conjured visions of shops, bustling pedestrians, and busy traffic. This High Street ran perpendicular to the main road, through scrubby bush, with a few houses hidden from the road and the Pelican East Golf Club fronting it a kilometer or so up the road. Too hot for golf today. There was so much traffic, a gray bitser lay stretched out in the middle of the road, having a quiet snooze in the shade. Looked like she’d been there for a while, too. As he watched, he noticed the sky change color. It went that particular sickly yellow you don’t see very often, and he’d rather not see now. The wind suddenly gusted strongly from the north, picking up wrappers from the bins outside the shops in the main road and stacking them against fence posts, tree trunks, and chain link fences. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not again.” “What’s the matter, sir?” Jade joined him at the window. “See that? That color in the sky? Bushfire. Perfect day for it, too. Let’s go out the front and get a better view of what’s going on.” From the front door, they looked across Pelican East Road, past the little weatherboard church, to the steep, heavily forested hills beyond. A huge column of smoke billowed gray in the far distance, screening the sun and turning it into a softly glowing red disc. The wind slapped hot in their faces. “North westerly,” he said. “Just what we didn’t need.” “Will it come this way? The fire?” “Depends on the wind. If it stays in this direction, with the air so hot and dry, then I’d say there’s a good chance. Ever been in a bushfire?” She shook her head. “City girl, me.” The siren started wailing at the fire station up on the corner of School Road. “Always turns my stomach, that sound,” Foster said. “Nothing good ever comes out of it. Fires, road accidents. Always something horrible.” -8-

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As they watched, he saw Bob Carpenter run out of the newsagents, yelling something over his shoulder to someone inside. Ted Bailey ran from the hardware store. Phil McIntosh’s scarlet ute screamed round the corner from his orchard on Two Hat Road. They and a dozen others rushed into the red brick fire station. A woman hurried across the road from the white weatherboard cottage opposite. Her straight gray hair hugged her face. Her cotton dress hung limply over her thin frame. “What do you think, Senior Constable?” she said in a thin, high, English voice. “Do you think we are in for a bad one?” “Could be, Miss Gaye. Any sign of trouble and you get yourself up to the fire refuge area in behind the rec, quick smart. Just see us if you need any help.” “Thank you. I might put my computer and manuscripts in the car. Just in case. I had young Peter Halliday in only this morning, upgrading it. I’d hate to lose it after all that. Although maybe disconnecting it …” She hurried back to her home, continuing her conversation with herself. “What’s an old lady like that doing with a computer?” Lee asked. “She’s our resident author. Our own Agatha Christie. A bit eccentric, but she’s a nice lady.” A fire truck and a tanker moved out of the fire station, laden with men still pulling on their yellow boiler suits and helmets. Not all men. Lee asked Foster about the woman driving the tanker. “Young Carrie Hamilton, from the Riding Academy. She’s got a good, cool head on her.” They watched as the trucks headed north, away from the police station. “What do you think, boss? What should we be doing?” “I’ll ring HQ to find out what the big picture is. Our job is to sit tight until we get word that it’s coming this way. Then it will be ‘all systems go.’ We’ll need to evacuate the kinder, the schools, the nursing home, set up road blocks—“ “What? Just us?” “No, love.” He saw her flinch at the term. Better be careful, you silly old sod, or she’ll go you for sexual harassment. “They’ll send reinforcements if it looks like things are getting bad.” -9-

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The phone started to ring, and Foster ran inside to grab it. He snatched at a pencil and took hurried notes. He slammed the receiver down and called Lee over. “Okay, this is the picture. There are five separate outbreaks in the Mount Misery State Forest. Looks like they could have been lit by a firebug—it’s a bit too coincidental, five outbreaks in the same area.” They walked over to the big map on the wall, and he pointed the details out to her. “See, there’s this very big area of bush northwest of us, and the main reservoir, surrounded by bush, over to the east. That’s a lot of fuel. The wind’s a northwesterly, so unless they can cut the front off at Bogs Road or the front changes direction, then there’s a good chance we’ll cop it. Even if it’s spot fires, we’ll be in for a bad time.” “Not here, though, in the town itself?” “Well, we call it a town, but look around you.” He led her to the window. “We’re completely surrounded by bush. Most of the houses are in overgrown bush gardens. The greenies have been such a big influence round here—they lobbied the council to bar people from cutting down trees on their own properties, unless they can get a permit. Which is okay to a point but bloody stupid when it comes to fire control.” She’s probably a greenie, he thought. Uni education, grew up in the city, she’s bound to be a greenie, and I’ve probably insulted her. Oh well. “So what was reasonably safe a few years ago is heavy with fuel, and there are a lot more houses scattered through the trees now. One good thing, though, is that we’ve had town water connected, pumped from the reservoir. Before that, you had to rely on your tanks and dams for your water. If it had been a dry season and storages were low, then you didn’t have much to fight fires with. Of course, the outlying areas still depend on their own water supplies.” “Have there been many fires here, in your time?” “A few close shaves. We lost a bit of bush, a couple of sheds, in the past. But no houses or lives, thank God. Not round here, anyway.” “But you think it’s more dangerous now? That we could lose people?” “I’m just saying it’s possible. I don’t know. But, yes, it’s been bothering me for a while, the way things have been developing here. Once a fire gets going, it races up steep hills like these. And the wind can carry burning leaves - 10 -

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well ahead of the main front to start new fires in the dry vegetation. We’ve just been lucky we’ve had wet summers for the past few years.” Jade smiled. “Funny to think of wet summers being lucky. We always think they’re miserable in town. Specially when we’re on holiday.” The phone rang again. “You can answer it this time, Constable. If people are worried, tell them to go to the Fire Refuge behind the community hall. I’m going to listen in to the brigade’s radio operators—see if we can’t get a clearer picture of what’s going on.” He listened intently, the crackling voices and bursts of static hard to decipher at first until his ears became tuned in properly. The phone rang constantly; Lee became adept at calming the callers and giving them some useful information. All the same, he wished Vandenberg was there. He was country born and bred and used to this sort of emergency. Foster had the feeling that Lee would be more encumbrance than help if push came to shove. Still, he had to make do with what he had. If the situation did get really bad, he was sure to get reinforcements. The voices on the radio were suddenly agitated. The fire had jumped the main road through the forest where firefighters had been trying to hold it. They were going to head northeast and come round to attack it from the next parallel road. He looked at his watch. 2:30 now. Must be about half an hour since the siren went off. He rang the weather bureau. There was no change expected for several hours: 41° C and strong gusty northwesterlies. It was not looking good. The fire was still twenty kilometers away and moving at a steady five kilometers an hour. Unless the situation changed, they had until about six o’clock to have everyone safely evacuated. By then, of course, the kids would all be home from kinder or school. Most commuters would have heard the news and would soon be on their way home and trying to enter the area. Best to get started now. “Right, Constable Lee. I’m regarding this as an emergency. We’ll leave a message on the phone telling people where to go, and we’ll evacuate the kinder and the schools before school gets out and we have hundreds of kids scattered through the bush.” - 11 -

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Lee took a big breath. “Right, sir. You just tell me what to do.”

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Chapter Two The police car was cooking nicely when they got in. Steering wheel, seats, dashboard, all were too hot to touch until the air conditioner had been blasting on full for a few minutes. An apple, the remainder of one of Foster’s snacks, was oozing juice through its crinkly baked skin onto the back seat. A pen on the floor had curved into a banana shape. Even the stifling air of the police station seemed cool by comparison. The School Road kindergarten was not far, just round the corner from the fire station and within sight of the siren on its tall steel pylon. For years, each generation of kids had planted trees and watched them grow. Now the kinder sat shaded by tall gums. Koalas were often seen snoozing propped in the forks of the trees, to the delight of the children. Foster’s five children had all come here and all had the same teacher, Merle Cameron. Many were the concerts or Christmas nativity plays he’d attended here, with Merle conducting and prompting and playing the piano. Kids were nice at this age, he thought. Still able to look at the world around them in wonder. Not yet quoting their rights. Still malleable. “Leave your gun in the car,” he said. Lee looked at him with a question in her eyes. “It’s a kindergarten, for God’s sake. No place for a gun.” They slipped the guns out of their holsters, stacked them in the glove box, and locked the car. They unlatched the safety catch on the front gate, walked down the path between small climbing frames and tires on ropes, and stepped over wooden trucks filled with blocks. Inside, the building was light and airy, a large room divided into sections by movable shelves, bearing blocks, or books. Brightly colored pictures were blu-tacked onto the walls. Mobiles hung from the ceiling. Wildly daubed paintings, smelling faintly of flour, hung on wooden drying racks. The children were all sitting on a large mat in one corner, in front of Merle. Yes, the old girl was still at it. She was perched on a pint-sized chair reading a story to them, holding the book so they could see the pictures. She acknowledged the presence of the police with her eyes and continued to read until she reached a natural break in the story. - 13 -

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“We’ll have the rest of the story tomorrow, children. Now, if you go to see Mrs. Hicks in the kitchen, she’ll give you a nice cool drink while I speak to Mr. Foster.” They all turned round to stare at the intruders then scuttled off to the kitchen in their bridal outfits, painting smocks and firemen’s hats. One, wrapped in a scarlet cloak, tugged at his teacher’s skirt. “Why is the police here, Mrs. Cameron? Has you been naughty?” “You go and have a drink, Charlie, while I find out.” She shepherded him away from her. “How can I help you, Al? Is it the fires? Do you think they’ll come this way?” “We’re just taking precautions while there’s plenty of time. There’s every chance it’ll hit the village, so we ought to move the kids to the fire refuge before they get picked up by their mums and scattered all over the countryside. We’ll help you walk them down.” She accepted his news calmly and clapped her hands to get the attention of her little charges. “Finish your drinks, children, and come here, please. Quietly. Now, I want you all to put your hats on, and we’ll go for a little walk to the rec reserve. In twos, now, and all holding your partner’s hand. Have we got everybody? Could you check the toilets, please, Mrs. Hicks? Thanks. Okay, off we go, and no running, because it’s very hot.” “Can I take my painting, Mrs. Cameron?” The other children all chimed in with “And me, Mrs. Cameron. Can I take my painting?” “No, love. Leave the paintings here, and they’ll be nice and dry by tomorrow.” The little procession was ushered the few hundred meters to the refuge, where they sat in the shade of the hall verandah, and Merle Cameron started them singing a song about a mother duck and her babies. “One down,” Foster said. “Now the primary school. This will be a bit harder because there are a lot more kids, plus they’ve got to the argumentative stage. We’ll see Steve Svenson, the principal, first. Actually, the kids should be used to fire drill, so if they’re well trained, it should swing into operation quite smoothly.” - 14 -

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“No guns?” “No guns.” The locker-lined corridor smelled of sweaty bodies, stale socks, and decaying sandwiches and fruit. Paintings stuck to the windows allowed only fragmented views of the classrooms as the two officers approached the office. Mrs. Bailey, school secretary, advanced on them. “What is it? Has there been an accident? Has something been stolen? Oh dear.” “Nothing to worry about, love. Just calm down. Now, can we see Mr. Svenson, please?” “I’ll see if he’s available.” They waited as she nervously knocked on the door marked Principal and popped her head round. “You can go in,” she said, hanging behind them. Foster shut the door and went through the process of explanation again. Time was getting on. They had to get to St. Peters Catholic Primary before 3:30. The principal was young for the job, probably only in his early thirties. He started an emergency bell and put a message over the PA asking for calm and for the fire drill to be put into practice. Immediately came the sounds of windows being slammed shut, excited chatter, and the scraping of chairs as the children followed the exit procedures. “Should we help the preps?” Lee said. “Good idea. End of the corridor, on your right.” They reached the room as a young woman ushered the small children out of the door. “Hallo. Mrs. Halliday, isn’t it?” Foster prided himself on being able to put a name to most of the people who worked or lived in the area. She nodded. “I’m Judy. Is this just an exercise, or are you worried about bush fires?” She was a soft woman. Softly spoken, soft fair hair that fell over her face, soft butter muslin blouse with long sleeves. “We’re evacuating as a precautionary measure. Thought you might need some help with the preps.” She nodded again.

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“Yes. Well, of course, they haven’t been here long enough to know the fire drill. Our route is through the back door to the playing field. Wayne, please try and be sensible. Come and stand next to me.” “This way, kids. Follow me. I’m Policeman Foster. Lee, just check there’s no one hiding under a table, please.” She went in and had a good look round. “No problems, sir.” He laughed. “I hope you’re right, Constable. I hope you’re right.” As they escorted the children across the browned grass area, a large dark haired man in overalls strode across to the young teacher and grabbed her arm. He talked urgently, bending over her. He lifted her hair off her face, but she shook it back again. The wind was too loud to let Foster and Lee hear the conversation. Foster joined Judy and the stranger. “Everything all right?” The woman nodded. The man turned on his heels without acknowledging the policeman and loped out to the roadway. Judy Halliday hurried ahead to catch up with her class. “Is that her husband?” Lee asked. “No, her husband’s quite thin, with reddish hair. I think this one might be the bloke they’ve hired to clear up their property.” “It’s just that there was something proprietary about the way he was speaking to her.” “Look, love, I’m just a country policeman. Nothing more than two syllables, please.” Mr. Svenson came out with a megaphone and directed staff and children to the refuge area. “He seems to have everything under control. Now for the micks,” Foster said. Lee raised her eyebrows then cottoned on. “The Catholic school, you mean?” “Yep. It’s a couple of kilometers down the road. Not sure how we’ll approach this one. It’d kill the kids to walk this far in this heat. Kill me, too.” They returned to the car and its hot blast. The sky was darkening, though it was nowhere near evening time. There was a strong smell of wood smoke hanging in the air, and the thick smoke column still billowed ominously. - 16 -

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St. Peters was a small red brick building with portable classrooms tacked on the back. Like the state school and the kindergarten, the grounds were shaded by tall trees. Great for most summer days, but a terrible fire hazard on a day like today. As they drew in to the parking area, a fifty-five-seater bus pulled in behind them. Foster grinned. “God’s smiling on the Catholics today, eh?” “Why’s that, sir?” “That’s a bus, Constable Lee. With any luck we’ll be able to fit the whole school population on it and they’ll be down at the rec in ten minutes. I’ll hold the driver while you do the usual routine with the principal. Sean O’Hara’s his name.” He ambled over to speak to the driver and stop the children who were beginning to dismount. He leaned in through the open door. The driver frowned. “Anything wrong? I only had the bus serviced earlier this week, and she’s registered ’til June.” “No mate. Nothing like that. I just wondered if you’d have time to help evacuate these kids to the Fire Refuge—round the corner behind the hall.” The driver stared in the direction of the smoke. “You evacuating already? It looks a long way off, still.” “Yeah, well, better safe than sorry. So, what do you think? Can you help us?” “If they’re quick. I’ve got to get down to the highway for my high school run by 3:45.” “Looks like it’s under control already.” Children were starting to file out the front door, herded by teachers, including a couple of nuns. Jade Lee and O’Hara brought up the rear. Foster hurried to meet them. “The driver will take them if they don’t hold him up. How many are we looking at?” “Eighty-five all up. They won’t all fit on one bus. I’ll run round and get the twenty-two-seater out of the shed. Can you count off twenty-two and keep them back for me?” In less than ten minutes, the rolls were ticked off and the two buses were heading up the road towards the refuge. “It’s going to be fun up there, trying to keep control of all those kids in the one spot,” Lee said. - 17 -

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“They’ll manage. It’s what they’re paid for. Anyway, parents should start turning up soon. They’ll help.” “What now, then?” “This will be fun. The nursing home. There’s not that many of them, but if they’re there, it’s because they’re immobile or they’ve lost their marbles. Either way, it’s going to be difficult.” In the car, Foster switched the radio to the fire channel and concentrated on the babble of voices. “They can’t hold it. Units are coming in from all over Victoria, but they’ll need to be quick.” “How long before it hits us? Any idea?” “It’s still moving at five or six k an hour and heading in this direction. Could be a couple of hours yet, but they’re worried about spot fires ahead of the main front. We’d better get a move on.” They pulled in at The Briars nursing home, which was a long, low building adorned with trellises and roses that were looking distinctly tired after the many hours of hot northerly winds. Concrete ramps with thick iron handrails led to each external door. Like the kindergarten, the front gate and the door had safety catches. Lee frowned. “We used to have escapees all the time before they put these on,” Foster said. “Little old ladies in their nighties wandering in the bush or on the road. Doesn’t impress the relatives when they think auntie’s nicely tucked up in bed, only to be told she’s gone walkabout.” The corridor radiated the sweet bouquet of pine disinfectant, vomit, and cooked cabbage. Foster felt his lunch rising. The woman in reception wore a crisp white uniform. Foster didn’t know her name. He was slipping. “Afternoon, Miss, er—” “Sister Kellog. Yes?” She was curt and officious, barely looking up from her paperwork. “You’ll probably have noticed the approaching fires, Sister. I’d like to evacuate all your patients to the Fire Refuge as quickly as possible. Or to the Eastern Hospital, if you think that’s more appropriate.” She pursed her lips.

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“I’d have thought they’d be safer if they stayed where they are. Surely, in the event of fire, then the brigade would treat us as a high priority. It wouldn’t take much to save a building of this size, would you think?” “Trouble is, Sister, this looks like being a very big fire. The local units are already stretched to the limits, and it’s nowhere near the township yet. All the children are assembled at the refuge. It will be easier if everyone’s together.” “We have our own sprinkler systems in the building and plenty of hoses around the grounds. I think we’ll be safer here.” Lee spoke up. “How many staff do you have, Sister Kellog? Do you think you’ll be able to handle firefighting and frightened patients at the same time?” “If I had any doubts, I would take the appropriate precautions. At this stage, I see no reason to evacuate. I will reassess the situation as it develops. Thank you.” She shifted her attention back to her paperwork. “Goodbye.” “Well, Sister,” Foster added. “As you know, we aren’t in a position to force you to evacuate, but I’d feel happier in my own mind if you did. I’d like to make it clear that it’s your decision, your responsibility, and I hope you won’t live to regret it. We haven’t got time to argue.” He could feel his face redden. Stupid woman. He turned on his heel, followed closely by Lee. An old lady in a pale blue dressing gown and fluffy slippers approached with a vacuous smile. Her feet scuffed slowly along the polished vinyl tiles. “Hallo,” she said. “Nice day, isn’t it?” She plucked at Foster’s shirtsleeve and smiled into his face. “Have you come for afternoon tea?” “Lovely day, madam. Sorry, we haven’t got time for tea today. Perhaps another day?” “That would be lovely.” “Come on, Rose. Back to your bed, quickly now.” Sister Kellog grabbed the old lady’s arm and steered her forcefully down the corridor. “Nice place, eh?” Foster muttered on his way back to the car. “I wouldn’t want to end up in a place like this. Why did the old lady need to be in bed, sir? She didn’t look sick.”

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“Makes life easier for the staff. Sedate the oldies and keep them in bed, and you don’t have to worry about giving them an interest in life. Makes me sick.” “Can you imagine trying to move that lot out of there in a hurry? Isn’t there anything we could do to force the evacuation? Those poor old dears wouldn’t stand a chance.” “We’ll have to leave it at this stage. We’ll come back in a bit, if it looks like it’s getting serious.” Two fire trucks screamed up the road, followed by a tanker. “Looks like the reinforcements are starting to arrive.” Overhead, a helicopter flew in the direction of the pillar of smoke, which seemed to have grown in the few minutes they’d been in the nursing home. Or maybe it had moved closer. The chopper’s noise throbbed and echoed through the hills and valleys. “Not looking good, sir, is it?” “I’ve seen better.” He looked at his watch: 3:45. He stared at the smoke. “Right. I’m not going to take any chances. I reckon it’s time to evacuate private houses. Some of them will have started anyway, if they’ve got any sense. Now, I know the area, so I’ll go. It could get nasty in some of those winding dead end roads. You meet the kids from the high school when they get off the bus at the rotunda. Make sure they all get off, ’cause some of them get taken down little side roads, and we don’t want that. Send them up to the rec. I should think the Red Cross will be setting up by now, so there’ll be something for them to eat. That’s usually the most important thing on their minds when they get home from school.” “What about their parents, Senior? Won’t they worry when the kids don’t come home from school?” “I expect you’ll get a lot of phone calls. You can put a new message on the answering machine if you like, explaining what we’ve done. Yes, do that, Constable, will you? When police reinforcements come, set up an information desk at the rec and roadblocks above and below the town if it looks like it’s being threatened. Don’t worry. They’re bound to send someone senior to take charge. If they don’t then give them a bell. Any problems?” - 20 -

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Constable Lee took a deep breath. “Just let me get this straight, sir. Kids off school bus to go to the rec. New message on answering machine. Info desk at rec. Set up roadblocks. And to think I was upset at being sent to a boring bush station. Which way will you be going?” “I’ll start on the roads which are likely to be hit first and work my way down.” “Good luck.”

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Chapter Three Foster headed next door, first, to see how Dot was going. The police house kitchen was bustling with ladies in pinnies, wielding knives. Every available surface was covered with slices of bread, slices of cheese, slices of tomato. He found Dot, round and comfortable, by the sink. “Getting ready to feed the army, love?” “There are going to be a lot of hungry firefighters out there. And policemen, I dare say.” “Good on ya. There’s heaps of kids at the rec. We evacuated the schools and the kinder. They’ll be needing a feed, too, while you’re at it.” “Okay.” She nodded. “So, how are you coping, you and young Jade?” “She’s gonna be all right. Nice cool head. No panic. Yet. I popped in to tell you I’m going to start evacuating houses. Thought you ought to know, in case you missed me.” “Fat chance. You be careful, then.’ She stretched to kiss him on the cheek. “If the fires get close, Dot, don’t worry about the house. You just get yourself to the refuge. Promise?” “Don’t worry about me, Al. You’ve got enough on your mind. Here, I’ll give you a cold drink before you go.” She fetched icy cold homemade lemonade, from homegrown lemons. He gulped it gratefully. She poured some into a steel flask and filled some plastic bottles with water. “Here, you don’t want to dehydrate out there. Off you go, then.” That was what he liked about Dot. No fuss, no hysterics. Always practical in a crisis. Just what a cop needed. ### He started at The Grove Riding Academy. Mrs. Montague of the spidery legs and the rounded vowels rushed over to the car. “Have you found them?” “Sorry?” “My missing fillies. Have you come to tell me you’ve found them?” “Sorry, Mrs. Montague, I’ve a few other things on my mind at the moment, what with the fires and everything. But Constable Lee is - 22 -

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circulating their descriptions.” Forgive me, Lord, for this little white lie. “I came to check what you’ll do when the fires approach. Will you be evacuating the horses?” “I’ve got the girls bringing them in from the paddocks. I thought we’d put them all in the big shed. What do you think?” As she spoke, he could see several girls leading a horse in each hand towards the huge iron shed that housed the arena. He followed them through the wide entrance and kicked at the surface covering. “Sawdust? Could be a problem if it catches fire. You’ll never put it out.” “I’ll get the girls to dampen it down, shall I? We’ve got a diesel pump on the dam. There shouldn’t be any problem with water, even if the power goes off.” “Good thinking. Well, you seem to have it under control. Call for help if you need it. And don’t risk your lives for the horses.” Wrong thing to say. She glared at him as he swung out the gravel driveway. In his driving mirror, he could see her mouthing something. He was glad he couldn’t hear the words. He drove down the hill, turning right opposite the hall into the car park of Hardy’s Hotel. There were a few cars parked there, maybe the odd thirsty patron hanging around. He stepped into the dim, smoke-filled coolness. Ed Hardy, cadaverous and gloomy, polished glasses behind the bar. No one else was around. “How ya doin’, Ed? Saw the cars outside. Thought you might have a few drunks to move if the fires come.” “No, mate. They all ran down to the fire station when the siren went off. I didn’t know whether to close up and go myself or stay. You’ll need someone around here if the fire hits suddenly and all the blokes in the brigade are off fighting fires somewhere else. It happens, you know. Men off saving other people’s homes while their own burn down. This is not just my home, it’s my livelihood.” He was a depressing old bugger, Foster thought. “We only just saved this place when the pine plantation opposite went up in ’78. The insurance wouldn’t go near its replacement value, and as for lost income while the place was closed down—” “Sorry mate. Gotta run.” Foster backed out the door in a hurry, got in his car, and drove down Hardy Road. Like most of the roads round here, Hardy was a dead end track - 23 -

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leading to the Mount Misery State Forest. The road was unmade, steep and stony, winding between tall gums and tree ferns. Most of the houses sat well back from the road, approached by long driveways, hidden by foliage. The only people at home were women with small children or elderly couples. The younger men had already left to fight the fires or hadn’t yet got home from work. If you had to work in the city then Foster supposed this was a good place to come home to, but he wouldn’t fancy driving for a couple hours each day. Most of the people were already preparing to leave. Cars were piled high with suitcases and blankets, toys and photo albums. They looked like refugees from a war zone. “What do you think, officer?” the young woman asked. “I’ve hosed everything down. Should I leave now or a bit later? Will it come this way do you think?” She had a baby on her hip and a toddler in her skirts. The wind now carried burning leaves and bent mature trees almost to the ground. The air filled with smoke. On the wooded slopes that formed a backdrop to the scene, Foster could see individual trees burst into flames. As he watched, there was an explosion of flame very close, over to the west. Probably even as close as Halliday Road. He glanced at his watch: 4:30 p.m. The smoke that billowed from the nearby fire was black—the sort of smoke you get from tires or petrol—and well ahead of the main front. “You get yourselves straight down to the fire refuge,” he said. She looked blank. “The rec reserve, behind the hall. Know where I mean?” She nodded. He helped her strap her babies into their seats, waited while she ran inside to collect a soft bag bulging with belongings, and watched as she headed down the road. A little farther along, an elderly woman clung to her frail husband. “What should we do, do you think? I don’t drive, and Ted here gave up his license when his eyes started to go. I tried to ring my daughter, but the line seems to have gone dead.” Not good news. If the phone lines were already out, people would start to panic. It wasn’t quite so bad these days, with the number of mobiles around, but they were more likely to be in the hands of the young and the - 24 -

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commuters, not with the ones stuck at home. And if the phones were out, there was every chance that the power had gone, too. The pump on the storage tank that supplied mains water for the township was electrically operated. Once that tank was empty, there’d be no way to fill it up again. No way to fight the fires. The brigade had been applying for funding for years for a diesel pump for such an emergency, but governments move slowly. “You’d better get your valuables and hop in my car. I’ll drive you to the refuge. Are you packed and ready?” They nodded, but their progress was painfully slow as they shuffled into a back room and emerged clutching their worldly goods. “I’ve got one more place to check down here. Martello’s.” The orchards were well watered and green. This was probably as safe a place as any to stay, but he hammered at the door and yelled, “Is there anyone at home?” He waited impatiently for a minute or two then left. “One of the sons must have taken old Mrs. Martello,” he said to the pale couple clutching each other in the back of the car. The smoke made it difficult to see now. And the road was cluttered with slow moving vehicles, horse floats, and caravans. Two ancient Holdens had collided and formed an obstruction to the traffic flow. Their bumper bars had entangled, and the two women drivers were trying to disengage them. He jumped out to help. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault, officer. We just couldn’t see each other in the smoke.” “That’s all right. I came over to help not to book you. I’ve got a bit more weight than you two. Now, is your hand brake off?” The woman from the back car nodded. “Right, what we do, is we two sit on the bumper bar of the FJ and, as soon as I give the signal, you put her in reverse. Okay?” Within seconds they were freed, and the traffic moved off again. He dropped the old couple at the refuge, which was getting packed now. Goats, horses, sheep, and dogs with drooping pink tongues were tied beneath the trees around its perimeter. There were kids everywhere. The Red Cross and the Fire Auxiliary ladies had set up a food caravan. He could see Dot dispensing cups of tea from a steaming urn. Constable Lee sat at a table under the hall verandah. She still managed to look cool and neat. She had piled her hair on top of her head but had - 25 -

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obviously given up trying to keep her hat on. She had piles of paper in front of her, weighted with an assortment of rocks but flapping energetically in the wind. She was dealing with a queue of locals, patiently fielding their questions. She stopped when she saw him. “Ah, Senior Constable Foster.” She was cool enough to maintain the correct title in front of the public. “How’s it going?” “A word, Constable?” He took her to one side. “Everything under control? Have reinforcements arrived?” “Yes. Six officers from town came about twenty minutes ago. They’re setting up roadblocks. I’m making lists of everyone who’s here, so I can inform people when they make inquiries. I grabbed the kids off the bus, okay. But, sir—your wife’s really worried because Melanie didn’t get off with the others. She’s tried to ring round Melanie’s friends, but she’s really busy. Perhaps you could speak to her?” He felt his stomach somersault, and his mind started ticking off all the possibilities. Bloody kid, that was the last thing he needed just now. He found Dot behind the caravan, filling a large jug with water from an outside tap. “What’s the story, Dot? Lee said Mel didn’t show up after school.” “No—of all days. I rang Jen and Katy. She’s not at their places. The kids on the bus haven’t seen her since she arrived at school this morning. She could be anywhere, Al. And the fires coming so close. And the phones are out now.” “I reckon she’s run off with that young hooligan Spillane. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll follow it up if I get a moment to scratch myself. Gotta run, love. I’ll see you later.” He returned to Constable Lee’s desk, where she was being harassed by Ricky Martello. He yelled at her and thumped the table, jogging the rocks and the piles of paper. She merely blinked. “What’s the problem here?” “It’s my mum, officer. She’s on her own down at the orchard. She can’t drive. The phone lines are out. I want to know, has anybody been down there to get her out? Simple enough question.” “I’ve just been down your road and evacuated everyone. There was no one answering at your place. I assumed somebody had taken her out.” - 26 -

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“Well, where is she then? She’s not here. Where else could she be? She’s hard of hearing, you know. Maybe she didn’t hear you.” “I knocked loudly. I yelled. And I waited a while. I’m sure there was no one there.” “I hope you remember those words when they pull her body out. I’ve got plenty of witnesses.” He looked around for confirmation, and heads nodded in agreement. “You’ve probably got time to go and check, yourself, if you’re worried,” Foster said. “It’s only five minutes away.” “No. I’m going out with the Geelong truck. They need a local to show them the roads. They’re waiting for me. I gotta go.” He ran to the truck, which took off immediately. “What do you think, Senior? I’d have thought, if he was that worried he’d go himself.” “I’d better go back and check. I wouldn’t like to think of the poor old girl facing the fires alone.” ### This time he screeched up to the door, banged and yelled then let himself in. Pelican East was still the sort of place where most inhabitants didn’t bother to lock up unless they were going to be away for some time. And, apart from the occasional theft of a bike or a lawn mower, they were quite safe doing so. The house was huge and, to his mind, soulless. Big rooms with terracotta tiled floors, billiard table, ornate and well-stocked bar, flash kitchen…but no Mrs. Martello. Strange that Ricky should make such a fuss then not want to check for himself. Still, people often behaved strangely during times of crisis. He’d learned not to be surprised over the years. As he left the house, the noise of the wind suddenly screamed to a crescendo. Ahead of him, trees exploded into flame with a whump. Gas bottles blew. I’ll drive through it, he thought. It’s still only spot fires. He bumped between falling branches, fixing his stare through the smoke at the road in front of him. His eyes smarted. A burning tree fell across the road in front of him. Flame leapt across the track and overhead. - 27 -

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He slammed on the brakes. Threw himself on the floor in front of the back seat. Poured water from Dot’s containers over the blanket he kept in the back for wrapping people in shock. Dragged it over himself and sucked hot smoky air into his lungs in his dark refuge. He was shakingand could easily have cried, but grown men don’t cry. Policemen don’t cry. But it all flashed before him again, sweeping him along with the emotions of a sixyear-old boy on the farm. So many years ago. Trapped in the burning barn, underneath the saw bench, while rafters and timber boards crashed in flames around him. And he couldn’t get out. Couldn’t see a safe way out. And Dad’s tractor fuel caught fire, and he was going to die. Going to die. And he was only six years old. And he couldn’t breathe in the smoke-filled air. He curled into a little ball and shut his eyes. There was nothing he could do. Suddenly, he was rolled out onto a blanket and bundled up in the stuffy darkness. And when he rolled out again, there was Dad slapping himself to put out the flames, and Mum crying and laughing that they were both out and safe. He never played with matches again. Never lit a smoke with the other boys. Always found an excuse to stay away from bonfires and fireworks. He thought he’d forgotten about all of that long ago. Obviously not. There was no trauma counseling in those days. No one wanted to talk about what had happened. People just closed off their minds, got on with their lives, and hoped it would all go away. But it didn’t. The radio crackled, calling him with Lee’s voice. He emerged from under the blanket and reached forward to it. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swigged some of Dot’s lemonade. “I’m okay, Lee. I’m on Hardy’s Road. I’m trapped by the fires, but I’m okay.” He looked at his smoldering surroundings. “I’ll wait ’til things cool down a bit. I think I’ll have to walk out. There’s a burning tree across the road in front of me. I don’t suppose the car would go, even if I could get through. What’s happening your end?” “Several fire units have turned up now. There are fires on Hardy’s, Halliday, and Liddel’s Creek roads. The main worry now is they’re expecting a wind change any moment. That will broaden the front and sweep it through the village. We have units on standby all around the rec and the hall. I think most residents are here now, except for the ones who insist on - 28 -

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staying to save their homes. We’ve set up blockades to keep people out of the area. So, where are you, exactly? There must be a fire truck near you.” “About 300 meters southeast of Martello’s. The old girl wasn’t there, by the way.” “That’s good. I’ll let the CFA know where you are. Take care.” She’s beginning to sound like Dot, he thought. Still, that’s not so bad. ### He had walked only a few hundred meters, coughing so much he felt his lungs might implode, when the fire truck loomed out of the gloom and picked him up. The soles of his boots had started to melt and charcoal smeared his face and clothes, but he was fine. The blokes on the truck grinned white through blackened faces. They were locals. “Good to see ya, Al. Nice day for a stroll, eh?” “Yeah, the quack keeps on at me to do more exercise. Thought I’d take her advice. Bit hot, but. How’re things going, then? I spoke to my connie— Constable Lee—a few minutes ago. She said you’re worried about a wind change?” Jillie Baker fiddled with the truck radio and turned to him. She looked tired, drawn and dirty—a big departure for the usually glamorous beauty salon owner. “They’re expecting it any minute now. The trouble is, it’s going to turn what is now a long narrow fire into a very broad front. Maybe as much as fifteen-k wide. There are thirty units in the area now, but I think they’ll still have trouble holding it. A lot of properties have already gone, but I think that’s nothing to what we’ll see after the change. They tell me my place has gone.” “Sorry to hear that, Jilly. That was a very nice house.” “It’s only bricks. No one was hurt. That’s the main thing. Geoff’s out on unit two, and Bindi’s down at the rec with the kinder kids.” “Any rain expected with the change?” “Just a few drops. They’ll evaporate before they hit the ground. No, this change is not going to bring any good with it, I’m sorry to say.” More voicebabble crackled through the radio, and she returned her attention to it. - 29 -

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To their left, a woodpile caught fire and burnt fiercely. The wind blew huge flames onto the verandah of a nearby house. Men shouted as they directed pitiful streams of water from their hoses onto the fire. “Bloody stupid, keeping their wood that close to the house. People never listen to the warnings until it’s too late.” Captain Ted Bailey always despaired at human weaknesses. “Come on, we’d better get in there.” They quickly sank a hose into the half empty dam near the roadway and started pumping. They approached the flames behind a cooling mist and then turned the nozzles on to a hard stream. Within minutes the fire was under control, though far from out. They left the householders with strict instructions about how to contain it. They ran back to the truck and raced off again, but they had to screech to a halt almost immediately. A wallaby stood in the middle of the road, apparently stunned. “Take a sack,” Bailey said, “and watch those claws.” Two men jumped out and approached the animal warily. One distracted it from the front while the other sneaked up behind it and flung the sack over its head. The front legs flailed wildly as they maneuvered the sack over the whole body and bundled the animal into the back of the truck. “Its feet are badly burnt, Ted. It’ll need to go to the animal rescue center.” “I expect they’ll have set up some sort of center at the rec. There’ll be a few hurt animals coming out of the bush after this lot has been through.” As they pulled in at the rec, which was now jam packed with people and animals and ringed with fire trucks and tankers, Judy Halliday, the preps teacher, rushed over to them. She formed a clean, blonde contrast with the blackened men around her. “You haven’t seen Peter have you? I haven’t set eyes on him since lunchtime. I thought he’d be on a fire unit, but I’ve asked all around and no one seems to have seen him.” “Sorry, love. He hasn’t been on this truck. Have you tried home?” “The phones are out, and he’s not answering his mobile. Oh, well, I expect he’ll turn up.” She started to turn away then turned back again. “I’ll be back in the Red Cross van, if anyone hears any news of him. Thanks.” Foster waited until she was out of hearing before turning to Ted Bailey. - 30 -

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“The first time I went down Hardy’s Road, about 4:30 it was, I saw something big go up in flames over Halliday’s way. Could be wrong, it’s hard to tell on these twisty roads which direction you’re facing, but it might be worth checking it out, eh? Could you do that for us?” “Sure. We’ll just fill up the tanker, and we’ll be off again. We’ll start at Halliday’s—if we can get through.” “Goes without saying, mate. Don’t risk your own safety.” Sounded like a stupid thing to say. What else were they doing if they weren’t risking their own safety each time they tackled a fire? But Ted knew what he meant. There are risks, and there are risks. The last thing they needed was dead or injured fire crews. But now he had something else to worry about. With a roar and a great buffeting of leaves, the wind change arrived.

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Chapter Four A wall of flames several meters high approached from the west and jumped the main road, setting fire to the roadside vegetation. Fire crews pounced on it. The heat was becoming unbearable. Each breath was torture. Foster ran over to the information table that Lee had set up earlier. She wasn’t there. Instead, there was a young male constable he’d never seen before. There was still a big queue of mainly patient people. “Do you know where Constable Lee is, son?” “I’d rather not be called son, Senior Constable. Yes. She was dispatched to the police blockade southeast of the township. About twenty minutes ago.” Foster hitched a lift down with another fire truck. Ted Bailey’s hardware store was well alight. The front windows had cracked, and flames ate through the ads for drills and hammers. Tins of thinners exploded. Coiled plastic hoses melted. The little wood church was threatened. Lisbeth Gaye’s weatherboard cottage would be lucky to escape. The truck stopped, and the men leapt down to dowse Ted’s shop first. Foster drenched himself with one of the hoses then walked swiftly down the hill. He could see Lee standing small and calm in front of a red ute. Its owner was leaning out the window and angrily gesticulating. His voice was lost on the wind. “Is there a problem, Constable?” Foster said. She turned with relief at the sound of his voice. “This gentleman is anxious to get to his home, sir, but I’ve told him it’s too dangerous. He lives on Liddel’s Creek Road. That area is well alight, sir.” “My wife and children are there. You can’t keep me out. It’s my home. Get out of the bloody way, will ya?” He gunned the motor. “Take a detour up to the rec, sir. You’ll find the officers there have a record of everyone who’s safely in the refuge. I’m sure you’ll find your family there. Now please don’t do anything silly, sir.” “They could be dead by the time I’ve been up there to check. Now move!” He drove straight at them, and they jumped to the side of the road. Lee slipped and tumbled in the gravel. - 32 -

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“You okay, love?” Foster asked as her helped her up. “Stupid bastard. Did you get his name?” She brushed herself off and nodded. “Kit Christianson, sir. That was close. I think I was more frightened of him than of the fires.” She looked a lot less pristine than the last time he’d seen her. Her hair had escaped from its severe bun and was flapping around her face. She looked distinctly grubby and even showed dark, moist patches under her armpits. “Well, I shall be catching up with him when this is all over. Oh, no. Here come the vultures. Glad they didn’t see that last episode.” A television van crawled up the hill towards them, with a camera pointing through the window at the fires. As the van stopped, a face familiar from a hundred news items smiled through the back window. “Afternoon, officers. We have permission from Police HQ to go through into the fire area. Public interest and all that.” Matthew Delaney flashed a press card and a toothpaste commercial smile. “I’m not at all happy about that, sir. Permission or not, I should warn you that the situation is extremely dangerous—as you can see.” “We’re in constant contact with our helicopter. They have an excellent view from up there. There’s no way they’d let us get into trouble. Anyway, all we want for now are some human-interest stories. We’d like to interview people at the refuge. People who’ve escaped from the fires, wives of firemen. That sort of thing. Okay?” “I’d like you to understand that I’m still not at all happy about this, Mr. Delaney. We can’t take any responsibility for your safety. If you must go then follow School Road, here.” He pointed out the route on Delaney’s street directory. “It will bring you out just this side of the refuge.” The van left, bouncing over the unmade track. “It’s really good to see you, Senior. It’s all been getting a bit much.” “They had no right to put you in charge down here, Lee. Stupid decision. Tempers get as hot as the day in conditions like these. No place for a new constable. Even one with a degree.” He grinned to let her know he wasn’t serious. “Still, you’ve done very well. We’ll radio through for some relief in twenty minutes or so and get back to the refuge. Things are going to get a bit desperate up there very shortly.” - 33 -

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Commuters returning from work in the city crawled up the hill, whitefaced at the sight that faced them. They were sent on the detour round to the refuge. “I don’t know how much longer it’ll be safe to let them keep doing that,” he said. “Now the fires have crossed the main road there’s every chance School Road will be in danger, too.” “I never thought it could be so…terrifying. People are so traumatized already, and it’s far from over. People with family members they can’t trace…” “While I think of it, Lee, that young teacher we saw this afternoon…Mrs. Halliday? She’s looking for her husband. You wouldn’t have seen him, I suppose?” “I don’t even know what he looks like. I’ve never met him.” “Young fella, early thirties, red hair, and freckles. Quietly spoken, bit of a mumbler.” “Can’t recall seeing anyone like that. He certainly didn’t come to tick himself off the roll. Could be on a fire truck?” “Yes, well, he’s in the CFA, but she’s checked with every truck and there’s been no news. I’ve asked a couple of the firies to check his house out when they can. That area’s burning something shocking.” They both stared at the smoke and devastation. Trees were crowning now, the whole canopy bursting into flame. Great dancing sheets of fire rose from each building that caught light. The air filled with glowing leaves and black floating ashes like fluttering moths. “Looks like we’ve lost the church. Hundred and fifty years old, that was. One of the few original buildings around this area. Got anything to drink in the car, Lee? I’m parched.” “Your Dot loaded me up with goodies before I left. She’s a treasure.” “Can’t argue with that.” They gratefully gulped down the cool, refreshing liquid. Lee suddenly looked alarmed. “Sir, the nursing home. Now the fires are this side of the road, they must be in danger. That stupid woman. Why wouldn’t she listen?” “Delusions of power. She’s in charge—won’t listen to anyone else because it would be a sign of weakness. I’ll radio the officers at the refuge, make sure - 34 -

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a fire truck goes down. Trouble is, they’re going to be stretched very thin with so much going on at once. I’ll ask for us to be replaced, too. Then we can go and check for ourselves. Make sure she’s not giving them a hard time. Hey, here comes the cavalry.” A police car edged out of the gloom and pulled up behind Lee’s vehicle. Two young men emerged. One of them was Constable Makepeace, who’d spent some of his early training time under Foster’s wing. “G’day,” Foster said. “Come to replace us, have you? Good. The way things are going, you shouldn’t let anyone through at all from now on. It’s too bloody dangerous.” Makepeace nodded. “That’s what we’ve already been told, sir. We’ve got some witch’s hats to put across the road.” “There’s some people won’t stop for witch’s hats, or police, eh Lee? You’ll have to be very firm with them. Send them back down to the highway. In fact, I think you should move a lot farther down, right away from the village. Put the barrier at the junction with Soldier’s Road. Let’s go, Lee. See what the old bat’s up to at the nursing home.” For the second time that day, Foster and Lee pulled up in front of The Briars. Trees and shrubs were alight only fifty meters away from the main buildings. Two young men, probably maintenance staff by the look of their navy overalls, were directing a miserable stream of water from garden hoses onto the flames. The spray from the roof sprinklers was being buffeted by the wind away from the building. The few drops that landed evaporated within seconds. “What’s happened to the water pressure, Senior?” Lee asked. “It’s just a dribble.” “When the power went off, the pump at the local storage tank would have stopped working, so the pressure is just provided by the height of the water in the tank. We’ve been asking for an auxiliary diesel pump for the township for years, but there’s never enough money until there’s a disaster. Plus, of course, everybody’s got their hoses running at the same time. Wouldn’t surprise me if we totally run out of water shortly.” Patients were being wheeled or guided down the front ramp and onto a small bus. Most of the old people were in their night gear, shuffling along in their slippers. - 35 -

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“Disgusting,” Foster muttered. “That’s no way to dress for a fire. They’ll go up like torches. Don’t stand a chance.” He strode over to the door, where he confronted Sister Kellog. She was directing traffic down the slippery corridors. “Happy now, Sister?” he yelled. “I’d say you’ve got five minutes at the most before you lose the building. Unless you’re expecting a miracle. How many more to get out?” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Another six.” She raised her voice. “Come on, Jones, move it!” A young nurse bent under the burden of a stout gentleman who wheezed noisily. “There aren’t enough wheelchairs,” she said. “We need more help.” “Lee, get onto the CFA again and stress that this is an emergency, will you?” He ran to help the nurse; with the load shared, they managed to get the old man to the bus. The nurse ran to get a mask to hold over his nose and mouth. “Where next?” Foster asked. She ran ahead of him to a large room with chairs lined up all along the walls. The common room, probably. Sister Kellog was encouraging two lilachaired old ladies who looked like twins out of their chairs. They clung to each other and cried. “Come on, ladies,” he said. “We’re having an outing today.” “A fire truck’s on its way, Senior,” Lee gasped behind him. “Well, ladies, how about we get you on the bus? For your outing.” The women were frail. They weighed hardly anything. Between them, Lee and Foster manhandled them through to the bus as nurses ran past to find the remaining patients. Leaves in the gutters of the old building caught fire. Flaming shrubs beat against the far windows. Two youths retreated from the blazing onslaught. A fire truck screeched in, followed by a tanker. Within seconds, the place was full of yellow uniforms. Hoses were run out and at last some impact could be seen on the flames. The nurses piled onto the bus with the last of the patients, and they pulled out. One of the firemen ran out to talk to the driver, telling her the safest way to get to the refuge. He was the man they’d seen talking to the young schoolteacher, what seemed like days ago. - 36 -

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“Come on, Lee. Let’s get out of here. It must be bedlam at the refuge.” ### As night fell, the landscape glowed red all around them. Someone had opened the hall, and a generator chugged, keeping a few globes alight. Children ran from one end to the other, skidding on the waxed floor. People clustered in small groups, comforting each other quietly. Outside, horses reared and whinnied in fright, and the few unsecured dogs raced around, sniffing, barking, and picking brief fights. The trees at the western end were well alight, but firemen stopped the fire from spreading to the hall and oval. St. John Ambulance members treated asthma sufferers and minor burns. Doctors from the local surgery splinted broken limbs and dealt with the serious burns. The auxiliary ladies and the Red Cross continued to dispense a stream of tea and cordial. They’d stopped offering food. No one could eat. Reunited families hugged each other and cried with relief. Foster felt a tap on his shoulder. “A word, Al? In private.” Ted Bailey drew Foster to a parked truck. “We found Pete Halliday. At least, we think that’s who it is. There’s a badly burnt body in Halliday’s shed. The shed has collapsed; we found him under the roofing iron.” “So the shed was burnt, was it?” “Yes, but not the house. Amazing it escaped really. I wondered if you could tell his wife?” “I’ll do it. I hate this part of police work, telling the bereaved. Of course, we won’t know it’s him for sure until the autopsy. But she’ll have to be prepared for the worst. Is he the only one so far?” Bailey shook his head wearily. “Several I’ve heard of, but there’s a lot of confusion out there. We’ll sort things out in the light of day, when everything’s cooled down a bit. They’re starting to use planes, now, to damp down the flames. That should help.” “Why did they leave it so late before bringing them in?” Foster said. “Seems they were being used in other parts of the state. There’s been a lot of bad fires today. Not just here. Emergency services are stretched to the limit right across the state. It’s a bad one all right. Still, the reservoir’s half - 37 -

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full. They reckon they can keep scooping water on the fronts for a while. Gotta go, Al. Thanks for that, mate. Good luck.” Bailey turned to look for his men. Foster found Dot, looking drawn and pale, still at the urn. “You look all in, love,” he said. “Come and have a cup of tea with me for five minutes.” She nodded, poured two cups, and asked someone to replace her. They found a quiet spot on the hall verandah and sat on a bench, clasping their drinks. “Bugger of a day,” he said. They stared at the activity around them without taking anything in. “There are so many rumors flying, Al. I can’t bear thinking about them.” “Maybe things’ll be better in the morning. I dare say there’s people gone missing who are safely tucked up in bed in relatives’ houses in the suburbs.” He rubbed his neck. “We’ve got one confirmed death. I have to tell the next of kin. Not looking forward to it, I can tell you.” She knew better than to ask the name. She swallowed her tea and wiped her eyes. “Still no news of Mel, I suppose?” she said. “Trust her to add to the worries on a day like this. I don’t suppose you’ve had time to follow that through. No, of course not. I’d better get back, darl. Hope it’s not too awful.” She squeezed his hand. Once again he thanked his lucky stars he’d been blessed with this sensible, comfortable woman. “Oh, Dot. You wouldn’t know where young Judy Halliday is, would you?” “She’s been with the auxiliary most of the night, making—oh, no, Al.” ### He found the preps teacher buttering and slicing in the food tent. Her hair hung limply over her eyes and over the food, and he thought it was probably a good thing there were no health inspectors around. Still, she meant well. She hadn’t had much of a break all day, by the look of things. He went over and touched her elbow. - 38 -

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“A word, Mrs. Halliday?” She turned and smiled, brushing the hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Do you have news of Pete, officer? Is that what you want me for? Is he okay?” “Come and sit down with me.” He steered her to the same quiet bench on the verandah. She rubbed her greasy hands on a crumpled tissue. “It’s bad news, isn’t it? What’s happened? Has he been hurt? Is he okay?’ She was too young to receive this sort of news, he thought. Bad enough when the recipient was old or middle-aged, but this girl was in her twenties. Much too young to be widowed. “Look, I have to tell you this because I don’t want you to hear it through the grapevine. But I must stress, we don’t know for sure that it is Pete.” He watched her stiffen and start to shake. He held her arm. “Two of the CFA have found a body in your shed. It can’t be identified yet. We can’t say, yes it is Pete, or no it isn’t. But you have to prepare yourself for the worst.” “I’ll identify the body. I’d know straight away. Anyone could have sheltered in there. It wasn’t locked.” “I’m afraid it’s not that easy, love. You see, the body is very badly burned. Your shed has burned down completely. If you could give me the name of Pete’s dentist, I’ll contact the surgery in the morning and get Pete’s dental records. Then we’ll know for sure.” Her sobs took over her whole body. She soaked his handkerchief. Her skin, clothing, and hair were wet. He pushed her hair away from her face and was surprised to see purple, swollen bruising around her left eye. Dot had appeared with yet another cup of tea. “I’ll spend some time with her, Al. You get on with what you have to do.” She sat next to Judy and put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders, pressing the cup into her hands. Senior Constable Foster had the vague feeling of uneasiness that he’d learned to take seriously over the years.

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Chapter Five He found Lee comforting a small child who was crying and hugging a tigerstriped kitten with bandaged paws. He squatted in front of them and patted the kitten’s round head. “Has your kitty got sore paws?” Foster asked. “What’s its name?” “She’s called Jaws,” the little boy said. “She was under our house and it catched fire and she burnt her paws. But her little sister, Orca, she’s gone to heaven.” The large blue eyes filled with tears. “And I’m Jason.” Foster was relieved the child wasn’t called Moby. “Isn’t Jaws lucky she’s got you to look after her, Jason? She’ll need a lot of fuss, now she’s lost her sister. If you go and see the ladies who are making the tea over there, they might have a nice little cardboard box. You could put something soft in it, to make a cot for Jaws. Do you think she’d like that?” The child nodded and trotted off towards the refreshment tent, clutching the kitten tightly. “Thanks, Senior. I haven’t got a clue when it comes to talking to little kids.” “Wait ’til you’ve had five kids. You’ll have a few more clues then.” Lee shuddered. “Please! Wash your mouth out with soap!” She became serious. “Any news of Melanie, sir? I must admit, she’s been out of my mind with all that’s been going on.” “Nothing. Hopefully I’ll get a bit of time to chase her up tomorrow. I’m not counting on it, though. There’s been a body found in Halliday’s shed. You remember Judy Halliday down at the school? Blonde girl with the preps class? May be her husband.” Lee nodded. “Has the body been identified?” “Too badly burned for normal ID. We’ll need dental records. I expect Homicide will be down in the morning, though from what I’ve heard there’ve been several deaths. It might be a while before they get here.” “So is it likely to be her husband?” “I’d say it is. I can’t see why anyone else would be in there.” He paused and ordered the vague thoughts that had been troubling him. “Doesn’t feel right to me, though.” “Why’s that?” - 40 -

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“Well, Peter Halliday has been in the CFA for years. He’s a very experienced firefighter. I can’t imagine how someone like him could be trapped and killed in a shed fire. It doesn’t make sense.” “Unless he was injured in some way, before the fire, and couldn’t protect himself.” “Yeah, well, that’s possible I suppose. We’ll just have to see what the post mortem brings up. If there’s enough left to examine.” A tall thin man with a deep voice interrupted them. “Alan, good to see you. Pity it’s not under better circumstances.” “Hallo, Graeme. This is Constable Lee. Lee, this is Senior Sergeant Graeme Longman from the Gateway station. What can we do for you?” “I’ve come to tell you to go home. It’s 3 a.m. Try to get a few hours sleep, or you’ll be useless tomorrow. We’ve got plenty of reinforcements coming in to take care of things. So, go. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” He was called away by a constable, but he turned and yelled again for Foster to go home. “Not such a bad idea, I suppose,” Foster said. “I had no idea it was so late.” “Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?” “You stay with us, Lee. I’m not having you drive home through the fires. Or when you’re fatigued, come to that. No arguments. Let’s go and find Dot.” They found her supplying a group of exhausted firemen with tea and sandwiches. “Come on, Dot. Someone else can do that. We’re going home to get a few hours’ sleep. I’ve said Lee can stay with us, okay?” She nodded wearily. “If we’ve a house to go to,” she said. The way home was short but depressing. In the dark, the hills and the trees glowed orange. Flurries of sparks rose from the shells of buildings, from the skeletons of gum trees. They were silent. The police house was still there, though the front picket fence and Dot’s fuchsia hedge seemed to have disappeared, from what he could tell in the dark. Foster opened the front door and pressed the light switch. Nothing happened. - 41 -

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“Don’t you hate that?” he said. “When you know perfectly well there’s been no power for hours and you still automatically try to switch it on?” He felt his way to the laundry to find a torch and returned to show the way to the kitchen. “Now, sit down girls and put your feet up. What do you fancy? A cup of tea or something stronger?” They agreed that tea would be lovely. “Next question. Is there any water?” A slow trickle filled a small saucepan. “Great. Lucky we’re on gas, eh?” The gas ring threw a flickering blue light around the room. “Now, I’m pretty sure we’ve got some candles under the sink here somewhere. Eureka!” In a few minutes, the kitchen looked like a birthday cake, candles flaring all around. He made tea, and they sat sipping, deep in thoughtful silence. Dot spoke first. “I can’t stop thinking about that poor young thing. Judy Halliday. So young to be a widow.” “’Course, Dot, we don’t know yet if the body is Pete. There’s a few things bothering me about it, though. Did you notice her black eye? She kept it hidden under all that hair most of the day. I’d like to know what’s been going on there.” “It’s not the time to be interrogating the poor girl, Al. Leave her be for a while.” Lee tried to stifle a yawn. “I’d say it’s well past your bedtime, young lady. Here’s a candle to light you to bed. Dot will take you.” When the women left, he stacked the cups in the sink and blew out most of the candles. He could hear the occasional giggle from down the corridor and was pleased they could find something to laugh about. Dot returned. “I tried to find her some jammies and some undies for tomorrow. She’s such a tiny girl, she’d look like a waif in my things. Then I found her some of Mel’s. She seems a nice girl, Al. Quiet, but her heart’s in the right place, wouldn’t you say?” “She surprised me today. Solid as a rock in an emergency. Yep, she’ll do well. Bed, Dot, bed.” - 42 -

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### He lay awake for a long time, staring at the red glow reflecting on the ceiling, at the red and blue flashes as emergency vehicles passed. Tankers groaned up the hill all night, noisily changing gear for the steepest parts. Faces and scraps of conversation from the day repeatedly popped into his brain. His argument with Melanie, the kinder children marching in twos, the old lady, Rose, at the nursing home. And the ever-present flames. Dot snored gently. He gave up, extricated himself from the sheets, and felt his way back to the kitchen. He thought a Milo might do the trick. As he heated the milk, he heard the door creak open behind him. The sight of Mel’s Snoopy nightie made him start. He thought it was her…for a moment. Constables had no right to be creeping around his house in the middle of the night, wearing his daughter’s things. He had never seen her hair out loose before. Blue-black and gleaming in the candle glow, it hung in straight sheets almost to her waist. “Thought I heard you. I couldn’t sleep, either. Do you mind if I join you?” she said. “I’d be glad of your company. It’s rotten when you’re so exhausted your body craves sleep and your brain just won’t let you relax. Can I get you a Milo, too? It might help.” “Thanks. You know, I’ve been thinking. Do you remember when we evacuated the primary school? We were walking across the paddock when that big darkhaired man spoke to Mrs. Halliday. There was something odd about it. They both looked agitated, flustered. I’d like to know who he is, what they were talking about.” “Yeah, you’re right. But, as Dot said, we’ll have to go gently on the widow. If she is a widow. Whoops.” The milk rose in a great bubble out of the saucepan and hissed on the hot jets. “I’d forgotten about that. I always use the microwave these days. When I cook, which isn’t very often.” “Don’t you cook? My father does most of the cooking in our family. He’s very good.” - 43 -

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Foster was always faintly suspicious of men who were good cooks. He said nothing. Jade rose to help him clean the hot plates. “Don’t worry too much,” Foster said. “It’ll be easier in the light. Here, drink your Milo.” “I wonder how long the power will be out? There’ll be a problem with food going off in this heat.” “There’ll be an awful lot of problems tomorrow. But you’ll be surprised. In an emergency, help comes from all sorts of unexpected places. It’s a funny thing, but disasters always bring out the best in people.” Bleary eyed, without even the comfort that a hot shower brings, Foster and Lee drove around the area to assess the damage in the light of day. Half the shops plus the church had burned to the ground. The landscape was a curious monochrome of black trees and white ash. The smell of wood smoke was all-pervasive. They got out on Flat Rock Road, where it climbed over a ridge and provided what was normally a scenic lookout from the large flat rock. The destruction was immense. Most of the state forest had disappeared. Smoke drifted from the skeletons of trees. The under-storey seemed to have vanished. “I can’t believe it’s so quiet,” Lee said, “after all the noise yesterday.” “No leaves, no birds, just ash. There’s nothing left to make any noise. Bloody awful, isn’t it? Looks like the moon.” He swallowed hard to stop the tears he felt pricking at his eyes. He blew his nose. Lee, he noticed, had no qualms about showing her emotions, and her tears ran freely. He wasn’t sure whether he was jealous or scornful. They drove on, past the shell of a house. The smoke-blackened chimney stood in a pile of rubble. A family squatted in the junk, lethargically sifting through the remains for something, anything, that survived as a reminder of normality, of life before yesterday. A neatly dressed man was wandering around with a clipboard. His white shirt and tie, gold bracelet and heavy ring, were in stark contrast to the crumpled, soot covered family. Insurance, probably. Very quick off the mark. The insurance companies were going to be big losers in all this, but Foster had a hard time feeling as sorry for them as for the little losers: the homeless families. - 44 -

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The scene was repeated, over and over. He couldn’t make sense of it all, when a weatherboard house stood intact between two burnt out brick veneers, or the house had gone and the garage still stood, or washing still hung on the rotary hoist. There was no sense. Survival had been a matter of pure luck. Street signs stood like an attempt at modern art: twisted, melted. Fences were down, and sheep and cattle roamed the roads. Power poles were blackened stumps, power lines flapped against them. A scorched koala crossed the road in front of them. A team of firefighters lay exhausted by their truck, sleeping where they had fallen—like the aftermath of war. “We’d better check on the car, I suppose. I don’t hold out much hope for it.” “Which car is that, Senior?” “The police car, Lee. The one I was driving yesterday.” He drove back along Hardy’s Road. The hotel on the corner was a pile of smoking rubble. The pines opposite stood straight and black and naked. “I can’t believe the pub’s gone. That’s been here ever since the village started. Since it was a stopping place on the way to the gold fields.” “It will never be the same again, will it? New shops, new church, new pub. It will be like any other place. All its character has been lost. That’s a shame.” He grunted in agreement, finding it difficult to express what he was feeling at that moment. Fire crews were damping down the smoldering remains of the towering gums and the tree ferns and the leafy gardens. The house with the blazing woodpile was intact, though blackened, and the owners were still bucketing water to it from a dam. Steam rose with each bucket load. Farmers with chainsaws were attacking the tree that had trapped Foster. They had removed central chunks to allow a car to drive through. Now they were tackling the branches. The whining, roaring motors shattered the stillness. The car sat on the other side of the gap. “Come to collect your belongings, officer? I think you might have trouble starting her.” One of the men, could have been a brother of Martello’s by the look of him, seemed to think it was a bit of a joke. Foster ignored him. The car was a mess. The tires had melted. A large branch rested on its roof. The - 45 -

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paintwork was scorched. He wrenched open the door and tried the keys in the ignition. Nothing happened. Lee was stunned. “I can’t believe how lucky you were. Was it like that when you were in it? You could have been killed.” “Just another one of my nine lives used up.” Depressed and silent, they returned to what remained of the little town and pulled in at the hall. Hundreds of people, many of them still in the grimy shorts and tee shirts they’d been wearing when the fires hit, were being fed breakfast. Muffins filled with eggs and bacon, coffee in polystyrene cups, and juice for the kids had been supplied by the golden arches. Already, piles of blankets and clothing were beginning to accumulate. Portable toilets and showers had been erected outside the hall, with a tanker parked behind to supply water sucked from the reservoir. A generator and a pump provided pressure. Officials filled in forms. Counselors huddled with family groups. Teenagers wept on each other’s shoulders. White faces, staring eyes, and trembling hands indicated the shock that had overtaken so many of the locals. Foster had trouble taking it all in. This was his town, his community. City colleagues used to jeer that crime in his area meant the occasional theft of a lawn mower or weekend graffiti at one of the schools. He loved this place. He’d never sought promotion because that would have meant leaving. City life held no attractions for either him or Dot. His children had grown up safely here, allowed a freedom that was not possible in city or suburbs, able to ride their horses around the district or their motorbikes round the paddocks. All of them had learned to drive on farmland from the age of about twelve. By the time they were allowed on the roads, they were skilled drivers, unlikely to meet the fate of so many inexperienced young drivers. Now everything was gone. They could never restore life to what it had been before. Pelican East would never be the same again. Some people would rebuild, no doubt, but many would surely leave the area, their confidence shattered. At the police station, the small building was bulging with officers imported from neighboring towns and the city. He sought out the most senior: Detective Inspector Ian Gallagher. They had trained together, many years ago. Gallagher—lean and ascetic, so fair as to look devoid of eyelashes - 46 -

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and eyebrows, guppy like, almost—was the type who would go for every promotion wherever it happened to be. His family had been uprooted every couple years. He’d made Detective Inspector, but Foster had heard rumors that he’d lost his wife and kids in the process. “G’day, Ian. How are things? This is Lee. She’s stationed here.” “Alan, good to see you. Lee.” He nodded a brief acknowledgment in her direction. “We’re compiling a list of properties lost and of bodies found. It’s not at all good, I’m afraid. Fifteen bodies so far and still several people unaccounted for.” “Fifteen? That’s terrible. Those unaccounted for, they could have gone to friends or relatives and not been in contact yet?” “Yes. We’re going to put a message over the media, asking for them to get in touch.” “And the dead? Have they been identified?” Foster asked. “Some have. I’ll show you what we’ve got so far. It’s bloody hard with no power, of course. We can’t use the computers. Some of the lads are rigging up a generator now.” He pulled out a handwritten list. Foster sat heavily and ran his finger down the names. “Three of the Thomas family. God, that’ll take a long time for the rest of them to get over. Christianson. Isn’t he the one you were having trouble with last night, Lee?” “Liddel’s Creek Road. Kit Christianson, yes. That’s terrible. He would insist on going in. Nearly ran me over in the process. He was worried about his wife and kids. Are they okay?” “Well, they’re not on the ‘missing’ list. I told him they were probably safe at the refuge, but he wouldn’t listen.” “Seems he was trapped by fire in his car on the way down there.” “Halliday we already knew about, but there was no way of confirming his identity last night. We were hoping to access his dental records early today. Has anyone done that yet?” “No. Perhaps we could leave that with you, then? Track down his wife and get the name of his dentist.” I could probably have worked that out for myself, Foster thought, but I suppose he has to justify his position—and his salary. - 47 -

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“Then there were six fire officers on a truck, trapped in a dead end track,” Gallagher continued. “That’s shocking. Do we know if they’re local?” “No, they came in from the east of the state. Obviously were not aware of the local geography.” “I thought the policy now was to put a local on each truck. I suppose in all the confusion…a costly error.” “That…what’s his name…Martello? He said he was going on a truck as the local guide, so obviously some of them were doing it,” Lee said. Foster continued to work his way through the list. He felt sick at the thought of so much death in his patch. He thought about Halliday. “I know we’re not sure yet if the body in Halliday’s shed is, in fact, Halliday, but as he’s still on the list of missing, I’d say it probably is him. What worries me, Ian, is that he was a very competent firefighter. He’s been in the CFA since he was a teenager, never missed a practice. It was his main, maybe his only, hobby. How could a bloke like that not be out fighting the fires and let himself get burned to death in a shed fire? It’s possible, I suppose, but it doesn’t seem at all likely to me. I think there’s something fishy about it.” “Well, you’re the one with the local knowledge, Alan, but I can’t imagine Homicide giving much investigation time to one vaguely suspicious death when there are fifteen in the one area. Apart from that, there have been several deaths in other fires around the state. Their resources will be sorely stretched. I’ll let them know your concerns, but I really wouldn’t hold out much hope for a full-scale investigation. Not when all we’ve got to go on is the local bobby’s gut feeling.” He always was good at the subtle put-down, Foster recalled. “But, if it is murder, sir, or even manslaughter, someone will be getting away with it, free to do it again. Someone in this community, maybe.” “Look, Foster, I’ve said I’ll report your concerns. Let’s leave it at that for now, shall we? We’ve rather a lot on our plates at the moment.” Foster seethed, knowing full well that his ‘concerns’ would be swept aside. Gallagher had always been the type to be more worried about a good ‘clear-up’ rate than with the idea of justice. “Come on, Lee,” he said, “We’ve got things to do.” - 48 -

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### They found Judy Halliday at home. The shed had been free standing, a few meters away from the house. Now it was a mass of twisted sheets of iron, charred wood, and barely recognizable machinery. The house itself was scorched but basically untouched. Parts of the garden had been burned while others were intact. A group of crimson rosellas hung from apples roasted on the trees, pecking and squabbling and lifting from the branches in flashes of red and blue. The house, set well back from the road, was of a type commonly found in country areas: a wide, low, cream-brick building with a verandah all around and hanging baskets along its length. Their contents drooped. A pair of men’s boots, Blundies, sat by the front door. Two cars were parked in the semi-circular driveway. A golden retriever rushed to greet them, wagging tail and body, licking their hands, and barking excitedly. The door opened, and Judy came out. She looked as if she’d had no sleep at all last night. She had showered and changed her clothes to a loose Indian cotton dress in a pale lilac color. Her head was bent, her hair forming the familiar screen. She tried to smile. “Hallo, again.” “Sorry to disturb you at a time like this,” Foster said, “but we need the name of Peter’s dentist, as I mentioned last night. Would you happen to know the name?” “Yes. He doesn’t—didn’t—go to the same dentist as me. He stayed with the one his family used. Kellermans, in Wattle Bridge. I don’t know the exact address, but I could probably find it for you.” “No, that’s all right. We’ll find it. How are you bearing up? Is there anyone who could stay with you or who you could stay with? Family? Friends?” “I’m okay, just tired and in shock, I suppose. My sister will come over if I need her.” “Let us know if you have trouble getting in touch with her. We’d be pleased to help.” “Thanks, officer. You’ll let me know, as soon as you have news of Pete?” - 49 -

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“Of course. Goodbye, then.” Judy Halliday called the dog and drifted back inside. “Typical victim, that one,” Lee said. “How d’you mean?” “Soft, quiet, do anything to please. Macho man can’t stop pushing to see what her limits are. Pushes her, yells at her, beats her. And she never complains because she thinks it’s all her fault. I’m only guessing, of course, but she seems very true to type. She’s the type who gets mugged as soon as she sets foot on a city street.” “And there’s that black eye she keeps hidden behind her hair. You could be right, you know. But Peter Halliday really didn’t seem to be that sort of a man. He was a quiet fellow himself, never in trouble, even as a lad. Didn’t even go in for rough sports.” “Oh, they can be deceptive. What goes on behind closed doors can be very different from the image that’s presented to the public.” “Interesting,” Foster said. His mind continued to play with this information.

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Chapter Six “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, love,” Dot said, “but this is our own daughter. If it was anyone else’s daughter, you’d be making a big effort to do something about finding her. You’re making assumptions she’s with this Spillane boy, but you don’t know. Anything could have happened. You could at least give her the attention you’d give to a perfect stranger.” As usual, Dot was right. That was the most annoying thing about wives, that they were nearly always right. He didn’t know why he’d been avoiding the issue of Melanie’s disappearance. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer. Perhaps it would be uncomfortable or embarrassing for a man in his position. Anyway, he’d better do something about finding out. The trouble was, his police station was full of men, and Lee, and most of all the supercilious Gallagher. He didn’t want him listening in. The phone lines were still out and likely to remain so for some time. The radio was much too public. He tried to think of someone with a mobile he could borrow. He’d never bought one for himself. Had never seen the need. He thought people looked stupid, chatting away on the streets, on trains, in supermarkets. He thought of Lisbeth Gaye. She wouldn’t be embarrassed about lending him a phone—or giving him the bill. Of course, he didn’t know if she had one, but he thought she might, if she needed to keep in touch with publishers and agents. He walked briskly across the road. Her house had survived, but much of her vegetation had been burned. She’d taken pride in her collection of exotic plants. He found her fossicking in the ashes for remnants of her peonies. She looked up through watery eyes. “Hallo, Senior Constable. I’m silly, aren’t I? Getting upset over losing a few plants. It’s nothing compared with what others have lost. Still, I’ve always looked upon them as my babies. I shall have to start again, now. I wonder if it’s worth it at my advanced age.” “You’ve got a lot left in you, girl. We’ll have none of that negative thinking. You may even find that some of your plants do quite well after fire. I remember after one fire we had in this area, the orchids came up a treat. Best show we’ve ever seen. Of orchids, that is.” She stood and stretched. “I just don’t know if I’ve got the energy to start my garden again. I suppose I could get someone in to do the hard work, the - 51 -

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digging and so on. I’ll leave it for a while and see how I go. At least my computer’s safe and sound. Terrible about young Peter Halliday, isn’t it? My computer must have been his last job. Shocking way to go. I researched it, you know, death by burning, for my novel Flames of Fortune.” “We can’t assume, yet, that it is Peter Halliday’s body. We’re waiting ’til we get a match with his dental records.” “So he was that badly burned? Unable to be identified?” She shuddered. “I’ve come to ask you a favor,” he said, changing the topic. “I wonder if you’d have a mobile phone I could borrow. What with the lines out and the station full of police from out of town, I’ve got no access to communication, and there are some things I need to chase up. It wouldn’t be for long. Just a couple of hours probably. And of course, I’d expect you to give me the bill when it comes in. That’s assuming you’ve got a mobile, of course.” “Yes, I have. My nephew insisted, for security he said, but I’ve found it quite useful at times, despite all my protestations. You’re welcome to use it. Come inside, and I’ll find it for you.” She led the way into the little hallway from which rooms branched on either side. The furnishings were generally old, probably antique rather than plain grotty, but the office to which she took him was equipped with computer, printer, fax, and scanner. This old lady was not being left behind the times. The walls were lined with hundreds of reference books. “You’d have been devastated if you’d lost all of this in the fires. How could you ever replace all of those books?” “Yes. I expect there’d be some I wouldn’t require for years, so I wouldn’t know they were missing until it was too late to do anything about it. So many people have lost so much. I’m trying to think of a way in which I can help. Here’s the phone, see. I put it on charge, but of course there’s no electricity. I’m an old fool. Anyway, it should last you for a few hours. You may get a call from my nephew. If you do, just tell him everything is perfectly satisfactory, would you?” He grinned at the typically English understatement. He thanked her profusely and backed out down the hallway. Now to find somewhere quiet where he could make his calls. If he could just set a search in progress, he could satisfy Dot that he’d at least done something. And himself, of course. - 52 -

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### Melanie had always been a source of puzzlement for him and Dot. A changeling child, swapped by the fairies, they used to joke. Whereas the first four of their children had been fair haired and fair skinned as babies, Melanie was dark from the beginning. The others were hardworking plodders at school. Not particularly dumb, but not too bright, either. They got by because of their inherited work ethic and because of their sunny natures. They were nice people to be with. Mel…well, from the very start she had been a colicky baby with disturbed sleep patterns, not at all what you’d expect by the time you were on to your fifth child. They’d joked that if they’d had her earlier, they never would have got to five. A natural contraceptive. She was bright. A quick and creative thinker. A problem at school because she worked fast and needed more to occupy her. She could see through the time wasting exercises teachers would try to slow her down with. She probably needed one of those fast track courses for high achievers, but she was a country kid, in a country school, and her overworked teachers had enough to do with the nonreaders and the slow readers and the scarcely numerate without worrying about the high fliers. He and Dot, well, they hadn’t gone very far with their education. You couldn’t in their day, not in the country. So they felt it was all a bit beyond them. They felt intimidated on parent/teacher nights at the high school and were unable to question what the system was doing for their daughter. They had felt her slipping away from them, looking for a life that held more excitement, more challenge than they could offer. They worried about drugs. Well, what parent didn’t, nowadays? They worried about her friends. She rarely brought them home; when she did, they seemed to be uncommunicative and rebellious. He and Dot worried about her music. Loud, challenging, railing at modern society. They worried about the discos she went to, in town, but they felt if they stopped her going then they’d lose her altogether. They worried that she might be having sex, but they didn’t feel able to broach the subject with her. - 53 -

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They hoped the schoolteachers had done the job for them. She was prickly and hard to talk to, even about basic everyday things. And now there was this Gary Spillane, the young hood from Dandenong. She’d met him at a disco. Melanie was just one big problem, from start to finish. He contacted his old mate, Greg Davidson, at the Dandenong station. “Al? How are you, mate? Not too pretty up in your neck of the woods right now, eh? How can I help you?” Foster explained the situation. Greg owed him a few from the past. He could trust him to be discreet. “So, if you could find some legitimate reason to visit this Spillane character’s flat, I’d be much obliged, Greg.” “Sure thing. I’ll let you know how I go. Do you want me to contact you at the station or on the mobile?” “The mobile’s borrowed, and its batteries are running out. Leave a message for me at the station, and I’ll ring you back when I can, okay?” “No worries. We must meet for a pint, soon.” “I owe you one, mate. Thanks.” Not much, but a start. With any luck Greg would find Mel there, and Foster would be able to follow up. With any luck, this would keep Dot off his back for a while and give him some breathing space. While the mobile was still working, he contacted his other kids, the trouble free ones, to let them know everything was okay. Well, comparatively. ### Gallagher and his merry men had completely taken over Foster’s office and his house. The house was police property. There wasn’t anything Foster could do about it except seethe. He could feel his blood pressure rising. He needed to get out. He could imagine Dot’s reaction at finding policemen at her kitchen table, at the dining room table, and sitting on the bed—and her distaste at the quickly accumulating gunk in the kitchen sink and on the stovetop. Someone had had the forethought to collect a large container of water and leave it on the draining board for making drinks, but no one had thought to use it for cleaning up after themselves. And—horror—the toilet seat was left up, and there was no water for flushing. - 54 -

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He found Lee working on the community register on the front counter. He was pleased to see she was back in policewoman mode, hair pulled tightly into a bun, uniform slightly the worse for wear, but totally asexual. “Come on, Lee. Let’s get out of here for an hour’s sanity.” “Great idea.” She marked her spot on the roll and neatly stacked the papers. “Where are we going?” “Wattle Bridge. We’ll see if we can pick up Halliday’s records from his dentist. Kellermans, wasn’t it? It’s not fair on the next of kin to keep them guessing about whether the body in his shed is him or not.” “Well, he certainly hasn’t turned up, and no one seems to have seen him since yesterday morning.” “The records are the only reliable way of knowing. Apart from DNA tests, of course, and the results take a long time.” They took one of the many vehicles parked outside. “Do the powers that be know about your car yet?” “Not yet. No need to worry them at this stage. They’ve got enough on their plates for now, eh? I’ll get Roy the Boy to pick it up with his tow truck when we get back.” Wattle Bridge was amazingly normal. People were going about their business as if nothing had happened. Which, of course, it hadn’t—for them. Lights were on in the shops, fridges hummed in the supermarkets, kids zoomed around on skateboards, and there was laughter. It all seemed a bit obscene, somehow, like walking out of a disaster movie and being relieved to see normality outside on the street. Or waking up to find your teeth intact after dreaming that they’d all fallen out. They left the car in the small parking bay outside the dental/medical complex. The waiting room was pink and reassuring, with soft musak playing. Foster explained what they wanted to the pink and reassuring dental nurse who greeted them. She disappeared down a long, shiny corridor and returned quickly. “Dr. Kellermans will be with you as soon as he can. Just take a seat, please. Can I get you a coffee?” They both agreed that would be very nice. The coffee was freshly brewed and came in elegant coffee cups. “I can see we’re in the wrong trade, Constable. It’s a few steps up from instant in cracked mugs, eh?” - 55 -

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She nodded and sipped gratefully at the brew. “Just what I needed,” she said. “I was starting to get a withdrawal headache. I must have my morning coffee to keep me functioning.” Kellermans arrived as they drained their cups. He was an unlikely dentist, with bad acne pitting his skin and severe halitosis obvious as soon as he spoke to them. Maybe the breath anaesthetized his patients, Foster thought, or maybe they thought that no pain was too severe compared with that smell. All pain is comparative. “Now, it’s Peter Halliday’s records you are after?” He looked through a card index. “Yes. You’re in luck. I can give you his records and a recent x-ray we performed when we were worried about an abscess.” He removed the xray from a drawer and slid it into a large envelope. “Can I ask why you need them? He’s not one of the fire victims, I hope.” “It’s confidential at the moment, sir, but we will let you know, and we’ll have these back to you as soon as we can. Thank you for your help.” They backed away from the evil breath and made for fresh air. “I suppose the quickest way to get them looked at is to take them straight to the morgue ourselves. I’d like to have an answer for Judy Halliday today,” Foster said. “Trouble is, though, with so many deaths at one time, they may not be able to look at this one today.” “I’d say it has to be a priority over bodies where there’s no confusion over identity. Or where there’s no possibility of foul play.” “Does anyone else think foul play is involved? I’ve a feeling they’ll just pass it off as a bit of imagination on the part of the local cop. That Detective Inspector Gallagher didn’t seem convinced there was anything to investigate.” “Yes, well, Gallagher was never one to let the truth get in the way of a good clear-up rate.” “You know, I’ve never heard you criticize anyone like that before. You’re always so forgiving of human failings.” “Maybe, but not in police officers. Not when it comes to truth and the law.” She didn’t ask any more, and he didn’t volunteer anything else. - 56 -

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“We could send the records by courier,” she suggested. “It would save us a few hours driving and waiting around.” “Good thinking. Okay. We’ll call them from here.” ### Lee drove back into the war zone, while Foster had a think. He had no doubt the corpse was Peter Halliday. He did have doubts about his death. How could a healthy, fit young man, skilled in the art of fire fighting, let himself burn to death in a shed? Maybe he had an accident first. Maybe stored flammable liquids went up first and cut off his access to the door. Maybe someone saw the fires as an ideal screen for murder. But who? And why? He needed to have a chat with some of the locals who had their ear to current gossip. “Stop for a moment, would you, Lee?” Ted Bailey’s crew was mopping up in the bush beside Liddel’s Creek. She pulled up and followed him over the thick ash to the glowing tree stumps that hissed steam as they were sprayed with water. “How’s it going, Ted? Still at it?” “Will be for some time yet, Al. It would only take a good gust of wind to get all this lot going again, if we don’t put out every last spark. It might seem like the whole area’s burned out, but there’s still plenty of fuel left. Plenty of unburned patches of bush.” “That’s a nice thought. All we need. But it’s a lot cooler today; that must help.” “They’re forecasting another very hot spell in the next few days. Have you heard any more about Peter Halliday or can’t you say yet?” “We haven’t got a positive ID yet. Could we have a quiet word, Ted?” They moved away from the main group. “Did you see Pete at all yesterday?” “Yeah. He came into the shop, would have been just before lunchtime. He’d been working on Miss Gaye’s computer, he said. He needed some spare cord for his brush cutter, wanted to do some clearing up around the house. Oh, yes. Said he had to rush because his brother was coming to lunch.” “I didn’t know he had a brother. He doesn’t live round here, does he?” - 57 -

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“No. I think he lives in the city somewhere. Judy would know. How’s she bearing up, by the way?” “Hard to tell. She’s very quiet at the best of times.” “She did seem very upset,” Lee said. “Do you know of anyone we could ask to sit with her for a while?” “Most of her women friends are from her college days,” Ted said. “She doesn’t seem to socialize much with anyone round here. They really aren’t a very sociable pair at all, when you think about it.” One of the firefighters yelled from the other side of the creek. “Did you tell them about the grass fire, Ted?” There was a lot of laughter and comments about deep breathing. “What’s that then, Ted?” “Oh, when we were on Halliday Road yesterday arvo, there was quite a strong smell of dope on the wind, mixed up with all the normal wood smoke. The guys reckoned it kept them happy in their work. Someone’s private stash must have gone up somewhere. Reckon you lost all your evidence, Al. All gone up in smoke.” “Very interesting. Thanks, Ted. That’ll be something else to follow up when we’ve got some time to ourselves.” A TV news crew arrived. A man jumped out of the car balancing a camera on his shoulder. He was followed by a woman wielding a furry microphone like a dead guinea pig on the end of a pole. “You won’t say anything to them, Ted, about the dope? Let’s get out of here, Lee.” The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach returned as they drew in to the demolished village. “What do you think, Senior, about the dope? Do you think it’s just one of those myths that spread like wild—sorry, you know…quickly? Or that maybe there’s some truth in it?” “It’s always a possibility in an area like this. There’s plenty of thick bush that no one ever goes into. It would be easy to grow marijuana without anyone being aware, I suppose. But there’s certainly been no evidence of large scale use in the community.”

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“Could be for outside this community. It would be much safer to export it from here. It could be taken out in any number of local trucks, under hay or timber or apples. Something like that.” “I suppose so. It’s hard to think something like that is going on in my patch. It was such a lovely, safe little environment. Seems it’s lost its innocence somehow. As you said, it’ll never be the same again, anyway, after it’s rebuilt. Maybe I’ll have to move farther out, farther from the city.” “I didn’t know there was anywhere farther,” she joked. “I thought this was the end of the line.” He grunted. How could he put into words what this place and its people had meant to him over the years? He didn’t try. “Just drive past the station, Lee, and turn right onto School Road. I’d like to see how they fared down this way.” She pulled up around the corner from the fire station, under the shadow of the pylon. They sat in silence and stared. Where yesterday tall gums towered over the kindergarten building, today stood black poles. Where yesterday there were climbing frames and swinging tires, now there was a tangled mess of metal. Where yesterday there were shelves and blocks and dress-ups and paintings hanging up to dry, now there was a charred mess of rubble. In the middle of it, clasping a doll she had pulled from the wreckage, sat Merle. White face. Staring eyes. Foster got out and walked over to her. He squatted next to her and, without saying anything, put an arm round her shoulders. She turned to him and let the tears flow.

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Chapter Seven Organized chaos still seemed to reign in the station. Someone had brought in a boxful of cellular phones. Pity they hadn’t been around this morning. Foster fitted one to his belt and signed for it. He rang through to the forensic pathologist and left the number with her office. “Message for you, Senior Constable Foster.” Makepeace handed him a note torn from a telephone pad. Foster, re: your inquiries 25th Feb. No sign of either target today. Will continue periodic surveillance when time permits. Senior Sergeant Davidson. So Melanie wasn’t at Spillane’s flat. He wasn’t sure whether he ought to be relieved or worried. She wasn’t there, but then neither was Spillane, so there was every chance they were together. And he still had to tell Dot that he was no further ahead with the search for Mel. He noticed he’d started to chew his fingernails again, a habit Dot had cured him of years ago with foul tasting liquids painted on his fingertips. “Any message yet from Halliday’s post mortem?” he asked Makepeace. “Nothing yet, Senior. Er, Senior? That pretty constable of yours. Has she got a boyfriend, do you know?” “Lee? Can’t say I’ve ever asked her. You could ask her yourself; she went into the house to make a cuppa. You could bring one back for me, while you’re there. Milk and two. Thanks, Makepeace.” He grinned. The constable’s boyish face flushed in pink patches. He left rapidly. Gallagher strode in, dodging Makepeace in the doorway. “Foster, reports are coming in about looting of abandoned homes and cars. Also, the rubbernecks are causing congestion on the roads. I can leave that in your hands, I assume?” “Yes, sir.” The “sir” stuck in his throat. “You can always guarantee the vultures will swoop in after any disaster. One of the nastier sides of human nature. My other favorites, the media, seem to be here in full force, too.” “Well, we have to keep sweet with them. They’re important for our image with the public.” His pink-lidded, pale eyes challenged his lesserranked colleague. - 60 -

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Foster thought their image with the public would be better served by protecting a population in shock from the probing reporters, but he was obviously not up with modern political thinking. He changed the subject. “We picked up Halliday’s dental records and couriered them to the forensic pathologist. I’m hoping we’ll have an answer for his wife, one way or the other, before the end of the day.” “Good. Well, let me know when you hear. You’ll tell the wife, when the news comes in.” He turned and left, leaving in his wake a pungent mix of aftershave and mouthwash. Again he met Makepeace in the doorway, who was this time juggling mugs of tea. “Milk with two sugars,” he announced, as if presenting a prize-winning wine. “What did Fishface want?” “Detective Inspector Gallagher to you, son. Looters and rubbernecks to take care of. After I’ve had my cuppa. Have you had a chance to get out yet today?” Makepeace shook his head. “Well, you can come with me, then.” He was young, sturdy, and strong. He’d be handy in a stoush with looters, if it came to it. “And you could find Lee again and ask her to meet us out the front in ten minutes. Thanks.” He didn’t mind a little matchmaking. He thought Lee had a lonely life in her cottage in Gippstown after work. She could do a lot worse than Makepeace. ### Once more they made their way through the ash white, carbon black moonscape. First, they visited the police barricades. Foster watched as the young officers on duty spoke to driver after driver and let them through. “Why are you letting them through? The idea, I thought, was to stop them and send them back home again.” “Well, sir. They’re all coming in to help friends and relatives in the area clear up or to pick people up and take them out of the area.” “Oh, yes. Listen. From now on, the only people you allow through are those who can prove they live in the area.” “How will I know that, sir?” - 61 -

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“You will know that because you will look at the address on their driving license, son. That’s how you will know that. Now, there’s been looting already, so I want you to check on cars leaving the area, too. Same thing. If they are loaded up with goods and the address on the license is from outside this district, then we’ll need to speak to them. Any problems?” Sometimes he wondered about education these days. For all the tests and exams and training that went on, no one seemed to know how to teach common sense. Something you were born with, he supposed. If you were lucky. Back in the car there was not much in the way of social intercourse occurring. Not that there was a bad atmosphere. Lee and Makepeace were both staring silently out the windows, ignoring each other. “Right, Lee. We’ll try the pub first. I reckon any self-respecting looter isn’t going to miss the opportunity of some free beer. If any survived the fires, of course.” They pulled in to Hardy’s forecourt. The hotel itself was a mass of blackened rubble. In front, a handwritten sign announced business as usual. A large tent had been erected, with its wide opening facing the road. Intrigued, they wandered in for a look. Ed Hardy stood behind a trestle table bar, rinsing glasses in a plastic bowl. Small groups of firefighters, families, and repairmen clustered around card tables on folding chairs. “What can I get you, Al? I can do a nice line in mulled ale.” It was rare to hear a joke from Ed’s lips. “I wouldn’t mind a cold one later on, Ed, but we’re on duty just now. We thought you might be looted but obviously not. You didn’t take long to set up again.” “Don’t want to lose me license, do I? I have to stay open. Lucky the cellar was okay. I didn’t lose all my stock. I’ve got a generator keeping me fridge going now. The beers’ll be nice and cold for you when you’re ready. I heard there was looters round past The Grove and down the back of School Road. You’ll have to be quick, though, if you want to catch ’em.” “Why’s that?” “As soon as they heard, some of my customers formed a little group to go round there and do your job for you. They had baseball bats in the car.” “Thanks, mate. What make of car?” - 62 -

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“One of those double cab utes. Red. I didn’t see what make.” They ran back to the car and raced round to School Road, dodging between the slow-moving rubbernecks, past the burnt-out kindergarten and the school, which looked untouched, to the housing development on what used to be Chalk Farm. They were mainly new houses on half- to one-acre blocks. Most were occupied by young, one-car families. It was easy to walk the kids to school or kinder while the worker of the family commuted using the family car. There was no bus or train service up here. Many of the young wives felt isolated, he knew, and there were a few closet alcoholics. Dot was involved in some community activities that tried to give these women a sense of purpose. “Okay, now slow down, Lee, and let’s use our eyes. I’ll look left, you look right, Makepeace.” This area to the east of the main road hadn’t been as badly hit as the west. There was the occasional burnt house or shed, patches of burnt bush, but there was little sign of life. It was sensible to get the young kids out until it was safe again, but of course that left the whole district prey to the scavengers. “Over there, sir! That could be the vigilantes.” A red Toyota Hilux dual cab ute was parked behind a small white truck signed with Snowy’s Nappy Service, outside a two-story house with Spanish arches and dead geraniums swinging in baskets. The garden backed onto the only green grass in the whole district, the greens of the Hillview Golf Club. “I doubt if anyone’s worrying too much about getting their nappies picked up today, Senior,” Lee said. “Could be our man.” As they headed down the crushed scoria driveway, they could hear sounds of a scuffle—shouts and thuds. “Lee, you take the front with me. Makepeace, you cover the back.” The front door was open. They knocked first then burst in, yelling that they were police. “Over here, quick. In the kitchen.” They ran through the slate-floored hallway to the back. The kitchen was the type Dot drooled over in home magazines—very big, with an island bench and copper pans and implements hanging above. A screaming youth in white overalls was bent backwards over the wooden butcher block. Above - 63 -

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him, a red-faced redneck wielded a chopper. Foster grabbed the assailing hand. “It’s him you want, not me,” the redneck protested. “He was going through the cupboards, taking stuff. Look in that doona cover if you don’t believe me. The others are upstairs.” Makepeace was banging on the back door to be let in. Lee slid the bolts while Foster clicked handcuffs on both the men and attached them to a steel bar on the bench. “Righto, let’s see what’s going on upstairs.” They left the loud protests behind them and took the stairs two at a time. Foster was thinking he’d had more exercise in the last twenty-four hours than he’d had in the past month. His chest hurt, and his breath rasped. He’d probably breathed in too much smoke yesterday. In the bedroom, another youth in white overalls was stretched out on the bed, straddled by two stout blokes whacking him with baseball bats. Foster and Makepeace jumped on them and pulled them off, dodging the flailing weapons. Foster took a blow above the eye. The pain shot through his head. He collapsed on the bed. One of the burly vigilantes made a rush for the door, where Lee stood. He ran at her with his head aiming at her belly. With a nifty kick to his shoulder and a twist and a shove, Lee had the vigilante on the floor with his arm yanked behind his back. Every man in the room was open mouthed at the sight. “You all right, Senior?” she said. “Don’t worry about me. Get these idiots out of here.” The self-styled saviors were astonished to find themselves being frog marched down the stairs by a hefty young man in uniform. “We’re on your side. We were stopping these scum from looting.” Foster followed with the looter, whose head was bleeding copiously. He’d bloody better not have AIDS, Foster thought. It’s a bit hard to take precautions in situations like these. His own head throbbed. They all gathered in the kitchen. The Snowy’s Nappy Service men were hanging their heads as the vigilantes hurled abuses at them. “Shut up, the lot of you,” Foster ordered. “Now, Lee. I want you to get some back up. Ring through to the station and tell them to send a couple of cars ASAP.” - 64 -

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“Are you for real? Are you arresting us for doing your job? I don’t believe it.” Chopper man was getting over excited. His eyes bulged, and his skin flushed puce. Foster didn’t want to manage a heart attack victim on top of everything else. “Look, please calm down, sir. The thing is, you can’t just decide to take the law into your own hands. We’ll take you down to the station and caution you for now. But if there’s any more of this, then yes, you will most definitely be under arrest. It’s up to you.” “Unbelievable,” the man muttered under his breath. It was not long before more police arrived, and the Snowy’s men and the protesters were bundled into cars and driven off. Lee checked the doona cover. “It’s full of stuff, Senior. Saucepans, toaster, CDs, electric jug.” “We’d better take it back with us and do an inventory. We don’t know what came from here and what comes from other houses they’ve done. Makepeace, can you check upstairs and collect what was being taken up there?” Within a few minutes, they had dragged out all the property they thought had been stolen. Then they looked in the nappy van. “Would you look at that, Senior?” The back was stacked with plastic bags of nappies. They weren’t prepared to assess whether they were used or unused. Wedged between them were a CD player, microwave, computer, TV set, and video. “Everything you need to set up home, if you ask me,” Lee said. “I think they’re just opportunists.” Foster and Makepeace smirked at each other and made rude comments on the vocabulary of graduates. “You know what I mean. Don’t be horrible. They aren’t real villains. They saw an opportunity, and they took it. Disgusting, though, isn’t it? Stealing from the victims of disasters.” “Human beings will do anything. I’ve seen a lot in my time,” Foster said. “Traffic accident, victim lying at the side of the road, and there’s some lowlife pinching their wallet or handbag. Weddings, funerals, anything that’s announced in the papers, and while everyone’s away, the house is being - 65 -

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robbed. Opportunists? I’m sure I could think of a better way of describing them. Leeches, maybe. Jackals. I hate’em. Anyway, let’s be off. Makepeace, you drive the truck back and start doing the inventory. We’ll follow you down. And, by the way, well done, both of you.” They separated into the two vehicles. “Thanks, Senior,” Lee said. “What for?” “It’s a bit embarrassing. I think he’s trying to ask me for a date, and I keep changing the subject. He’s a nice enough guy, but he’s really not my type.” “What is your type? Have you got a boyfriend? I never thought to ask.” “I have, yes.” It was like drawing teeth. “So who is he? What’s he like?” “Well, I met him at uni when I was doing my course. He’s doing supervised post-graduate work in forensic psychology. He should be fully qualified in six months.” “And what’s he like?’ “If you mean is he Chinese, no, he’s not. He’s your typical Celt. Reddish hair and freckles, has to be very careful in the sun. And he’s very nice.” “When all this is over, you must come over for a meal, the two of you. And I didn’t mean was he Chinese, no.” Interesting looking children they’ll have, he thought. “I’d like that,” she said. She looked as if she meant it. They passed a Telstra employee working high on a pole. Foster yelled up, asking him to please come down. The man shrugged his shoulders and shinned down the pole. “What can I do you for?” “Sorry to call you down, mate. I just wondered if you could give us an idea how things are progressing. When we’re likely to get the phones back on. I always find the blokes on the job have got a better idea than the PR people. They’ll tell you anything to keep you sweet.” “Hard to tell just yet. There’s been a hell of a lot of damage. Poles and wiring. Wouldn’t be near as bad if all the cables went underground, instead of just some. Could be a coupla days yet.” He was a small, wiry country boy with short-cropped fair hair and a slow country drawl. “We’re fixing up this - 66 -

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side of the main road first. The police station’s this side, ain’t it? Yeah, reckon you could be back on tomorrow with a bit of luck. Is that all, then? See youse later.” He climbed back up the pole like a monkey shinning up to collect bananas. “He can have that job,” Lee said. “No head for heights?” She shook her head. Outside the police station, a large police information caravan was parked. Most of the visiting officers were busily carrying equipment and files into the vehicle. “This looks promising,” Foster said. He found Gallagher directing operations and skillfully avoiding anything in the way of manual work himself. “What’s going on, Ian? Are you all moving out?” He tried not to sound too hopeful. “Yes. We’ll take the operations van to the rec and set up there, get out from under your feet. The van’s equipped with emergency power and phone lines. Pity they didn’t send it out a lot earlier in the piece.” “Any chance of getting the house cleaned up before they go? It’s not fair on Dot to have to clear up after this mob. She’s been working flat chat feeding the starving millions since all this began. She’s exhausted.” Gallagher looked surprised at the request and considered it for a few seconds before he replied. “I’ll send a couple of constables in, then. As you say, it’s hardly fair on your wife. We’ll all get out of your way now.” Sorry we took over your station and house. Thanks for having us, Foster thought. Any manners Gallagher might have had in the past had evaporated with his promotion. Foster’s mobile rang. It was the forensic pathologist. She had the sort of voice—low and well modulate—that could have earned her a job as a TV current affairs anchor. It suited the job she did have. “Senior Constable Foster? Jane Leatherhead here. I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting, but I’m sure you’ll understand there’s been a huge demand on my time. I gave your body the top priority.” - 67 -

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If you look like you sound, he thought, I’d be very pleased for you to give my body top priority. He switched his concentration back to what she was saying. “I’ll send you a written report, but for the moment, these are the salient points. First, using the dental records, the deceased definitely is Peter Halliday. Now, obviously, a fire like this causes a great deal of damage to the corpse, and its hard to identify anything which may have happened before the burning occurred, but I would say there are reasons to suspect foul play. They are as follows: “There is damage to the back of the skull, which may have been caused by a blunt instrument, but equally could have been caused by a heavy fall. The lungs contain smoke particles. I think that Halliday was alive, but possibly unconscious, when the flames consumed him. “In his fist, I found black, straight hairs which withstood the fire because of the protection of the hand.” “You’ve kept those,” Foster said, “so we can cross match them at a later date?” “Of course. There is evidence of petrochemicals on the bits of skin and clothing which survived, chiefly where he was in contact with the floor. This may have been an accidental spillage or deliberate, who knows?” “So what you’re telling me is that, apart from the hairs, which might very well have come from his cat for all I—” “No, definitely human hair.” “Okay, apart from the human black hairs in his fist, there’s really nothing to tell us if it was accidental death, murder, or manslaughter.” “That’s correct.” “Mm. Well, at least we’ve got a positive ID for the widow. She’s only in her twenties, you know. Just a kid, really.” “I’m sorry. I don’t envy you that part of the job. I’d better get on. It’s going to be a late night for me.” “Well, thanks for your help, Jane. Thanks for dealing with it so promptly, I appreciate that.” “No worries.” She clicked off. Lee came in, carrying two mugs. “Thought you might like a cuppa, boss.” - 68 -

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“Much appreciated, Lee. Though I think something stronger might have been in order. When we’ve finished, we have to go see Judy Halliday again. Not good news, I’m afraid.” “The path report’s come through?” “Yes. The body is definitely Halliday. What they can’t tell us is whether the death was accidental or not.” “And you think it wasn’t.” “It just doesn’t feel right that a young bloke like that would die in what was really a small fire. Plus, it seems he was gripping a bunch of black hairs in his hand.” “So he might have been involved in some sort of scuffle, do you think? Seen anyone around with black hair and a bald patch? We don’t know much about him at this stage, do we?” Her concern turned to him. “You need to put some ice on that eye of yours, you know. It’s swelling and turning a nice shade of purple.” “Ice is a bit difficult right now.” “You should go up to the rec. Someone ought to be able to help you. There are doctors, the Red Cross, St John’s. You’ve got no excuse. Plus, you ought to be checked out for concussion. Finish your tea, and I’ll drive you up.” Bossy women rule my life, he thought.

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Chapter Eight An ice block, wrapped in a piece of gauze, soothed the throb but sent uncomfortable trickles down the side of Foster’s face to his neck and inside his collar. Dot, at the tea urn, was neither impressed nor sympathetic. “What have you been doing now?” “Just a scuffle, Dot. Nothing to worry about.” “You’re getting too old for scuffles. It’s time you had a desk job. Tell him I’m right, Jade.” Lee nodded in agreement. “She’s right, boss.” He knew Dot didn’t mean it. A desk job would mean working in a city cop shop, and city life was as attractive to her as it was to him. They could never get out of the city fast enough, on the rare occasions when they’d had to go in. Smelly, noisy, crowded, impersonal. No, they were country folk, and a country station meant handling the odd bit of action. “Seen Judy Halliday around?” “She was doing sandwiches with the Red Cross. You could ask there. Any news about Peter?” He nodded and lowered his voice. “The body’s been confirmed as his. You won’t say anything yet. Not ’til I’ve spoken to Judy.” “Poor soul. How long will it be before they release the body for the funeral?” “No idea, love. Come on, Lee. We’d better find her.” The Red Cross workers were in the hall, serving a hot evening meal to the homeless, the CFA, police, and anyone who needed it. And there were several hundred in need. The scene reminded Foster that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “We should get something to eat, Lee, while we can. I always say a man can’t be expected to function properly on an empty stomach.” He ignored her smirk. They lined up for casseroled something and potatoes and asked about Judy Halliday. She had apparently left for home half an hour ago. They carried their plates to the long trestle table the police had commandeered. They ate quickly, as workers in emergency services usually do. The hall was rapidly filling with donated goods. They would - 70 -

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soon have to find alternative accommodation for either the food or the donations. Women busily sorted clothes by size and stacked blankets and sleeping bags in separate piles, while dazed families chose what they needed. A lot of the stuff was brand new, still in its packaging. The big firms usually came good with things like new underwear. You could hardly expect people to accept second hand undies. Lee nudged him and jerked her head towards a neighboring table. A young teenager sat by herself, with a pie congealing on a plate in front of her. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto the plate. Her nose ran. She took no notice. Foster knew her. She was one of the O'Sullivan kids. He and Lee joined her at the table. He handed her a handkerchief, and she tried to clean up her sodden face. “Anything we can do to help?” She shook her head. “Where’s the rest of the family?” “Setting up a caravan or something. Out on the rec.” “Lose your house did you?” She nodded and gulped, trying to stop the tears from gushing again. “And Pip. We had to leave Pip, and he died in the paddock. They shot him because he was so badly burnt.” She sobbed. “Your pony?” Lee said. Her shoulders shook, and Lee placed an arm round her. “And Donna, my best friend. She’s in hospital. She’s really bad.” “Too much for one person to cope with, all at once, isn’t it?” Lee held her against her chest. “I’ll find one of the trauma counselors,” Foster said. He found a young psychologist in one of the social welfare vans and deposited her with the distraught teenager. “We can’t put this off any longer, Lee. We’ll drive out to Halliday’s place.” ###

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The young woman’s reaction surprised them. There had been no news of her husband’s whereabouts since the fires, so she must at least have half expected the body to be Peter’s. Still, Foster could never predict how people would take bad news, even after all these years. She screamed, “No, no! It can’t be. Tell me it can’t be!” She buried her head in the soft curls of the retriever who had jumped on the sofa beside her. Lee tried to comfort her, while Foster carried a candle into the bathroom, found two Panadols, and brought her a glass of mineral water from the kitchen. “I really think you should get someone to stay with you or, better still, go and stay with a friend or relative,” he said. She shook her head, and her bright hair gleamed in the light of the portable gas lamp that purred on the table. She started to calm down. “Is there anyone else you’d like us to inform? Peter’s parents? Any other relatives?” “His parents are both dead. There’s his brother, James. They didn’t get on, but I suppose he’d still want to know. I haven’t been in contact with him since—. Of course, the phones are still out. I can’t find the mobile. Peter must have had it with him when—” She melted into tears again. “Have you got an address for James? A phone number?” She moved to a roll-top desk by the wall and shone a torch around the compartments. She found a business card and handed it to him. He put it in his shirt pocket without trying to read in the gloom. He needed bright lights for reading these days and had been putting off a visit to the optometrist for some time. He wasn’t ready to accept growing old. “Are you sure there’s no one we can contact to come and stay with you?” “No. Thanks, anyway.” “What about a doctor? You probably need something to let you get some sleep.” “I’ll be all right. I’m fine now. Thanks for letting me know.” They left. “It’s been a long day, Senior. I might go home, if it’s all right with you. Nothing else you can do tonight, is there?” “No. You go home and get some shut eye. You’re welcome to stay with us again, you know. If you don’t want the drive home.” - 72 -

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“Thanks, but I’d like to go home. I need a change of clothes. And a hot shower would be a bonus.” “Sounds good to me. I might have to consider a shower in the portables at the rec if we haven’t got the power on by tomorrow morning. If you stop at the rec, I’ll pick up Dot and you can drop us off at home on the way past. I’ll be interested to see what sort of a clearing up job the connies did on my house.” “Don’t worry. You won’t be able to see it, anyway, in the dark.” “Very comforting, I must say.” Foster changed his mind about the shower when he saw the queues in the morning and promised himself he’d come back later on in the day. He pulled out James Halliday’s card and wandered over to the police van to make the call. Halliday apparently worked as a sales rep for one of the multinational pharmaceutical companies. First, Foster tried the home phone number in Fitzroy. A voice thick with sleep answered. “Vincent Tomasetti speaking.” “Sorry—did I wake you?” “That’s okay. I’m a muso. I work late. People are always waking me up in the mornings. How can I help you?” “Senior Constable Foster from Pelican East. I’d like to speak to James Halliday, please.” “James is on his way to Korumburra this morning. You can catch him on his mobile.” “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for him. It’s not the sort of thing I can tell him while he’s driving.” “Bad news. Oh God. Look, he usually rings home at lunchtime. I’ll get him to give you a call. Or he may be able to drop in on you on the way home. He often goes through Pelican East way.” “That would be best, if he could. I’d prefer to speak to him in person.” Foster left his mobile number with Tomasetti. Gallagher breezed in, casting sweet smells to the air. Foster felt particularly on the nose this morning. He left after a terse greeting. At the station, Lee smelled similarly fresh. “You look as if you had a good night’s sleep,” he said. - 73 -

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“Like a baby,” she said. “I didn’t realize how exhausted I was. Have you been able to contact Halliday’s brother yet?” “He’s on the road. I’ve left a message for him to ring or drop in.” “I had the feeling there was more to the relationship with his brother than just ‘not getting on.’ How come you don’t know the background? I thought you knew everything that went on in this place?” “That family has always kept itself to itself. And they’ve never been in trouble with the law, so I’ve had no reason to find out about them. And I don’t know everyone in the area, ’specially since the new estates have gone up.” She wasn’t listening to him. She stared out the window without focusing. “Is everything all right, Lee?” She sighed and brought her focus back into the room. “Not really. There was a message on my answering machine from my father, so I rang him last night. He was worried about the situation here, of course, but there have been horrible things happening at home.” “What sort of horrible things?” “Well, my auntie and uncle have a food store in Richmond. An Asian one. You know, noodles, spices, dried mushrooms, all the things we like to use in our cooking that most supermarkets don’t stock. Well, the day before yesterday, the day of the fires, the shop was vandalized. Windows were smashed, the stock was thrown around, packets ripped open and their contents scattered. And there was graffiti all over the place, apparently. ‘Asians go home.’ That sort of stuff. We’ve been here for generations. This is our home. Our trouble is, we always look Chinese, however many years our families may have been here.” “It’s never happened before?” “Never. I reckon it’s that Raylene Jansen woman, that politician, stirring up all the ancient prejudices. Ignorant people think it’s okay, now, to have a go at the minority groups.” “Have the local cops got any idea who did it?” “They’re investigating. They have a few ideas but nothing concrete yet. I spoke to the detective sergeant who’s running the investigation. I don’t know how committed he is to solving it. He seems to have this idea that it’s a protection racket and other Chinese are involved.” - 74 -

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“And you obviously don’t think so?” “No. The graffiti, for one thing. I mean, they’re not likely to tell Asians to go home, are they? Unless they’re so bright they’re making it look like a racist incident. I don’t think that sort of thug has enough intelligence to work all that out.” “Do you want to go over there? Speak to your relatives?” “Not at this stage. The local cops wouldn’t appreciate my interference. I’ll see how they go, see if my uncle is satisfied.” “What does your father do? Did you say he was a chef?” She laughed. “I said he did most of the cooking, but no, he’s not a chef. He’s a senior lecturer in math at Monash University.” Foster was surprised. “I’m impressed.” “Don’t be. Math is like breathing for him. It comes naturally.” “Can’t imagine that. I was always a struggler in math. I was the first one in our family to go past year eight at school, you know. And I joined the force at sixteen. You could, in those days. No, we’re not blessed with academic geniuses in the Foster family. Mel’s the only one who’s bright enough, and she’s just not interested.” “She might change her mind when she’s a bit older. When she’s had enough of rebelling to see clearly.” “I’m getting worried about her, Lee. She’s only a kid and not too sensible a kid at that. She could be getting herself into all sorts of dangerous situations, without any idea of how to get herself out again. That Spillane seems game to try anything that’ll earn him a buck—as long as it’s not an honest job, of course.” He buried his head in his hands. “This Dandenong cop you asked to follow up on Spillane—” “Greg Davidson.” “Yes. He’ll persist with it, won’t he? He won’t just forget about it because he had no luck yesterday?” “No. He’s not the sort who gives up on a challenge.” “Well, leave it in his hands for a bit longer, eh? You trust him. I’m sure he won’t let you down.” Foster was beginning to wonder which of them was fifty-two and which was twenty-three. She was a mature young woman. “Righto. Let’s get on with our own jobs, then.” - 75 -

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“What first?” “Peter Halliday. I know it’s a bit late in the piece, but we ought to seal off the area and send in Forensics to check it out. Actually, I doubt if anyone’s been through the rubble since Ted Bailey went in to find the body. Give them a ring, will you, and see if they can send someone over today?” He handed over the mobile phone then started to jot down everything he could remember about the case so far. It was not a lot. He needed to know much more about the man himself. He didn’t feel he could tackle Judy again, though of course they’d have to let her know they were sealing off the shed and the reasons why. As far as she was concerned, it was simply an accidental death. Her shock would be compounded when he explained his suspicions. Gallagher gleamed pinkly, and his cheeks flushed. He was more piggy than guppy today. More boar, maybe. Foster grinned to himself over his pun. He’d never been much of a joke teller. It was a pity that most occasions when he did think up jokes were the times when he couldn’t tell them. Like now. “What’s this I hear about you calling in the boys from Forensics to check out the Halliday place?” Gallagher said. “I thought we’d agreed that it was accidental death. It’s a waste of resources.” “No, sir. You said it was accidental death, but I didn’t agree. I was suspicious because of the circumstances. It just didn’t seem right, a young firefighter being killed like that. And then the report from the pathologist seemed to bear out my suspicions. The bruise on the head. The black hairs grasped in the fist. I’m sure it needs more investigation.” “But the pathologist said the bruise could have been caused by the fall or by the roof crashing down on him. I am right, aren’t I?” “Yes, sir. But the hairs? Definitely human, sir, not cat or dog hairs or the bristles from a paintbrush. I don’t think you can ignore them.” “Just get it cleared up as quickly as possible, Foster. God knows what’s happening to the crime rate in the city while so many of us are tied up out in the sticks.” “I’m sure we’ll manage quite well, sir, if you want to return to your office. Don’t let us hold you up.”

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“I suppose I can lend you a detective to speed up your inquiries. But they must be completed by the end of the week. After that, we’ll just have to close the books on this one.” And I suppose you solve all your murder investigations within a week, Foster thought. Bastard. We’ll show you. I hope. ### Colin Baylard, the detective, arrived within an hour. He was young and smooth. He wore a flash suit, short hair with sideburns, and an arrogant stare. Bound to go down well with the farmers and the orchardists and the mechanics. Never mind, Foster thought, he’s an extra pair of hands. He ran through the details of the case that they had amassed so far, and Baylard listened attentively enough. Lee filled in with bits and pieces he’d forgotten. It didn’t look like a lot on paper, but they worked out a few leads that they should follow up. They were interrupted by the arrival of a redheaded young man in designer shirt and jeans. He spoke with a melodic deep voice that sounded as if he might break into song any moment. “Senior Constable Foster?” he said. “I’m James Halliday. I had a message from my partner to say you had some bad news for me. After what I’ve been through in the last couple of years, I wouldn’t have thought there was much left in the way of bad news for me.” What type of partner is that, then? Foster asked himself. Like many other words, it had changed its meaning over his lifetime. “You’d better sit down, sir.” Baylard and Lee withdrew to a corner of the room and watched Halliday’s reaction to the news. He seemed puzzled rather than upset. “Peter? Dead? But he’s been fighting fires since he was a teenager. It’s hard to believe.” “That’s precisely what we thought, sir. Do you have any ideas as to who could possibly bear your brother a grudge?” Halliday sank his head into his hands for a few seconds then looked up. “I suppose you’ll find out sooner or later, so I may as well tell you myself. No one has more cause to bear Peter a grudge than I do.” “Why’s that, sir?” - 77 -

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“My mother died two years ago; then my father became very sick with cancer, and he died just three months ago. I suppose they were fairly wealthy on paper, but their money was all tied up in the farm. Asset rich they call it, I think. I’m the oldest son, so in theory I should have inherited the property or at least had a half share in it.” “But that didn’t happen?” “No. I think if Mum had been alive, she would have made sure I got my share, but once she died, Pete and Judy moved in to the big house. They used to live on that new estate, Chalk Farm, in quite an ordinary little house. Anyway, whether it was Pete’s influence or not, I don’t know, but the old man just didn’t want to know me after that. He cut me out of the will altogether. I’d hoped we could sell the place and collect enough capital to set up our own businesses or buy our own places.” “So are you going to give up without a fight?” “No. I’m contesting the will through my solicitors, Broad and Moore. In fact, I went to Pete and Judy’s to discuss it on the day the fires broke out.” “You did? What time was that, then, sir?” “We had lunch at the big house. I’d left by two, because I had a four o’clock appointment in the city and there were a few other things I needed to do along the way.” “And what happened, during your discussion with Mr. and Mrs. Halliday?” “Pete wouldn’t budge. If that’s what the will says, then that’s what will happen. End of story. He’s always been like that. Totally inflexible. Totally unforgiving of human frailties. That’s why he’s happy—was happy— working with computers. There’s always some logical reason for why they do what they do. Not like people.” “And Mrs. Halliday? She seems to be more of a people person.” “She is. She’s lovely. Oh, she was all for selling up and sharing the proceeds. She’s not very happy out here. She’d rather be in town where she’d have the support of her friends from uni. She’s always felt isolated here.” “But she had her husband.” “Mm.” James Halliday stared at his well-tended nails. “Was everything all right between them?” - 78 -

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“That was something else I needed to talk to him about. He was often physical—you know—towards her. Slapped her around if she didn’t please him. And he could be pretty hard to please.” “Do you mind if I ask you, sir, what exactly you did to turn your father against you?” He took a breath, studied his nails some more then looked up. “I’m gay. I told the family, oh, five years ago, I suppose. When I moved in with Vincent, Dad couldn’t cope with that. Doesn’t fit the rugged outdoor man image, does it? How could his son turn out like that? And as for Pete, well, what a sign of weakness I was. Of human frailty. Not much hope of him showing any forgiveness.” “And Judy? How did she take it?” “She was fine. We’re two of a kind, she and I. Too sensitive for that environment. We’ve tried to support each other over the years. She was too good for him. She deserved better. Look, I really ought to be going. I’d like to see Judy before I leave. You know where I live, if you need to be in contact.” “Oh, yes. But first, if you could give us the details, please, of your 4 p.m. appointment on the twenty-fourth?” Halliday smiled and pulled his electronic organizer from his pocket. He tapped at the keys then placed it on the table, facing Foster. The policeman squinted at the display, carefully copied down the details, and handed it back. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Halliday. I expect we’ll be in touch with you again. I’m sorry we had to be the bringers of bad news for you.” Halliday smiled again, a twisted little smile. He rose and quickly left.

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Chapter Nine “Well, James Halliday has an excellent motive,” Detective Baylard said. He had removed his jacket and tie and was looking more acceptable to Foster now. “Contested wills create a lot of ill feeling. I’ll see how his alibi checks out. What did the pathologist say was the approximate time of death?” “Pete was pretty well burnt to a crisp,” Foster said. “Too hard to say under those circumstances, but she was sure he was unconscious before he burned, because of the smoke in his lungs. But then, if he was conscious, he’d still have inhaled a lot of smoke. We just know he was not dead before the fire. I thought I saw his place go up at about 4:30 p.m., but I was in the next road and it was hard to pinpoint the exact position.” “So it’s possible the brothers had a fight and Peter was left unconscious maybe hours before the fire,” Baylard said. “It’s possible, though that fire seemed to be well ahead of the main front. Could have been a spot fire. Could have been deliberately lit.” Lee joined in. “Call it woman’s intuition, if you like, but I don’t think James is the type to have a brawl with his brother. He seems gentle. The very reason his father was disappointed in him was his inability to be the macho man. I can’t see him fighting, and, even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t leave Peter on the floor without getting attention for him.” “Did I mention, Baylard, that Lee is our own resident qualified psychiatrist?” Foster laughed. “Psychologist, Senior. I’m not a psychiatrist.” She looked hurt. “Isn’t that a valid observation? I don’t know why you think it’s funny.” “Sorry.” He realized he was quickly falling into the old pattern of ganging up against the sole female. She did have a point. “The other thing we shouldn’t forget is the clump of black hairs clutched tight in Peter Halliday’s hand. There’s no way they could have come from James’s head,” she added. “You’re right,” Baylard said. “Anyway, I’ll check out that alibi now.” He took out his mobile and went into the next room to use it. Foster chewed his pen. “I wonder where Halliday’s death leaves Judy, with regard to the will. It would be interesting to know if she gets the lot now, or if it all reverts to James. She could have a motive.” - 80 -

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“Seems to me she’s even less likely to be violent than James is. I can’t imagine her wielding a blunt instrument and bashing Peter around the head with it. Can you?” Lee sounded dubious. “No, I can’t. But there have been cases of battered wives murdering their husbands violently. Even mousy little creatures like Judy can react when they are pushed too far.” “True. But we saw her several times that day, and, although she was jumpy, she wasn’t in the sort of state you’d expect her to be in if she’d just murdered her husband. Still, I suppose we ought to bring her in for questioning when she’s ready to talk to us. She should be able to confirm, too, whether her brother-in-law’s story is true.” The phone rang, and Foster jumped. Seemed like weeks since it had been able to ring. Foster picked it up, staring suspiciously at it. “Senior Constable Foster,” he said. “Telstra here. Just letting you know you’re on line again. It was me you spoke to yesterday, out on the Chalk Farm estate.” Foster had already placed the country drawl. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” There was a pause. “I don’t know if it’s important,” the Telstra man said, “but I’ve got some information I probably oughta give you. About the murder. I heard youse were investigating a murder? Up at Halliday’s?” “A death. We’re investigating a death. News gets round fast here. Look, we’d be happy to hear what you’ve got to say. When can you come in?” “Reckon I’ll be finished about four. I’ll come down then, if that’s okay with you.” “No worries. Thank you Mr. …?” “Holbrook. Dave Holbrook. Seeya, then.” Foster replaced the handset thoughtfully. “Remember that Telstra technician we spoke to yesterday? Says he’s got some information for us on the murder.” Lee raised her eyebrows and continued writing up her report. The phone rang again. This time it was Greg Davidson. Foster’s heart skipped a beat. There must be news of Mel if Greg was ringing. - 81 -

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“Hi, Al. How are you? Do you want the good news first or the bad news?” “Give me the bad first, mate.” “Well, the bad news is we still haven’t found your daughter. The good news is that we’ve located Gary Spillane, though he’s a long way from our patch.” “Well, that’s a start, I suppose. Where is he?” “He’s in a little house in Richmond. Industrial area between the freeway, Punt Road and Swan Street. The local boys took him in for questioning on some break and enters, but they had to let him go. They searched his place, but there was no sign of Melanie. I thought you might want to have a talk to him yourself; then you can keep the issues of crime and Mel separate, if you know what I mean. I’d get down there fast, if I were you. He seems to move quite frequently, and he might have been scared off by today’s search. On the other hand, they didn’t find anything incriminating, so he might think he’s safe.” “Amazing—that they didn’t find anything, I mean. Must have caught him on an off day. Thanks for that, Greg. What’s the address?” He wrote it down carefully in his neat, italic script and rang off. “Fancy a trip into town this evening? Spillane’s been found in Richmond.” “And Melanie?” “Nothing yet. I think young Gary needs a bit of pressure put on him.” “Yes, I’ll come. I don’t think I need to consult my bulging social diary,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t you see your boyfriend at all?” “Not during the week, usually. If Rory hasn’t got classes, he’s studying. It’s not much fun having to be quiet while he concentrates. I’ll be glad when he’s finished.” A head appeared round the door. “Senior Constable Foster? We’re here from Forensics. We’re told you’ve got a site you want us to investigate. Could you show us where abouts it is? Pity you’re not in the Melways maps out here.” ### - 82 -

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Foster led the investigators to the Halliday property while Lee found Judy to let her know the further trials she would be put through. The dog greeted them like old friends, her tail sweeping enthusiastic circles. Foster held onto her collar while the others got down to work. The two policemen wriggled their way into overalls and gloves then stretched blue and white checked tape around the site to cordon it off. They worked quietly, each confident in the other’s ability, both well practiced in their art. With painstaking attention to detail—which reminded Foster of archaeologists at work—they carefully lifted each piece of roofing iron, forming a pile to the side. Then they picked up each tool in turn, slipping some pieces into bags. The younger one, his face scarred by acne, showed him a pinch bar that lay under a heap of hammers and drills, in the black remains of what had once been peg board and wood bench. “I’d say this has a good chance of being your murder weapon. See, it’s directly on the concrete floor, and these other tools have fallen on top of it when the walls and bench burned down. Where it’s been in contact with the concrete, there are intact fingerprints. Could be the owner’s, of course. We’ll pick up some of his from the house, so we can eliminate them. Also, this looks like blood, wouldn’t you say? From what we’ve seen of the skull, this could be a good match for the indentation. We’ll take it back and check.” Another police car drew up, this one containing members of the arson squad accompanied by Lee. She spoke to Foster while the car disgorged the men and their equipment. “I found Judy, sir. She must be taking tranquillizers, because she seemed quite calm about the investigation. She was back at school already. She said she’ll come down to the station tomorrow after school, to talk about the will and James and anything else we need to know. She was very cooperative.” “Good. Well, we’d best get back. That Telstra fellow said he’d be down at 4 p.m. We’ve twenty minutes. I’m interested to hear what he’s got to say for himself.” He released the dog. She immediately ran to snuffle the faces of the investigators. Not what you’d call a great guard dog, he thought. On the way back, they were slowed down by a large truck lumbering down the narrow track in front of them, loaded with burnt debris. - 83 -

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“Have you seen the pile that’s growing at the rec?” Lee said. He shook his head. “It’s huge, and growing all the time. The burnt remains of people’s houses. Of their lives, really.” They drove back in silence. When Foster and Lee returned to the office, the clock was flashing, the little fridge was humming, and the light on the answering machine pulsed. Foster grinned. “The power’s back on. They’ve done well.” He flicked the light switch on and off, smiling like a three-year-old when it worked. He climbed on a chair to reset the clock. “The invading hordes have gone. The phone’s working, and the power’s back on. We’re almost back to normal.” “Except that we’ve got a possible murder, several deaths, thirty to forty houses lost, homeless families at the rec, and we haven’t found your daughter yet. I’d say we’re still a long way from normal, sir.” “Yeah, well—when you put it like that, I suppose—yeah, you’re right. I was feeling good there, for a few seconds. Thanks, Lee.” “Sorry.” She flashed a grin at him. Dave Holbrook shambled to the front counter like a cowboy who’d lost the horse from between his legs. He grinned. “G’day. How ya goin’, then?” Foster sat him down at a desk, and Lee found a note pad and pen. “So, Mr. Holbrook. What have you got to tell us?” The young technician wriggled on the chair, rose, turned it back to front, and sat astride it, leaning on its back. He reinforced the cowboy image. “Well—I don’t know if it’s important—if it’s goin’ to be of any help to youse.” “You just tell us what you know,” Foster said, “and we’ll sort out later whether it’s important or not. Can we get you a cup of tea to help you relax?” If he relaxes any more, he’ll be in a coma. “Nah. A beer would go down well, but I don’t suppose…nah. Well…” He took a deep breath and launched into his account. “Monday, before the fires broke out, I was workin’ on the lines past Halliday’s place. I was up one of the poles. You get a good view from up there. I could see the fires in the Mount Misery State Forest, working their way towards the main road and - 84 -

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then jumping it and coming towards us. By the time I could see whole trees catch fire, I thought it might be time to go, you know. I could see spot fires ahead of the main front. I was bloody scared. Don’t mind admitting it. I saw you, too. At least, I saw a police car heading up Hardy’s Road.” “Yes. That was me. So what happened, then?” Foster prodded gently. “Well, I looked down, and I saw a man running from Halliday’s shed. Seconds later, it went up with a whoosh—like a bonfire when you’ve put too much petrol on it. You know, that sort of whoosh it makes? Well, at the time, I though he was running from the fire. Maybe he was. I don’t know. But when I heard Halliday might have been murdered, well, I thought I’d better tell you. Being a good citizen and that.” “I’m glad you did. So, what did this man look like?” “He was a big fella. Hard to tell how tall when you’re above, like that, but he was big. Not just tall, solid with it, you know?” “What was he wearing?” Holbrook sucked his breath through his teeth and thought about it. “Overalls, I think. CFA overalls. Only I’ve seen so many in the past few days, it’s hard to remember when and where, if you know what I mean.” “Good. So, he was wearing yellow overalls. Any helmet?” “No. I don’t think so. I think he might have had a hard hat under his arm. He was holding something.’ “So, if he wasn’t wearing a hat, you’d have seen his hair. Can you remember what color his hair was?” “Yeah.” Holbrook grinned triumphantly. “It was black. Straight and black and shiny.” “How did he leave? Did you see what type of vehicle he drove?” “Nah. What with the shed blazing away, I thought I’d better get outta there as quick as I could. I was down the pole and in me van and outta there in about thirty seconds, I reckon.” “So you didn’t recognize this man? The one who was running away? You hadn’t seen him before?” “Nah. I didn’t know him. Sorry.” “Would you be able to recognize him if you saw him again?” “Only if I was up a pole above him.” The youth laughed. - 85 -

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“Can you say what time it was, when the shed caught fire and you saw this man running away?” “Reckon it was about 4:30. Knocking off time.” “Anything else you can remember?” “Nah. That’s it.” “Well, Mr. Holbrook, thank you very much for your time. You’ve been most helpful. We’ll be in touch again, I expect.” “I’ll let you know if I think of anything else. Can I go now, then?” “Yes, you can go. Thanks again, Mr. Holbrook. And thanks for getting our phones connected again.” “Yeah, I’ve earned a few brownie points today, eh? See ya, then.” He sauntered out, thumbs stuck in his belt loops, whistling. Lee laughed as he left. “A genuine boot scooter, wouldn’t you say, Senior? Looks like he’d feel more at home in chaps than in his Telstra uniform.” “Talking of uniforms, Lee, do you know what’s happened to our plain clothes man? Our detective?” “Oh yes. He did say. He was going into town to check on James Halliday’s story.” “Couldn’t use a phone, I suppose?” “I had the feeling there was something else he needed to do in town while he was there.” Foster nodded. Seemed to him the city police always had something else to do that was more important. “Well, I think we should go in ourselves, before the traffic gets too heavy. It’ll probably be horrendous already.” So many years of driving on country roads made his stomach churn at the thought of driving in city traffic. “I’m happy to drive, sir. I’m used to heavy traffic.” So she could read his mind, now. “I’ll be happy to let you, Lee. We’ll just pop round to find Dot and let her know what’s going on.” ### The traffic was murder. Lee was a competent driver, but he still found himself clutching the door handle when she squeezed through gaps he didn’t - 86 -

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think were possible. She was driving her little Mazda, so as not to attract attention when they were on surveillance. They were in plain clothes. It took several minutes to find a big enough break in the stream of cars to be able to move from the arterial onto Punt Road and into the right hand lane so they could turn into Swan Street. They turned right again and found themselves in a maze of tiny lanes, barely wide enough for a car to pass through. Small terrace houses with iron-roofed verandas squeezed between great, square factories and warehouses. A college took up the major part of one block, and some of its students were sauntering towards the station, chatting, chewing, and hitching backpacks over their shoulders, while others drifted in to classes. They drove past Spillane’s little house, toured the block, and parked in one of the few spaces farther up the road, on the opposite side, with a good view of the front door. His front yard was carpeted with lawn-colored concrete and decorated with motor parts. The cream vertical blinds on the front window were shut. Foster examined his watch. Seemed like he had to hold it farther and farther away from his eyes these days to focus on those little numbers. “Six thirty,” he said. “Where can we pick up something to eat round here?” “Do you like Indian? There’s a good place round the corner that does takeaways.” He hunched his shoulders and scowled. “Still not too sure about this foreign junk, eh? It’s delicious. I’ll get you something really mild. Won’t be long.” She left and slammed the door. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten a good, home cooked meal since before the fires, what with the power off and Dot down at the refuge all the time. He’d be glad when things got back to normal. He thought about the many families who’d lost home and family members, for whom life would probably never be normal again, and felt bad about feeling sorry for himself. He watched Spillane’s door and wondered what had been going on behind it. Had Mel been there? Was she there now? What had she done there? Sex? Drugs? Why his daughter? Where had he gone wrong? - 87 -

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A tap on the window broke him from his downward spiraling train of thought. He opened the door for Lee. The food smelled surprisingly good. A delicate fragrance drifted up, and he felt the saliva flow. She gave him his package, paper napkin, and plastic fork. Suspiciously at first, then ravenously, he forked through the lumps in the rich gravy and wolfed them down. He copied her and mopped up the gravy with the soft, thin bread. “Excellent,” he said with a grin. “What was that?” “Chicken Korma with Kashmiri rice. And the bread is called naan. Yummy, eh? I told you you’d like it.” “It’s not like the curry we’ve had at home. Dot tried a couple of times, with this curry powder that comes out of a tin. Horrible it was.” “It’s like any food. You need the authentic spices. I’ll cook real Chinese for you one day. Educating Foster, ” she added with a laugh. He didn’t get the joke. She pulled two polystyrene cups out of the bag and handed one over. “Still pretty hot, by the feel of it.” He carefully prized the lid off but still managed to slop some in his lap. Luckily, it wasn’t at the scalding stage. She’d remembered the two sugars. The quack had told him to cut sugar out, lose a bit of weight, but a man had to have a bit of enjoyment in life, otherwise what was the point of it all? If the alternative was a longer life with restrictions on everything he ate, well, he’d rather die young. Younger. With a bit of food and some caffeine in his system, his earlier depression had lifted.

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Chapter Ten A mosquito whined around Foster’s ear but managed to evade his slaps, which became wilder with each miss. Lee, whose eyes had been closing, sat up straight and forced them open. “Did I miss something?” “Just the odd Mig bomber coming in to land. Come on, Lee, we’re wasting time just sitting here. Let’s see if they’re in.” “Do you have any excuse for asking for a look round?” “I don’t need one. I’m the girl’s father. I’m acting in an unofficial capacity.” “And what about me? What capacity am I acting in?” “You’re my friend,” he said. He was surprised to realize he meant what he said. There weren’t many colleagues over the years he’d have trusted in a situation like this. He could depend on Lee to behave sensitively, if need be, or to produce the karate kicks if the situation arose. And she wouldn’t be blabbing personal details around the traps the next day. “Fine,” she said with a little grin. The sky was darkening now, and the streetlights were doing their halfhearted flicker before coming to life. At least, some were. Many didn’t make it, and shadows fell across Spillane’s door. There didn’t seem to be a bell or a knocker. Foster rapped on the glass panel. Music thumped out, with a heavy bass line and drums. He beat again, harder. This time he could see a figure, distorted by the ripples in the glass, coming closer. Spillane opened the door. Foster had only met him once before, when he’d brought Mel home very late one night. Foster had stormed out and confronted the astonished youth before he had time to drive off. He recognized the long, wavy, fair hair and the stud in the ear. He could never understand how such a girlie look would be accepted by a bloke’s mates or by his girlfriend, but times had obviously changed. At least he didn’t have a nose ring. Below his lip a little yellow caterpillar of a beard crawled up his chin. Spillane’s pale blue eyes opened wide in alarm. His voice, when it came out, was a nervous squeak. “Mr. Foster? What’re you doin’ here? And who’s she?” - 89 -

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“Glad to see you haven’t lost your manners, son. This is Constable Lee. Don’t worry. We’re not here officially. Could we come in for a chat, please?’ Spillane seemed to think about his answer–the effort apparently caused him some pain—and took a few seconds before making up his mind. “Okay, then.” He turned and walked down the long corridor. They followed. He led them to the lounge room, which stretched the width of the house and was decorated with a hotchpotch of second hand furniture. At this range, the music was ear shattering. “Would you mind turning it off, mate?” Foster yelled. Spillane shrugged and pointed a remote control at the unit. “Want a Foster’s? Mr. Foster?” He kept a straight face. “Yeah, that’d be good, thanks.” Lee didn’t want one. She wasn’t offered anything else. He fetched two tins from the fridge in the kitchen alcove, saying, “So how did youse find me? This isn’t my place. It’s me brother’s pad.” “It’s easy to find people these days. You know, you can check on credit cards, phone bills, and so on. It’s all done by computers.” Spillane looked impressed. Lee stifled a laugh behind a tissue. “So, what can I do for youse?” “It’s Melanie, you see. She’s been missing for three days now. I’m not the sort to panic, and I know Mel can be a bit headstrong at times, but I’m starting to get worried. You’ve been seeing her, I thought you might have some idea of where she could be.” “So she didn’t call you on the blower, then?” “No. Nothing.” “Of course,” Lee said, “the phone lines have been out since the fires, so it would be hard to make contact.” “Fires? What fires?” “Don’t you ever watch the news? Listen to the news? Read the news?” Foster was incredulous. “Nah. Boring stuff. What’s been goin’ down, then?” “There’ve been bushfires across half the state, and Pelican East has almost been burnt out. We’ve lost homes, shops, the kinder. And several people have died.” “Yeah?” - 90 -

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“Yes. So you can understand we’ve been concerned about Mel. It was the day of the fires when she didn’t come home. She didn’t get off the school bus. No one’s seen her or heard from her since. Not even her friends from school.” Spillane leaned his head into his hands, and sun bleached locks fell forward, covering his face. He thought for a few moments. Then he lifted his head. “If I tell you what I know, will you promise me I won’t get into trouble?” It was Foster’s turn to think. The idea of trading immunity for information was not appealing, but he could hear Dot in his head. For God’s sake, Al, this is our daughter’s safety you’re playing with. Forget your scruples and just get on with it. “Depends what you tell us, I suppose. If she ran away with you of her own free will then you won’t be blamed for anything. On the other hand, if you forced her…” “I didn’t force her. You know Mel. Not much chance of making her do anything she doesn’t want to.” Foster nodded in agreement. Young Spillane seemed to know his daughter well. “So what happened that day?” “She rang me and asked if I could pick her up after school. She was really angry with you about some argument you two had. I can’t even remember what it was about now.” “It was about camping with you at some music festival this weekend. Does that ring a bell?” “Oh yeah. I remember now. Well—she was mad. Said that now she’s sixteen she can do whatever she likes, and you can’t stop her. She said she was leaving home for good. Anyway, I picked her up from school at 3:30 and brought her here. I thought if I took her to my own place, you’d find us pretty quick.” “You were right. It was the first place we tried. So what happened? Where is she now?” “She stayed here until the next day. Then she had a big argument with me, too. D’you think she’s got PMS maybe?” - 91 -

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Foster flushed with embarrassment. He couldn’t even talk to Dot about that sort of thing after all these years. This generation was certainly different. “Anyway,” the youth continued, “she walked out on me, too. I haven’t got a clue where she’s gone.” “What did she argue with you about?” “She wanted to go to the nightclubs in King Street. She may be sixteen, but she’s still underage for that sort of thing. She wanted me to get her a false ID. I’m on probation. I’ve gotta be careful, y’know. It’s like, well, I’m trying to stay outta trouble. I don’t wanna spend half me life in prison.” “I’m glad to hear it, Spillane. So—back to Mel.” Brat, he thought, that would look terrific, a copper’s daughter with a false ID. “Where do you think we should start to look now?” “She wouldn’t tell me where she was going, but she has talked about this friend of hers she used to go to school with. Lives in Fitzroy, I think. In the flats there? But I don’t know her name or address. I reckon a good place to start would be the nightclubs. But if she’s got no money, she wouldn’t last long there. Not if she wants to eat as well.” Foster sank his head into his hands. The nightclub scene? This was all beyond his comprehension, totally outside his experience. “Would you come with us?” Foster found himself saying to Spillane. “You know that scene. Lee might, I suppose, but I’m sure I don’t.” Spillane turned to Lee. “Is Lee your first name?” She shook her head and smiled. “I thought not. Does he have to call you Lee, even when you’re off duty?” “My name’s Jade. You’re welcome to call me that if you like,” she said. “Jade. Nice. Yeah, well, it’s better than Lee. Okay, I’ll give youse a coupla hours, but I’ve gotta work in the morning, so I’m not staying out all night.” “Thanks,” Foster said. “You wouldn’t have a photo, would you? I didn’t think to bring one.” Spillane’s face went through the contortions of thinking then brightened. He started to sort through a large pile of papers on the kitchen table. - 92 -

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Foster worried that this could take most of the night. He exchanged glances with Lee, who was obviously thinking the same thing. “Look,” Foster said, “don’t worry if it’s going to be a problem finding it.” “No problem.” Spillane continued the big sort, simultaneously whistling through his teeth and nodding his head to some internal tune. “Got it.” He held up a glossy print and smiled at the image. “Nice one, eh?” Foster took the photo of his daughter and studied it. The face was one he hadn’t seen for a long time. It was full of laughter, of good humor. The eyes sparkled. The teeth showed white and even, testimony to the thousands of dollars spent at the orthodontist over the past few years. All he and Dot had seen of this girl for many months had seemed to be a scowl, a glare, pursed lips. He couldn’t understand what they’d done to upset her. They’d only applied the normal household rules that had worked with the other four without much in the way of resentment. She was sixteen. Much too young for the sort of freedoms she was demanding. Anyway, this Spillane was obviously capable of bringing out her nicer side. “Good photo. Did you take it?” The young man nodded and grinned at the praise. Foster said, “Right, let’s not waste any more time, then. Where do you reckon we ought to start?” The thought contortions took over again. “Well, King Street, probably. Trouble is, if we’re gonna visit each club, it’s gonna cost a fortune. Unless you flash your badges. Depends if you want to be official, I suppose.” “What if we just ask whoever is on the door?” Lee suggested. “They might remember Mel, especially because she’s so young. They might have had an extra long look at her. What do you think?” “Yeah. We could give it a try. Let’s go.” He grinned, apparently getting excited at the prospect. “Never thought I’d be ‘helping the police with their inquiries’ and be on their side! Do you want me to drive?” His driving was an unknown quantity that Foster wasn’t prepared to risk. “No, thanks. Lee can drive. That’s all right with you, isn’t it, Lee?” - 93 -

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She nodded. They were probably thinking along the same lines again. Foster slipped the photo into his shirt pocket, and the unlikely trio left the house. The car had been tightly wedged in its parking spot by vehicles obviously driven by overly optimistic, or maybe drunk, owners. It took five minutes of careful edging backwards and forwards, with Foster directing proceedings from the front and Spillane waving his arms behind, before Lee finally drove clear and the two jumped into their seats. She weaved her way through lanes made even narrower by parked cars, turned on to Swan Street, past the tennis center that had hosted the Australian Open the previous month, past the tangle of railway lines and the backpackers in shorts and boots cluttering the steps of Flinders Street Station. Foster clung to the door handle, nervous as she played dodgems in the heavy traffic. King Street was brightly lit and bustling with pedestrians, most of them young. Many were too bizarre in dress choice for Foster, but he could see that a country girl like Melanie would be attracted by the energy of a place like this. Lee crawled around for ten minutes looking for a park and ended up in a multistory car park off one of the side streets. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, ugly with huge ducts and oil stained concrete. They were relieved to find themselves out in the semi-fresh air again. Foster couldn’t wait to get home. “Righto, what’s the plan? Start this end and work our way down?” he said. They started showing the picture around, shouting questions against the thumping primal beat that issued from each doorway, received the same head shakes from what could have been clones of the same bouncers. No one had seen her. Spillane preened himself in his official capacity of police helper. He stood taller and puffed out his chest like the male pigeons that strutted the city windowsills. “I could get to like this,” he said. “Do you think they’d take me on? In the force?” He laughed. Foster and Lee raised their eyebrows, - 94 -

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exchanging looks of disbelief. Spillane must have caught the glance and its meaning, because he pursed his lips and shook his screen of hair over his face. Lee started counting off her fingers. “You’d have to get your hair cut, pass tests in spelling, maths, English, get yourself over the assault course…” He emerged from his hair and raised his hands. “Okay, okay, only joking. But I reckon you could do with someone with inside knowledge of the crime scene, like me.” “No doubt, but that’s not one of the selection criteria yet,” Foster said. “And I hope to be long out of the force before it is. Back to business. We’re not having much luck here. As the inside expert, what do you suggest we try next?” “St. Kilda, maybe? She hasn’t got much money, so she might go down there to try her luck.” Foster was horrified. “She wouldn’t! Not my daughter. She’s sixteen, for God’s sake.” Spillane shrugged. “If you say so, but there’s a lot younger than sixteen earning money on the streets.” Foster was finding it hard enough to come to terms with the idea that Mel’s relationship with this young punk was obviously more intimate than he would have hoped for. He couldn’t accept that she’d be so at ease sexually that she’d work the streets. “It wouldn’t take long,” Lee said. “We can do a cruise down the main streets and then see if we come up with any other ideas. Come on. Let’s go. We’re wasting time here.” Foster had a sick feeling that he couldn’t entirely blame on the Indian take-away, though the spicy flavors kept popping back into his mouth. They walked swiftly back to the car park, where the humming extractors were not doing a good enough job to rid the air of exhaust fumes. They added to his nausea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d vomited. It must be at least twenty years ago, but he felt awfully close to a repeat episode now. Lee swung the car round the bends and ramps. He closed his eyes and clamped his lips together. He couldn’t be sick now. Not in front of these two. Once they - 95 -

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were on the streets again he wound the window down, but he found the city air far from refreshing. He should never have come. Lee quickly found her way to Beaconsfield Parade, which ran alongside the beach. “Sorry,” he said, “I need to get out for a minute.” “Are you okay, Senior?” Lee examined Foster’s face with concern. He didn’t answer but lurched out of the car and across the road to the sea. He breathed deeply. At least here, the air was clean and salty. The night was still warm, and a group of young people partied on the sand, dancing to the music on someone’s ghetto blaster. It seemed to be a healthier way of enjoying yourself, cheaper, too, than the noisy, stuffy nightclubs. Where had they gone wrong with Melanie? Had they been too restrictive? Not moved with the times? Not given her the freedom that she obviously craved? Was he worried more about what other members of the force would think about him having such a wild daughter than about her own safety? Why hadn’t he reported her disappearance straight away? It was all too complicated for him, at a time when his community had been devastated and there was so much on his plate already. No wonder Dot got mad at him now and again. You have to sort out your priorities, she would say, and your family ought to be number one. But in a country town, a copper was always expected to be available. Accidents and crimes didn’t stop because you were at your son’s twenty-first or your wedding anniversary dinner. It went with the job, part of the territory. She’d known that when she married him. He’d done his best. He’d never been the sort to spend a couple of hours drinking at the pub, unwinding from the day. On the rare occasions he went to the footy, he usually took a couple of the kids along, too, in the days when they wanted to go with him. He did like a quiet day of fishing now and again, more for the opportunity to think things through than for anything he might catch. He was entitled to that, surely. That didn’t make him a bad father. “We ought to go, if you’re okay now,” Lee shouted from the road above. He took one more deep breath and trudged back to the car. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look pale.” “I was feeling a bit crook in the stomach, but the fresh air did me good. I’ll be right.” - 96 -

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She took them into the back streets, and they cruised around, looking for girls and kerb crawlers. Finding them didn’t take long. Young girls, no more than children, faces packed with make-up, tight tops and short skirts above skinny legs, leaning in to car windows, chatting up the drivers. Please don’t let me find her here, Foster prayed. “Hey, let me out a minute,” Spillane said. “I’ve seen a girl I know. I’ll ask her if she’s seen Mel.” Spillane could have been her twin: same height, same long blonde hair, same slight build. They talked, and Spillane showed her the photo. She shook her head. She introduced him to some of the other girls. They crowded around the picture, discussing it at length, arguing a little. He returned. “I expect you’re relieved to know they haven’t seen her round here, but one of them said she thinks Mel is staying with a friend of hers. Guess where?” They both shook their heads wearily. It was too late to be playing guessing games. “Richmond,” he said, laughing. “Wouldn’t read about it, would ya? Yeah, in one of the big blocks of flats, not far from my place. Could’ve saved ourselves a lot of grief, eh, if we’d known.” “Richmond?” Lee said. “Well, I suppose we had to go back there anyway, to drop you off.” Lee found her way back, and Spillane guided her to a group of monolithic structures. The walls and paths were daubed with strange signs and messages. Youths, many of them Asians or Africans, clustered in stairwells and doorways. Foster found it vaguely threatening , though there was nothing he could actually pinpoint as the cause of his uneasiness. He was thankful he’d never had to live like this, glad he’d been able to bring up his kids where there was space. He’d read about experiments where rats that had been raised in overcrowded conditions became aggressive towards each other. He had no doubts that humans reacted in the same way and wondered there weren’t more murders in this sort of housing. Spillane led them into one of the buildings. “Do you know which floor we’re looking for?” Foster said. “Basement.” - 97 -

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They passed more graffiti-covered brick walls, down concrete steps littered with Coke cans and fast food wrappers. The stair rails were dotted with lumps of chewing gum and unidentifiable gobs of slime. At the end of a short passage, they found a closed door, the top half of which was a plain glass window. They peered between hand smudges into a dimly lit room lined with washing machines and driers. “A laundry? She’s staying in a laundry?” Foster was feeling sick again. Lee touched him, her hand small and brown on his mottled, hairy arm. “You okay?” He nodded, though he didn’t feel at all okay. Spillane pushed at the door, but something was jamming it. “It can’t be locked. They never lock them. Whoever’s inside must’ve pushed something against the door. Give us a hand, will ya?” Foster lent his bulk, and the door moved enough for them to be able to slide through the gap. Outraged shouts rose from a gloomy corner of the room. “Oi, whaddya think ya doing? Get out!” Prostrate bodies slowly came to life, and tousled heads emerged from sleeping bags. “Dad? Dad! I don’t believe it. Gazza?” Foster was flooded with relief that he’d found her and shock that it had been in such a place. Dot would be appalled. “Come and talk to me, Mel, please. We’ll wait outside.” “Go away.” He was grateful that Lee and Spillane hung back, reluctant to become involved in a family argument. “Please, Mel. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to. I just want to make sure you’re all right.” She sighed noisily, wriggled out of her sleeping bag, rolled it under her arm, and emerged from the darkness. She glared and pouted. Her clothes were creased, her hair unwashed. Unrecognizable, Foster thought, as the sparkling girl in the photo. “What are you doing here, dad?” “I could well ask you the same question.” Lee shot him a warning glance. - 98 -

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“Your mum and I, we’ve been very worried about you, love. You see, as I’ve been telling Gary, we had terrible fires right through our area the day you disappeared. We had no way of knowing where you were, if you were safe.” “Fires? What sort of fires?” “A bush fire, Mel. You won’t recognize the place. So much bush has gone, shops, houses. People were killed.” “God. I had no idea. What about Jen and Katy? Are they all right?” “I really don’t know. There’s been so much going on, it’s hard to keep up with all the individual stories. If you’d just told us, Mel, where you were going.” “Oh sure. You’d have let me go with Gazza, would you? I can’t believe you brought them here, Gaz. How did you find out I was here?” “I hef vays und means.” He tapped the side of nose. She laughed. “Look, love,” Foster said. “How about we take you home now. You can have a hot shower—the power’s back on now—and a good night’s sleep, and we’ll talk about what you want to do with your life when you’re ready. Okay?” She looked back at her uncomfortable bed on the floor and scratched at her arms and head. “You promise there’ll be no recriminations?” “Promise.” “No scenes?” “No scenes.” It was going to take more self-restraint than he’d ever shown before to keep these promises. “Let’s go, then. I’ll just tell my friends what’s happening.” Foster, Lee, and Spillane exhaled pent up air and smiled at each other. “You did well, Senior. You handled the situation very calmly,” Lee said. “Just as well you two were here, or I might have blown my top. Gary, I’m really very grateful to you for your help tonight. There’s no way we could have found her without you, you know.” The young man looked embarrassed at the praise. He probably hadn’t been in a position to receive much, over the years. - 99 -

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“It’s nothing,” he said. “I sorta felt responsible, you know. Like, it was me she ran away with, and then she skipped out on me, too. She needs very careful handling, your Mel. Like dynamite.” Foster thought it would be better not to know what experience Spillane had with the careful handling of dynamite. Mel re-emerged, clutching her worldly goods, and they rushed her to the car before she could change her mind.

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Chapter Eleven Dot was asleep in the Jason recliner. It was well past her bedtime. Her head had tilted back, and snores rumbled out periodically from her open mouth. A black and white movie on TV played to an unresponsive audience. Foster turned it off, and the absence of noise woke her. Melanie stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. She still clutched her belongings wrapped in the sleeping bag, as she had clutched her security blanket when she was a child. She looked around the room, seeming to take in its comfortable shabbiness, judging it. Foster thought it should rate well against the comforts of a laundry floor, but you never knew with Mel. Dot rubbed her eyes, yawned then spotted her daughter. She heaved herself out of the chair and crossed the room. She held out her arms and smiled. “Oh, Mel, it’s so good to see you. I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been.” Foster watched as Melanie considered her next move. Do it, he thought, give your mother a hug. She dropped the bundle and moved into her mother’s arms. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mum. I should’ve rung you. I didn’t know about the fires. I didn’t know how worried you’d be.” They wept on each other’s shoulders, and Foster felt a glow of satisfaction. “I’m dying for a shower,” Mel said. She broke away and moved down the corridor to her room. She was back in an instant, her face full of disbelief. “Has someone been using my room? It looks different.” “Oh, yes dear. I’d forgotten. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to change the sheets.” “Who was it? I haven’t been gone a week, and you’re already letting other people use my room? I don’t believe it.” “It was only Jade, love. You know, Constable Lee? She just stayed one night, the night of the fires. It was so late, it didn’t seem right to let her drive home. Specially with the fires still spreading.” “She slept in my bed? How could you?” Foster butted in. “I don’t think you’re in any position to complain, seeing as you’d left home without a word and might never come back, for all we - 101 -

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knew. And I won’t have you making any remarks about Lee. Now—have that shower and get yourself to bed, and we’ll talk tomorrow when we’ve all had a chance to get a few hours sleep. Come on, Dot, I’ll help you change the sheets.” His feeling of elation at the prodigal’s return had quickly dissipated. ### He slept through the alarm next morning and was startled into consciousness by the bedside phone. It was a horrible way to wake, and his heart pounded for several minutes. Gallagher was berating him. “I couldn’t get you on the station number. I tried three times. You sound as if you’ve just woken up.” Foster thought about explaining the late night and about Melanie, but he changed his mind. He wasn’t going to get any sympathy from Guppy Features. “What was it you wanted—sir?” “I’ve been talking to Baylard, and I think there probably are grounds to suspect foul play in the Halliday death. I’d like the two of you to start interviewing suspects this morning. You’ve probably got a good idea of who in the community would be helpful. I’ll leave that with you, then. And get a move on.” He rang off. Foster stomped out of bed and seethed under the shower. It was typical of Gallagher to completely discount Foster’s theories but to accept the same ideas when they came from somebody else. He wondered if the time limit was still in place, now that the investigation had official sanction. He stayed long enough under the water for it to soothe him and clear his head. It wouldn’t hurt Baylard to wait a few extra minutes. If he wanted to get stroppy with Foster then he’d be promptly reminded of his unnecessary little jaunt to town yesterday to check out James Halliday’s alibi. There was no ironed shirt ready for him. This was unusual. He knew Dot had been up to her eyeballs working with the fire victims, but, fair crack of the whip, mate, he thought, she still has responsibilities at home. He switched on the iron and ate toast bare-chested while it heated. He thumped the iron unnecessarily loudly, just to make a point. He found that the point hadn’t been made at all when he went to say goodbye to Dot and found her still - 102 -

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comatose. Then he remembered there hadn’t been anything to power the iron, and he was glad his protest had gone unnoticed, as he’d have looked like a fool. Was, in fact, a fool. Baylard was drinking orange juice while he waited in his car outside the station. Foster unlocked the front door. Baylard breathed an overacted sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he said. “Never mind juice, I need a hit of caffeine. Did you know there’s nowhere in this two horse town to buy a cup of coffee at this time of the morning?” He headed straight for the kettle. “Right,” Foster said when they’d both swallowed enough coffee to get their hearts started. “According to Gallagher, we should start treating this as a murder inquiry and bring people in for questioning. So we need to clarify what we have so far.” “Not much. I jotted down what we know to this stage, while I was waiting for you. James Halliday is in the clear, so that’s one off the list. I can’t see Judy Halliday as the perpetrator. More the victim. But we’ll have to bring her in and see what she’s got to say for herself. We’ve got the evidence of the Telstra bloke who saw a large dark-haired man running from the shed shortly before the fire started. The arson boys found evidence of an accelerant of some kind being used. Though it’s hard to tell in that sort of environment, because cans of petrol could easily have been tipped over once the fire had started, and there were sheets of roofing iron flying around. They’ll get back to us with more detail when they can.” “Okay,” Foster added. “And then we’ve got the forensic pathologist’s report. Damage to the back of the skull, which could have been done by that pinch bar, plus particles in his lungs which show that he was alive during the fire—that he was, in fact, burnt to death. Plus the fistful of black hairs.” “So the dark and mysterious stranger is implicated again,” Baylard joked. “If push comes to shove, we can get body samples from every dark-haired man in the local population and do a cross match with the genetic material in those hairs.” “That’s assuming he is a local. I don’t like to think of us having a murderer living amongst us.” “Come on, Foster. Lots of murderers have emerged from quiet little communities like this. And if we look at this as being an opportunistic - 103 -

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killing, so this guy saw a chance to do the deed and cover his tracks because the bush fires were on their way, then it’s much more likely he was a local, on the spot, ready to take advantage of the situation.” “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I just can’t imagine who it would be, though. Where are we going to start? Judy said she’d come in after school today to answer any questions we might have. She might be able to throw some light on any business difficulties Peter had or any other reason someone wanted him out of the way.” “Do we know if he had a business partner?” “No. It’s never come up.” “Easy to check with Judy. I’ll give her a ring at the school.” Baylard picked up the phone. He must have spoken to Ted Bailey’s nervous wife first, because there was a lot of twittering at the other end then a few minutes of synthesized chimes while Baylard tapped his pencil on his teeth, waiting. “Judy Halliday? Detective Constable Colin Baylard here. I’m helping Senior Constable Foster investigate your husband’s death. Just one question I’d like to ask you. Did your husband have a business partner? Thanks. And his address? Thank you very much. Yes, we’d still like to see you later on this afternoon. Bye now.” He scribbled on a pad while he talked. “Halliday’s partner is a Con Paspales, lives in High Street, opposite the golf club. Sounds Greek, doesn’t he? He might be a candidate for the black hairs. How about we go down there. It’s only just down the road, isn’t it?” “Sure. I’m wondering what’s happened to Lee this morning? It’s not like her to be this late, even if she hasn’t had much sleep.” “Oh, I should have told you. Gallagher had some project in mind for her. He said he was going to ring her at home and catch her before she left.” “Nice of him to let me know,” Foster muttered. “So—do we need a car, or is it close enough to walk?” “I’ll be lucky if my legs get me as far as the door today. You can drive.” ### The Paspales property backed onto the school grounds and faced the golf club. Without much land of its own, it achieved a remarkable sense of space. Libby Paspales opened the door with suds on her arms and a baby at her hip. - 104 -

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She frowned at the sight of Foster’s uniform and the police IDs, but she showed them through to her husband’s office without asking any questions. He was working at his computer in a small room with a door opening onto the back garden. Baylard had been right. He was tall and had very dark hair combed straight back to reveal a high forehead. He was tanned and goodlooking in a Mediterranean sort of way. The type used in ads for wines or expensive cars, Foster thought. As they introduced themselves, beeps rang out from the public address system at the school, and there was a sudden babble of high-pitched voices as children ran out to the playground equipment. It must be morning break time. Paspales apparently thought the same thing. “Coffee?” he said. And when they agreed, he nodded to his wife, who took the orders and left. “So, how can I help you? I suppose you want to talk to me about Pete? Terrible thing, that. It’s hard to come to grips with.” “Yes,” Baylard said. “We understand you were his business partner. How exactly did that work?” “Well, we’re—sorry, we were—I still am—in the computer business. Pete worked mainly on the hardware side, installing and maintenance, while I look after the software and also work as a provider for users with access to the Internet. Actually, I wanted to buy Pete’s share in the business and take him on as an employee.” “Why was that? Didn’t you see eye to eye?” “Oh, it was nothing like that. Thanks, love.” The coffee had arrived, fresh brewed and strong. The baby, temporarily deserted, squalled. “No, I could just see that this is a huge area for growth, and I wanted to get in at the ground level. Pete was really only happy while he was fiddling around with computers. He wasn’t interested in the business side, as long as he earned enough for a comfortable living. Especially since he had that inheritance from his father.” “So where does that leave you now? Who gets the business?” Baylard leaned forward, obviously eager for a quick resolution. “Who gets the business? I really don’t know,” Paspales said. “I’ll have to talk to Judy, but I don’t want to put pressure on her yet. She’ll need time to get herself together before she can make decisions about the company.” - 105 -

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“What were your movements on the twenty-fourth, sir? In the afternoon?” Foster asked. “The day of the fires? I was working at home. When we saw the fires were so fierce and the wind so strong, I decided to take Libby and Katy to my parents’ place at Brighton.” “Doesn’t your wife drive?” Foster said. “Well, yes, she does, but she was so nervous I didn’t think it was wise to let her drive. Especially with Katy. She’d have panicked if she’d met fire along the way. Anyway, I took her there, and I suppose I was back here about five. I dampened the place down then joined Ted Bailey’s crew.” “You’d have passed through a police block, then? On your way home?” “Yes, I did. That young Chinese girl was checking us through. You don’t think I killed Pete, do you? He was a good mate.” “We have to check all the possibilities, sir. And we will cross check your story with your wife.” There was no soft-heartedness for the bereaved from Baylard. “Fine. I can assure you, I’ve nothing to hide.” “Thank you for your help, sir. That will be all for now, but we may want to speak to you again.” Foster finished his coffee and the interview. Paspales showed them out of his office. They passed his wife laying the baby in a cot in a nursery overflowing with dolls and teddies, with mobiles of brightly colored parrots circling overhead to a music box tinkle. Baylard ducked his head in. “Could I just ask you to confirm detail of your movements on the day of the fires, Mrs. Paspales?” Foster waited at the front gate for him. “Did their stories match?” “Close enough. She didn’t sound rehearsed. They seemed genuine to me.” “I agree. So we’re no further on, then.” “Well, that’s another possible suspect we can cross off our list. Be positive.” “I’m not feeling all that positive today.” ### - 106 -

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Pelican East Police Station did not run to a whiteboard. They used felt pens and butcher’s paper to chart their progress. “Looks like a conference workshop,” Baylard complained. He made a point of deriding the facilities, or lack of them, every opportunity he could. Foster was fed up with it. He welcomed the ping of the bell on the front counter and went through to find Lisbeth Gaye waiting. She was distractedly leafing through pamphlets, too fast to be taking anything in, unless she was a speed-reader. She looked relieved when she saw him. “Hallo,” he said. “Written any good books lately?” “I must say, officer, it has been very hard to concentrate on the job at hand this week. But that isn’t what I came to see you about. No, it’s about that poor man, Peter Halliday. I have some information which you may or may not find useful.” “Come through,” he said and introduced her to Baylard. “This is Miss Gaye. She’s our resident author. She has some information about the Halliday case. Please sit down Miss Gaye. Now, what have you got to tell us?” “Well, as I said, it may not be relevant at all, but I thought I should tell you and let you make up your own mind. It’s been worrying me ever since I heard Peter’s death may not have been accidental. Is that true? That you think it may have been murder?” “It’s a possibility,” Foster said. “We have to investigate it thoroughly before we can rule murder out in this case.” “What is it that’s been worrying you, Miss Gaye?” Baylard liked to come straight to the point. No time for social niceties where he’s concerned, Foster thought. “It was a couple of weeks ago, on Tuesday the fourth, actually—I looked it up in my diary. I went into the city to meet my editor. She’s from Sydney and hasn’t got an office in town, so when she comes we meet in one of the city hotels for lunch.” “And what exactly has this got to do with Peter Halliday?” Baylard was drumming his fingers with impatience. “I’m getting to that. We were lunching at the Courtyard Hotel. I don’t know if you’ve been there, but the dining area is in the ground floor courtyard. It is surrounded by three or maybe four floors of rooms, forming - 107 -

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a square around it. All the rooms open onto an internal balcony which runs right round the whole structure. Access to the ground floor is by an open, iron circular staircase which connects all the floors, or by a glass lift in an iron cage, in one corner. Either way, anybody coming out of any of the rooms and leaving the hotel is visible to any person dining downstairs.” “Who did you see, Miss Gaye?” Foster said. “I saw Judy Halliday coming out of one of the rooms, with the young man who’s been working on the Halliday property. They were looking very friendly, if you get my meaning. Arms round each other, kissing. So totally absorbed in each other that they didn’t see me at all. Which was a blessing, really, because that would have been very embarrassing. It worried me at the time, because Peter seemed to be such a nice young man, and I didn’t like the idea of him being betrayed. But now that you think Peter may have been murdered then that puts a more sinister complexion on the whole occurrence, don’t you think? Or is it my writer’s imagination running riot?” They all sat deep in thought for a few moments. Foster rose to show her out. “Thank you very much for that, Miss Gaye. You’ve certainly given us something more to think about. If anything else occurs to you, please don’t hesitate to let us know. Even if you think it may not be relevant.” He watched her frail form scuttle across the road during a break in the traffic. Baylard was adding notes to the butcher’s paper. “If only people would just come straight out with what’s on their minds instead of beating around the bush, our job would be a lot easier. She could just have said that Judy Halliday’s doing a Lady Chatterley with the gamekeeper and saved us half an hour.” “Some people have a sensitivity to the human plight which others lack. It took some courage for her to dob them in. You wouldn’t understand.” Baylard continued to write and shrugged off the pointed remarks, only confirming to Foster that he’d hit the nail on the head. “So,” Baylard continued, “now we have someone with a motive. The gamekeeper bumps off his lover’s husband so he can win the woman and the estate. Wouldn’t be the first time for that scenario. He’s on the spot to take advantage of the fires. He has every reason to visit his boss in the shed to - 108 -

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discuss managing the estate. It would be perfectly acceptable for him to be using a pinch bar. I reckon he could be our man.” “So what do we do? Phone Judy again to find out who this bloke is and where he lives?” “I’d prefer not to. That would tip her off—tell her that we know about him. It would give her time to warn him. There must be other people who know about him, surely? What about the brother, James? You’d think he’d have met him at some stage. I’ll give him a bell.” He called James Halliday on his mobile while Foster studied the names, circles, and arrows that were burgeoning on the butcher’s paper and wished he’d had more sleep last night so he could make sense of it all. “I’ve got his name,” Baylard said. “It’s a Tony Fitzgerald. James thinks he lives locally, but he doesn’t know where exactly. Got a local phone book somewhere?” Foster found it for him, and Baylard shuffled through the pages. “There’s a few Fitzgeralds in here, but none with a T or an A for an initial. I’ll try 0175.” Dot arrived with a plateful of sandwiches for lunch. “Just the two of you?” she said. “I thought there’d be more. Still, I don’t suppose you’ll have trouble polishing them off between you. Roast chicken or cheese and pickles.” Foster steered her away from Baylard into the front area. “How’s Mel this morning?” he asked in almost a whisper. “She didn’t wake up ’til about 11:30. Then she had a long bath. She’s gone out to find her friends from school. She’s worried about them. As soon as the fire bans come off, I’m going to burn all those clothes and the sleeping bag she had with her. They’re putrid.” “Yes, well, I’ll tell you all about it when I get a chance. I felt sick, Dot, thinking of our daughter living like that.’ Baylard stuck his head around the door. “Dead Horse Road,” he said. “Okay,” Foster said. “Thanks for lunch, Dot. I’d better get on with things.” He wandered back to the office. “That’s just off Two Hat Road, a kilometer or two past The Briars Nursing Home. We can go round after we’ve had some lunch. Dot brought some sandwiches—help yourself.” - 109 -

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### They drove past the Briars, scorched but surviving, sitting among the skeletons of trees. Foster’s depression was renewed. “Turn left down that track,” he said. “What happened to the road signs?” “Melted, mate. That’s how hot it was. Did you get a number in Dead Horse Road?” “Nuh. The property’s called Hillview. Can you believe they’d call a road after a dead horse?” The Hillview sign was intact, scrolled lettering against a background of green hills and blue sky, someone’s representation of the idyll this might once have been. Now a blackened framework was being bulldozed and loaded onto a truck. They walked over to the driver and tried to attract his attention. He was in a world of his own, headphones blocking out the screams of the engine. Baylard touched his knee, and he jumped and clutched his heart. He turned the engine off and slid the headphones round his neck. “That’s a dangerous thing to do to a bloke,” he said. “Coulda had a heart attack. I was listening to Sibelius. Lovely. Anyway, what can I do for you?” “We’re looking for Tony Fitzgerald.” “Well, you’ve got the right place, but he’s not here. As you can see, his home is not exactly…” He searched for the right word. “…habitable at the moment.” “Do you know where he is?” “Staying at the Halliday place as far as I know. I think he’s been there since the day of the fires.”

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Chapter Twelve Judy Halliday sat at the table in the interview room, concentrating on the finger she was running backwards and forwards along the edge of the table. She lined up Foster’s tissue box parallel with the table edges. She made a pile of the crumbs that had accumulated from countless lunches. “When will they release his body for the funeral?” she asked. “I can’t say,” Foster said. “They may need to do some further work on him. I really don’t know. Sorry.” He found it hard to imagine this woman taking a lover and plotting her husband’s murder. He had asked Baylard not to be too hard on her. She was young and newly widowed, and there was no evidence she’d been involved in her husband’s death. “I’m sorry, too, but we have to ask you some personal questions,” Baylard said. She nodded and her hair fell forward in a shield over her face. Foster started, as gently as he could. “Different people have told us that Peter was in the habit of beating you. On the day of the fires, you had a black eye. Did Peter do that to you?” She was silent for several seconds. Her finger ran round the mug, the clock ticked, a truck changed gears on its way up the hill. “Was it Peter who gave you the black eye?” he asked again. She ran her fingers through her hair and tipped her head back to look at the ceiling. “Yes,” she whispered. “And was he in the habit of doing this to you? This wasn’t the first time, was it?” “No. It wasn’t the first time. Why are you asking me these questions? What has this got to do with Pete’s death?” “Because there’s a possibility that your husband’s death was not accidental; we need to do a thorough investigation. We are questioning everyone he had contact with.” She closed her eyes for a moment and ran a finger along the worry lines between her eyebrows. Then she looked at him. Waited for him to continue. “Now—he seemed to be a nice, quiet bloke, never in trouble for fighting or anything like that. Why would he want to hurt you?” - 111 -

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Silence again then a long sigh. She faced them for the first time. “It was my fault. He was a perfectionist, you see. Everything had to be right, tidy, predictable, like his computers. I’m not like that. I try, but I seem to make a mess, or not get the meals ready on time, or forget to pay the bills. And the harder I tried, the more flustered I got, so I’d forget more, or knock things over, and he would get more annoyed. It wasn’t what you would call a successful marriage.” “And he hit you—when you made mistakes?” She nodded. “Why didn’t you report it to us?” “It was private—a family thing. Not what you’d want other people to know about.” “Tell us about Tony Fitzgerald,” Baylard broke in. Her eyes widened, and the pupils shrank. She drew a breath. “What do you mean, what about Tony Fitzgerald?” “Well, what was he engaged to do on the property?” “Oh. Well, Pete’s parents hadn’t been able to do much on the place as they grew older, and Pete didn’t have much spare time, so the place had been going downhill. Fences were collapsing, weeds invading, salinity problems in places. It needed a lot of work to bring it up to scratch, so we decided to hire someone to work on the place for six months.” “Why Tony Fitzgerald?” “Someone Pete knew recommended him.” “So you hadn’t met him before you employed him?” “No. Look, I don’t see the relevance.” Foster broke in. It was going to be painful, but he would prefer to do it himself than have Baylard jump in with hobnail boots. “We have a witness who saw you at the Courtyard Hotel a few weeks ago. Is there anything you would like to tell us about that?” “Who? Who saw us?” “Who it was really doesn’t concern you. You said ‘us.’ Who were you with?” “I really don’t see that it’s any business of yours.” “It’s every business of ours, Mrs. Halliday.” Baylard just had to jump in, hobnail boots and all. “We believe your husband was murdered.” She caught - 112 -

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her breath, but he continued, “And it seems to me very plausible that a lover might, in a fit of anger, kill the man who is hurting the woman he loves. You were seen with Tony Fitzgerald on that occasion, Mrs. Halliday, coming out of one of the guest rooms.” Foster watched the color drain out of her cheeks. “Are you having an affair with Tony Fitzgerald?” he asked gently. “Was Tony Fitzgerald with you at the Courtyard?” Tears filled her eyes and spilled out. Her nose started to run. He pushed the box of tissues in front of her and she dabbed her face dry. “Yes. He’s so different from Pete. He’s open and outgoing, and he’s used to women—he has four sisters, you see. And he’s gentle.” She dissolved into tears again. “Can I get you a cup of tea, Judy? How do you take it?” Foster memorized the instructions and again regretted the state of the station mugs. He ought to donate them to science, he thought, before they started a new epidemic of food poisoning. He left the door open, but he heard no voices while he was gone. Judy seemed to take comfort from the brew and stared deeply into it. He hoped nothing nasty was crawling under her gaze. “Are you ready for us to ask you a few more questions, Mrs. Halliday?” She nodded. “Could you tell us what your movements were on the twenty-fourth? The day your husband died?” She flinched as Baylard mentioned the death. “Well—the morning was just normal. Showers, breakfast, you know, just the normal things. Then I went to school. Pete was going to Miss Gaye’s place, I think. She was having some sort of trouble with her computer. I don’t know what, exactly. James, Pete’s brother, he was coming over for lunch to discuss the will. He’s told me he spoke to you about that the other day.” They nodded. “I went home for lunch. I don’t usually, but I thought maybe I could, you know, mediate if the argument got too heated. Pete just wasn’t willing to compromise. He said if it was his father’s wish for Pete to inherit the lot then so be it. He wasn’t going to rock the boat for his poofy brother. It was awful. James is such a sweet guy.” - 113 -

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“Can you remember what time it was when you left, or when James left?” “Yes. I had to get back to school before the end of lunchtime, so I left at 1:20 to be back by 1:30. Some of the kids were quite distressed by the heat, so they had a twenty-minute nap when they came in. James said he had to leave by two. I left them to it.” “Judy, when we evacuated the school, a man came over to speak to you on the paddock. Was that Tony Fitzgerald?” “Yes.” “Is he in the habit of visiting you during working hours, Mrs. Halliday?” “No. He was worried about something.” “What sort of something?” “Something to do with the property, I think. I can’t remember exactly. A lot has happened since then.” Baylard looked unconvinced. “Why wouldn’t he have spoken to your husband if he had a problem? Peter was still working at home, wasn’t he?” “I—I really don’t know.” “And you can’t remember what it was about?” “No.” “Where has Mr. Fitzgerald been since your husband’s death? His house burned down, didn’t it? Do you know where he’s been staying?” “He was out with the fire crews for the first few days.” “And then?” “I don’t know.” “So he hasn’t been working on the property since that day?” “Not as far as I know.” “Where were you at about 4:30 that afternoon? The day of the fires?” “I stayed with the preppies until all their parents had arrived.” “Which would have been 3:30 at the latest?” “Yes.” “And then?” “I worked with the Red Cross, making sandwiches.” “All the time? We can check, you know.” “Yes, well, no. I took food out to some of the fire crews from about 4:30 to 5:00.” “Will they be able to confirm that?” - 114 -

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“I suppose so. I didn’t take strict note of the time. It was very traumatic, with fires breaking out all over the place.” “Well, Mrs. Halliday, I think that’s as far as we can go at present, but we may need to speak to you again. Is there anything else you wanted to ask, Senior Constable Foster?” Foster shook his head. Baylard showed her out, returned and sat across the table from Foster. “She’s lying, of course. Through her little pearly whites.” “About Fitzgerald? When Lee and I went to see her at the house, I had the feeling there was someone else there, but I ignored it because I had no reason to think there was anyone. There was a pair of Blundies on the doorstep. Big ones. At the time, I assumed they were Peter Halliday’s.” “Where’s the Path report?” Baylard riffled through a pile of papers. “Yes, I thought so. Halliday was wearing his boots when he died.” “Doesn’t mean anything. A man can have more than one pair of boots. Still, it’s interesting. Even if Fitzgerald has been staying there, it doesn’t mean anything except that they are lovers, which she’s already admitted. Just what you’d call indecent haste. We need to find him.” “If he has been staying at Halliday’s, he’s likely to move off and hide somewhere else now their relationship is out in the open,” Baylard said. “Only if he’s guilty of murder. He’s no other reason to run, as far as we know.” “And what about her? Do you buy her story about feeding the firemen?” “Yes, I do. It’ll be easy enough to check.” The bell rang in the front office, and Foster went through. Charlie Harris, the local postie, was at the counter. He’d been doing the local run for years, but it was always a guess as to what time the mail would arrive. His van was notoriously unreliable, and he wasn’t much better. He was large and balding, with a droopy moustache, white tee shirt, saggy jeans. A shambles of a man. “G’day. Charlie, what can I do for you?” “Well, Al, I heard young Halliday may have been murdered. I’ve got a bit of info might be of use to you. Might not.” He pulled on his moustache. “Come through to the back.” Foster introduced Harris to Baylard. “Charlie says he’s got something useful to tell us.” - 115 -

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“Well, I don’t know if it’s that useful.” “You tell us then we’ll be able to judge.” Baylard was obviously irritated by the circuitous route these country people used before they’d get to the point. “So, was it on the twenty-fourth you saw something, Charlie?” “The twenty-fourth? That was the day of the fires, wasn’t it? Yes, that day. I started my rounds late, cause the van doesn’t like to get started on those very hot mornings. By the time I got to the Hallidays’, the fires were getting a bit close. Pete was out the front of his place, having a look at the smoke and that, and we had a chat about the wind direction and whether the fires were going to come this way, you know. I thought I’d better get on. I didn’t want to get caught. As I drove off, I looked in my driving mirror— good, law abiding citizen, me, as you know. Anyway, as I was leaving, I saw this big fella come up to Pete, and although I couldn’t hear him, what with the wind and the engine noise, I could tell he was angry. Very angry.” “How could you tell the man was angry with Halliday?” Baylard asked the postman. “Well, he had his hands on his hips, all aggressive like, and then he started to shove Pete, pushing his hands against Pete’s shoulders. I thought, well, it’s got nothing to do with me, so I kept going,” Charlie Harris said. “What did this man look like?” “Well, as I said, he was a big bloke. Dark hair. He had his back to me, so I couldn’t see his face.” “What was he wearing?” “Overalls, I think. Might have been CFA overalls, but I wouldn’t swear to it. There was a lot of them around over those few days.” “Did he wear a hard hat, or carry one?” “He wasn’t wearing one, or I wouldn’t of known he had dark hair. I can’t remember if he was carrying one.’ “Can you remember what time this was? “It must of been between 2:30 and 3:00.” “And you couldn’t recognize this person, or identify him if you saw him again?” “No. I don’t think so. It was starting to get dark, because of the smoke, so I didn’t see him clearly. I know I deliver everyone’s mail, but I don’t see many people usually, to get to know them, because most of them have their - 116 -

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boxes at the end of long drives or in clusters at the end of their roads. So, no, I didn’t recognize this bloke.’ “And you’re sure about the time? It couldn’t have been later?” “Yeah, no. I mean, no, I’m sure about the time. You see, after that, by the time I’d done Hardy’s Road and the Grove and got down to School Road, the kids were all out on the oval, and I thought that’s a bit odd then I realized they must be evacuating them all for safety, but it wasn’t much before normal school finishing time. That’s how I know about the time.” “Thanks, Charlie. That’s been very useful.” “Do you think he was the murderer then, the one I saw?” “Too early to say, but we would certainly like to speak to him.” “So he could ‘help you with your inquiries,’ you mean?” Charlie seemed quite taken with his brush with notoriety. Foster ushered him out and smiled as the motor spluttered to life and left a trail of black fumes behind it. “The time doesn’t tie up, does it?” Baylard said as they sat at the table again. He sorted through his notes. “Dave Holbrook, the Telstra technician, definitely said he saw the big dark-haired bloke at 4:30 p.m.” “Well, he said he saw him leaving. He could have been there since before three.” “Not likely, though, if they were having an argument. Harris didn’t mention seeing the Telstra bloke at all. Should have asked him about that.” “So what have we got?” Foster said. “Our dark-haired man could have left and gone back again because the argument hadn’t been resolved. Or had a very long argument. Or there were two big dark-haired men arguing with Peter Halliday on the same afternoon!” “Oh yeah, well, that’s very likely.” Baylard added some more notes and arrows to the butcher’s paper. “We really need to find Tony Fitzgerald.” He turned to look at Foster. “You want to know what amazes me about this community?” “What’s that?” “The way they just lob in, uninvited, to hand over useful little bits of information. Where I’m used to working, people are either too scared or too antagonistic towards authority figures of any type to volunteer anything. They hide behind a wall of silence.” - 117 -

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“Well, you see, I’m a part of this community, and I’ve been here a long time. They know we all want the same thing, which is a safe environment. We help each other. That’s how small communities are. That’s why I’ve never wanted to move to a city station and get a promotion. This is the way I like it.” Foster leaned back in his chair, with his head against his hands, and grinned. His might only be a small patch, but he was king. At least, he had been until Gallagher and his merry men had turned up. “There’s something else I’ve just remembered,” he said. “The men who were fighting the fires in Halliday Road said there was a strong smell of burning dope in the wind down there. I don’t know if that’s got anything to do with the price of fish, but it might be worth checking out.” Baylard leaned forward and his face brightened. “Yeah? Secret caches of marijuana? Could be interesting. Weren’t there spotter planes going overhead at one stage taking photos for the CFA? I’ll see if I can get hold of them.” Within ten minutes, he’d found the right people in the right department and streams of paper were chugging out of the fax machine. “Of course, it would be better if they were in color, but I asked them to circle any patches in the area which were unusually green. They’re going to post color copies out to me.” He tore off the sheets and spread them on the table. Both men leaned over the photos, trying to get their bearings. “Look at this one.” Foster was getting excited now. “This was taken before the township burned down. 4:45 p.m., it says. Here’s the pub, here’s Halliday’s house. And the area they’ve circled is right behind Halliday’s paddocks. It looks like the middle of this patch of bush has been cleared and something’s been cultivated—look at the regular lines of the crops, whatever they are. And judging by their shadows, compared with the trees, they’d be about two meters high. If it was marijuana, it was about ready for harvesting. It’s certainly a much more intense shade than the trees.” “Notice something else? Halliday’s shed is already burnt. It’s smoking. Nothing else in the immediate vicinity has burned yet.” “Are there any photos around 4:30 p.m.? We might catch the shed actually catching fire.” “And the strange, dark-haired man running away from it?” Baylard laughed, but he helped Foster sort through the pages. - 118 -

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“Here you are,” Baylard said. “This is further north, but you can see Halliday’s at the bottom edge. And there’s your shed, nicely alight, at 4:30 p.m. precisely. So the Telstra bloke was right. Come on. Let’s take a look at Halliday’s. We can wander down and see if the crop is still there and what it is. Though it doesn’t take too much gray matter, if they took so much care to conceal it. And while we’re there, we can see if Fitzgerald is still around, though my guess is he’ll have flown the coop by now.” “I’d like to pick up Lee if Gallagher’s finished with her. She can look after Judy if things get nasty out there.” ### The track to Halliday’s was becoming depressingly familiar. Foster had a heavy feeling in his stomach about what had been going on in that family. He thought Judy Halliday deserved better. They pulled up in the driveway, and Lee spoke to Judy at the door while Foster and Baylard stood behind the car and pulled their boots on. Lee joined them. “She’s fine about us having a look around. If there is dope growing, I don’t think she knows anything about it. I didn’t mention it to her.” She eased her feet into her boots, and the three of them headed across the paddocks with the retriever bouncing between them, pink-tongued and panting, glowing gold in the evening sun. Foster glanced back and saw Judy’s pale face at the window. The ground was almost bare, and the skinny cattle grazed in long lines on piles of hay. The three officers came across a dam, low in water, with most of its banks exposed, and pitted with deep hoof marks. A diesel pump chugged on the far bank. Baylard pulled the aerial photo out and found the dam on it. He pointed to the thick bush that pushed fingers into the paddocks behind it. “I think that’s the direction we need to go in.” A narrow track had been cleared recently. As they entered, the temperature dropped under the tall gums. Wombat tunnels wove their way through the thick shrubs and long grasses that lined the path. The dog followed a scent trail, nose to the ground, and disappeared in the undergrowth. A wallaby stood in front of them, ears erect, watching, - 119 -

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listening, then thumped into the scrub. Lee and Baylard, city dwellers, beamed. They passed through an area that had been burned. The ash was thick underfoot, tree trunks black, open-mouthed seedpods orange. Foster snapped off some seedpods. “These are hakeas. They need fire, you see, before they’ll open. That’s why they’re not blackened inside. They opened after the fire went through. In a few months, there’ll be thousands of seedlings growing here.” “So fires are actually good for the landscape—it’s just the people who are hurt by them?” Lee said. “Exactly. Trouble is, we don’t allow moderate fires to burn off the vegetation, so when they do erupt there’s so much fuel the fires get too hot, and even some of the native trees won’t be able to recover. It’s a big problem, people moving into bush areas.” Baylard had marched ahead during the biology lesson, and his shout interrupted them. “Look at this, will ya!” They entered a vast clearing in a valley surrounded by bush. The contrast was startling. Lush and green, the cultivated plants with the familiar spreading leaves towered even over Baylard and Foster, who were both about six foot in the old measurements Foster understood. An irrigation system was automatically sprinkling each row, forming rainbows in the sunlight. “Must be ready for harvesting, wouldn’t you say?” Baylard skirted the outside rows. “In fact, it looks as if they’ve already started.” He examined disturbed soil along one edge. “I’d say one row at least has already been pulled out. If we do a bit of surveillance, we’d have to catch him red handed. He won’t be able to resist harvesting this lot.” “Who are you talking about? Who is ‘he’?” Lee asked. “Judy’s boyfriend, Tony Fitzgerald. The gamekeeper.” “The what?” She couldn’t disguise her incredulity. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll explain it to you later. But we really do need to get a surveillance team up here pronto,” Foster said. A patch along the northwest perimeter bordered burnt bush. Several of the marijuana plants had been reduced to a pile of ash. - 120 -

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“This must be what the firemen were talking about—the smell of dope burning,” Lee said. “Who owns the orchards up the hill?” Baylard was looking above the bush to the neat rows of trees decorated with globes gleaming red as the sun neared setting time. Foster had a think about it and looked at the photo. “Must be Martello’s orchards, off Hardy’s Road. Yes. You can see the dividing fence, just below the apple trees. So—I suggest we stop looking for Fitzgerald and wait for him to come to us. Let’s get something to eat.”

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Chapter Thirteen They called in to thank Judy Halliday on their way out of her property. Lee drove, turning up the sweeping semi-circular driveway, as the lights from another vehicle pierced the gloom on the other arm of the drive. Thick shrubs between them prevented a view of the car. “Stop and turn your lights off, Lee,” Baylard said. “This might just be the elusive Mr. Fitzgerald.” She parked on the road, and they left the car and crept back in, using the shrubs as a screen. “Will we know him, if it is? What does he look like?” They watched as Judy opened the front door and switched on the veranda lights. A large man with dark hair, a check shirt, and overalls clambered out of the car and climbed the two shallow steps up to the deck. He gathered Judy into a bear hug. “I’d say he looks a lot like the fellow shaking hands with Judy, wouldn’t you?” Baylard said. “So what do we do?” Foster said. “Grab him while we can or wait ’til we stake out the Mary Jane? I’d say get him now. I’d hate to lose him again.” “Yeah, I’d go along with that,” Baylard said. “Let’s just wait ’til he goes inside. He might make a run for it out here and go bush. How many outside doors are there?” “Kitchen, laundry, family room,” Lee said. “But they all open along the same stretch of back veranda.” “He’s a big guy. Could you stop him if you had to?” “You haven’t seen her doing Kung Fu. She’d stop three of him, no worries.” Foster was full of admiration. Lee just laughed. They watched as the couple moved into the house, shut the door, and pulled the curtains shut. “Okay, we’ll give you a minute to get round the back then we’ll try the front door. If they won’t open it then we’ll have to charge it.” “This is the bush, mate. The door won’t be locked.” He saw the look of disbelief on Baylard’s face. “Believe me, son. Believe me. I’ve lived here a long time.” - 122 -

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They waited quietly while Lee got herself into position. “Let’s go,” Baylard muttered, and he gave an official sounding rap at the door. There was no reply. He rapped again. “Open up. Police!” A short wait then Judy appeared, flushed and apprehensive. “You again? What is it this time?” “We believe you have Tony Fitzgerald in your house, Mrs. Halliday. We’d like to have a word with him, please.” “Tony’s not here. What gave you that idea?” “We saw him arrive not five minutes ago. Could be something to do with that.” “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.” “You won’t mind, then, if we come in and search your house?” Baylard pushed past her, and Foster followed, embarrassed once more at his colleague’s lack of subtlety. A door off the hallway opened, and the big man came out. “Looking for me?” “Tony! You should have stayed out of sight.” Judy ran to his side. “I’m not letting you put up with this on your own. Look, officers, this whole affair has got nothing to do with Judy. Can you please leave her out of it?” Baylard shook his head. “We’ll be the judges of that. You’re Tony Fitzgerald, I presume?” The man nodded. “We’d like you to come down to the station with us, so we can ask you some questions, sir.” He shrugged. “Okay. You stay here, Jude. Take a couple of those pills the doctor gave you to calm you down. Try and get some sleep. Promise me?” She nodded. Baylard took his arm. Foster went through to the back door and opened it. Lee was crouched to one side, ready to pounce. “It’s all right, Lee. It’s me. Don’t attack me, for Christ’s sake. You’d kill me. We’re going now; he’s coming without any trouble.” “Good.” She straightened. “My martial arts are getting a bit rusty. I need some more practice before I use them again.” - 123 -

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“Not on me, you don’t.” They walked around the veranda to the front. Baylard and Fitzgerald were in the middle of an argument. “He wants to drive his own car down, Foster. I said no way. He could disappear on us again.” “You said I’m not under arrest. So I should be free to drive my own car to the station. I’m not going to go anywhere, I promise.” “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t let you do that. One of us will bring you back, don’t worry.” Foster and Baylard took an arm each and steered him into the police car while Lee took the driver’s seat. ### They stopped off at the refuge so Foster could tell Dot what was going on and pick up a plateful of sandwiches. The crowds had diminished now. The police and firemen were no longer being fed here, but the hard core of homeless families still had nowhere else to go. He could see Mel with a group of school friends, hugging each other and crying. “What’s the matter with Mel?” “Well, she’s been getting all the bad news at once. Who’s been injured, who died, who lost their house, their dog, their horse. She’s taking it very hard. She seems to be feeling guilty she missed it all.” “That’d be right. Bit of a drama queen, our Mel.” “Oh, Al. Don’t be mean.” He couldn’t be bothered arguing the point. He was tired. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since all this had started, and he didn’t look like getting an early night tonight, either. He was getting too old for all this. “Gotta go, love. See you later.” ### They sat around the table in the interview room, with a tape recorder running and Lee taking notes. One last sandwich lay on the plate, and Foster found his eyes continually drawn to it. He wondered if it would be bad manners to polish it off. Probably. It mysteriously made its way into his hand and mouth. - 124 -

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“Couldn’t leave it there on its own,” he mumbled through the crumbs. No one took any notice. “Let’s go back to the twenty-fourth,” Baylard was saying. “What were your movements in the afternoon?” Fitzgerald was solid muscle, the body type that developed through years of heavy outdoor work. His face was pleasant enough: blue eyes with crinkles fanning from them, ruddy cheeks, sunburned nose, and hair almost black. “I was fencing one of the cow paddocks. It was one of those days, you know, when everything you do takes three times as long as it ought, because each tool you need is somewhere else or it doesn’t work. A branch had fallen across the fence, and I didn’t have the chainsaw with me, so I went up for that. Then it wouldn’t start. Then, when it did, the chain was damaged and I couldn’t find any spares, so I went down to Ted Bailey’s shop to get a new chain and leave the old one to be sharpened.” “What time was this?” “When I went to the shop? About 4:30 p.m., I suppose.” “Don’t you sharpen your own tools?” “Well, if it was for myself I would, yeah, but Halliday had plenty of money, and he was happy to pay for that sort of thing. It’s boring and fiddly, sharpening chains.” “Was Allebury in the shop?” Foster thought he might catch him out. “No. It was one of the women assistants served me. Actually, she didn’t know much about it. I found what I needed myself. I think Ted would have been long gone, out on the fire truck.” “Did you speak to Judy Halliday at the school earlier that afternoon?” Lee asked. “How did you—? Oh, I remember now, you were helping evacuate the kids, weren’t you? Yes. I did need to speak to Judy.” “What about?” “I don’t see that’s any business of yours.” “I’m sorry, but everything is our business in a case like this,” Baylard said. “What do you mean—a case like this? Like what?” “Murder.” “You think I murdered Pete? No. You’re wrong.” - 125 -

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Lee said, “When you spoke to Judy, you lifted her hair away from her face. You saw her black eye then, didn’t you?” Fitzgerald clenched his huge fists and banged the table. “Bastard. How could he do that to a beautiful woman like her? I felt like killing him.” “You went back to Halliday’s after you saw what he’d done to Judy, and you knocked him out and set fire to the place, didn’t you?” Baylard said. “No. I wouldn’t do that. Wasn’t the fire just a spot fire? Accidental?” “We have reason to believe it was deliberately lit. There were traces of flammable liquids.” “But it was a shed. He stored two-stroke and four-stroke petrol in there, and oil, and paints and varnishes. It was full of flammable stuff. How can you say it was deliberate?” “That’s what the arson squad believe, and they’re the experts. You knew Peter Halliday. He’d been in the CFA for years. If it was an accidental fire, what was stopping him from saving himself? He was young and able bodied and experienced in fire fighting. It’s hard to believe he died accidentally.” Foster added his bit. The big man sank his head into his arms on the table. Lee touched his hand. “Is there anything you want to tell us, Mr. Fitzgerald?” There was silence for a few seconds. Then he raised his head and spoke quietly. “I did hit him, I admit that. But he was still alive when I left him, I swear. And it was a lot earlier than 4:30 p.m. I’ve been feeling terrible that he could have fallen unconscious later and been defenseless when the fire took hold, but deliberate killing? No way. That’s not me. You can ask anyone. I may be responsible for his death, yes, but only indirectly. I couldn’t murder someone—not even him.” Baylard smiled. “Tell us why you hit him, Mr. Fitzgerald. Was it an argument over Judy?” “As it happens, no, it wasn’t. I can’t tell you what it was about, but sweet Pete was up to his eyeballs in all sorts of unsavory activities.” “Why can’t you tell us? Do you think you might implicate Judy?” “I’m not saying.” - 126 -

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“What do you know about the crop of marijuana at the back of the Halliday property? Did you plant it?” Brilliant, Baylard, Foster thought. How can we catch him at it now? Fitzgerald laughed at Baylard’s question. “So you know about the marijuana. No, I didn’t plant it. I’ve only been working on that place for a few months. You can’t get a crop like that in such a short time.” “Was Peter growing it?” “No. He’s an indoors man, doesn’t know much about growing things. That’s why he employed me.” “So who was responsible for it, then? It wasn’t self sown. It didn’t water itself.’ “You’re the police. You find out.” Baylard ignored that. “I’d like to get a sample of your hair and body fluids for analysis. Do you have any objections?” The big man shrugged. “I can’t see what good it’ll do you, but I don’t object. You won’t do it yourself, though, will you? I’d rather have someone who knew what they were doing, if you don’t mind. I’m not keen on needles.” “No, we don’t do it. We’ll bring in a doctor.” “What, now?” Baylard consulted his colleagues. “What do you think? Let him go and bring him back in the morning?” Foster and Lee agreed. It was getting late, and there was nowhere suitable to keep him locked up overnight. “We’ll take your fingerprints first,” Baylard said, “then we’ll drive you back to Judy’s place. But you must make yourself available tomorrow morning. Is that clear? If you go bush or shoot through, you’ll be in a lot more trouble than you are already. And that’s considerable.” Fitzgerald nodded. Baylard and Lee took him to the Halliday property. Foster rang Dr. Betheris and arranged with him to visit the station in the morning. Then he went through to his home to catch up on his family. ###

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Dot looked worried. They were sipping Milo and watching a comedy on TV, but she was restless. That there was something on her mind was obvious to her husband of thirty years. He zapped the TV with the remote and turned to her. “What’s on your mind, Dot? Something’s worrying you.” “I didn’t want to tell you because you’ve got enough on your plate at the moment. You’ve been working very long hours, Al. You need a break when you get home.” “Just tell me, Dot. Is it something to do with Mel?” She nodded and picked a bit of fluff off her skirt. Then she rose. “Come and have a look at this,” she said. She led him to Melanie’s room and slid open the door to the built-in wardrobe. “I was cleaning up in here and I found this.” She pulled out a shoebox to reveal behind it a glass construction with tubes and bulbs. “Is it what I think it is, Al?” “A bong. She’s brought a bloody bong into our house. And this place is police property. I’ll kill her.” “I knew you’d be angry. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. Calm down, Al, you’ve gone bright red. You’ll have a heart attack the way you’re going, and it’s not worth it. What are we going to do? If you say something to her, there’ll be a big blow-up and she’ll run away again.” “Where did we go wrong with this one, Dot? What did we do that was different?” Dot shrugged. “We’ve had this conversation a hundred times, and we’ve never resolved anything. There’s no use soul-searching any more, we just have to accept she’s different from the others. What we need this minute is a solution to this problem, this bong. One that keeps the peace, if that’s possible.” “I used to think this area was more or less drug free, you know. Shows how naïve I am. Today we found acres—literally acres—of marijuana growing on a property not five kilometers from here. A huge enterprise, with irrigation systems installed. Must be worth an absolute fortune. Here, right under our noses. What’s happening to the world, Dot? And now—our own daughter.” Foster felt an incredible sadness at the loss of innocence in his - 128 -

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patch. He could cope with the idea of it in big cities or overseas, but here? Not for the first time, he thought of retiring and getting away from it all. He forced his mind to concentrate on the immediate problem. Some lateral thinking was called for, and he soon brightened up. “I’ve got the solution, Dot. Don’t worry. Do you know what time she’s due back?” “Silly question, Al. But I’d imagine it won’t be for a while yet.” “Good. If she comes in before I do, just keep her out of her room for a bit, okay?” “Where are you going, Al?” “Just the shed.” He grinned. He carried the contraption carefully and placed it on his workbench. He put on a pair of magnifying glasses and looked down the tube. Perfect. He mixed two-pot Araldite on an old tile and dripped it neatly into the hole. He let it stand for ten minutes then examined it closely. The hole looked completely blocked. She’ll have trouble sucking anything through this, he thought, but she won’t be able to work out why. He returned it to its hiding place in the wardrobe and hoped it wouldn’t be disturbed until it was well and truly set. He felt unduly pleased with himself. He didn’t tell Dorothy what he’d done. Best not to know; then she wouldn’t be able to blurt it out. The doorbell rang, and he heard Dot shuffle down the passageway. “It’s for you, Al,” she called, followed in a lower voice by “Come in.” Well, at least it wasn’t Mel. It was Baylard. “You again. Haven’t you got a home to go to?” Foster greeted him. “I won’t keep you…” “It’s all right. Come in. Can I get you something to drink?” “Cup of tea would be nice, thanks.” “I can give you something stronger.” “No, thanks. I’m tired enough, and I’ve still got the drive back to the motel.” Foster had never even thought to ask where he was staying. He’d missed his opportunity. It would look bad to ask at this stage. “I’ll get it,” Dot said. They sat in the lounge room. Baylard rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through the stubble of hair on his head. - 129 -

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“I’m knackered,” he said. “So I really don’t know why I’m suggesting this, but I thought maybe we should start searching trucks leaving the town. Someone’s started harvesting the marijuana, and they’re not going to keep it around here with the big police presence. It’s a huge crop, so it must be going out by the truckload.” “You believe Fitzgerald when he says he’s got nothing to do with it?” “Yeah, I think so. He’s right. It would take longer than the few months he’s been in the district to get a crop to that size.” “Well, what about Halliday’s death? Do you think he’s responsible for that?” “Don’t know. What he says coincides with what the postie told us. He had a fight over something at that time. It’s whether he went back again later to finish him off—that’s the question. We’ll need to check out what he said with the sales girl in the hardware store and with the fire captain.” “That’s no problem. I’ll see them in the morning. This drug business. Shouldn’t we get the drug squad to deal with that?’ “Yes, we should. But I’ve got the feeling this is all tied up with Halliday’s death. If we solve one crime we’ll solve the other, and it would be very nice to hand it over to the drug squad already sorted.” “You mean it would be very nice because it would improve your chances of a quick promotion.” “Yeah, that too. Nothing wrong with that, is there? Sorry, but I don’t want to be a Senior Constable stuck in a place like this when I’m your age. No offence—it obviously suits you, but it’s not for me. Not for Lee, either. She’s bright. She should go a long way. Plus she’s female and ethnic—they’ll probably fast track her because it’s the politically correct thing to do.” Dot arrived with the tea and some biscuits. Out of a packet, Foster noted. He was used to home-baked fare. The interruption saved him from an uncomfortable turn in the discussion. He didn’t mind being looked down on as a man with no ambition, but he hadn’t worked out where he stood on positive discrimination. The conversation turned to the fire victims, now Dot was in the room, and how long they would have to live in tents and caravans before accommodation could be found for them or rebuilding could start. - 130 -

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The sound of a key in the door marked Mel’s arrival. She was introduced to Baylard, and she quickly looked him up and down, openly assessing then dismissing him as a likely conquest. Foster was embarrassed, but Baylard seemed amused. “Dad,” she said. “I bet you didn’t know you were harboring a dealer in Pelican East.” “What?” “I was in the pub—or the tent that calls itself a pub—it’s all right, I didn’t drink any alcohol, they all know I’m the copper’s daughter here, which is a good reason for going somewhere else, wouldn’t you say?” “Stop gabbling and get on with it, girl.” “Be nice, or I won’t tell you anything. Well, I saw this guy in there. The last time I saw him was in a bar in Fitzroy…” Dot caught her breath, and Foster interrupted the flow of the story. “What were you doing in a bar in… Oh, just tell me what happened.” “Gary told me he was a supplier. Said he had some Mafia connection. Like the Godfather, you know. I thought that was cool, but I never expected to see him here. I didn’t think anything ever happened round here.” Foster’s stomach sank yet again at the very notion of his daughter being aware of such things, but Baylard was suddenly wide awake. “What did he look like, this dealer with Mafia connections?” “Well, sort of Italian looking. Like, he had the black hair and the eyebrows that almost join in the middle. Quite a big man. I nearly didn’t recognize him because he was in his overalls, but in the city he’d been wearing, like, a snappy Italian type suit.” “But you’ve never noticed him round here before? You didn’t know him as a local?” “No, I didn’t.” They sank back in disappointment. “But my friend Kate did. Like her mum cleans the house for his old mother, and Kate’s been there in the school holidays to help her mum sometimes. She knows who he is.” “And you’re sure this is the same man?” “Oh yeah. I’m good at remembering faces. Years of training by my father.” “And? Who is he?” Baylard was becoming impatient. - 131 -

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“Ricky Martello. His family owns the orchards down in Hardy’s Road.”

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Chapter Fourteen Nothing disturbed the early morning silence apart from yawns and groans. Mist obscured the valleys, and trees were silhouetted on the opposite hills like Japanese paintings. The destruction by fire was obscured, and it was almost possible to believe that the events of the twenty-fourth had never happened, except for the strong smell of wood smoke that still hung, pungent, in the air. Lee poured coffee from a flask into three mugs. Steam spiraled into the air. “You’d better be right about this, Baylard. I’m faint with exhaustion. I hope you’re going to claim all the overtime we’re due after this week, Senior. There must be one bright side to it all.” Foster grunted in a noncommittal fashion. He knew they’d all put in way above what could be expected of them, but he couldn’t guarantee any recognition of that. Like every other government body, the police were working under tight financial constraints. “So,” Baylard said. “We flag down every vehicle that comes along this road, and we search it.” Foster grunted again. “It’s not exactly a freeway. You’ll be lucky to get two cars, if that.” “And you’re sure it’s a dead end road? There aren’t any tricky little alternatives that only the locals know about?” Foster gave him a withering look. “What if he drives straight through?” Lee must have been remembering Kit Christianson driving at her, the day of the fires. “Shoot his tires.” A look of surprise passed over her face then she shrugged. They heard a diesel engine start up some distance away. They shook out their mugs and got into position. Within a few minutes, it rumbled into view: an ancient gray Fergy tractor towing a trailer piled with hay. “What do you think? Search it? He could have dope stashed under the hay.” Baylard was raring to go. “How far do you think he’s going to get on that? He might make Melbourne in six hours, I suppose.” Foster was seething with early morning sulks. - 133 -

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“I’d like a quick look, just to satisfy myself.” Baylard wasn’t taking no for an answer. There was little need. The tractor turned into a laneway, and the old man who was driving slowly heaved himself off, opened the gate into a paddock, drove through, lumbered down again, and shut the gate. Black steers thundered across the field to meet him as he pitched hay off the trailer for them. “Well,” Foster said with a laugh, “if he was hiding drugs under the hay, he’s going to have a lot of spaced out cattle to deal with.” Lee laughed with him, as they enjoyed a moment of one-upmanship on the city cop. Baylard wasn’t going to admit he was wrong. He stuck out his chin. “Could have been him,” he said. “You have to take everything into account. He could have been carting it for storage somewhere.” A truck, the noise of its motor obscured by the rattle of the tractor, came into view at the top of the hill. They were quickly serious again. “It’s a Martello truck. This could be the one.” Foster could feel his heart thumping, adrenalin pumping. He was sure this was it. He could feel it in his water, as his granny used to say. It was a white tray truck with ornate blue lettering on the doors. Ricky Martello was driving, with one of his brothers seated beside him. Ricky pulled to a stop. “’Allo, ’allo, ’allo, what’s the law doing up so bright and early in the morning?” He was cheerful as always and seemingly ready to take his spot on the stage as a stand-up comedian. His brother was surly and silent. “That’s what we wanted to ask you, Ricky,” Foster said. “We’d like to take a look at your load, please.” “You want to look at the apples?” He shrugged expansively and climbed out of the cab. “Be my guest. We’re not overweight, you know. All legal and above board.” “We’d just like to check that for ourselves, sir,” Baylard said. “And as you’re legal and above board, I’m sure you won’t object to us having a look at what’s under your apples.” Ricky raised his thick eyebrows. “No, no. Not at all. No worries.” - 134 -

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He thumped the cab twice. His brother clambered quickly across to the driver’s seat, and the truck lurched and took off down the road. Foster and Baylard hadn’t noticed that while they were talking, Lee had already climbed into the tray to inspect the load. They watched in horror as she wobbled on the uneven load of apple crates. “In the car, quick!” Baylard shouted. He jumped into the driver’s seat and screamed off with Foster half in and Ricky standing, mouth wide open, hands on hips, in the middle of the road. Foster pulled the door shut and hung onto the handle as Baylard threw the car round the bends and over the hills. He switched on the siren and lights. In front of them, they could see Lee work her way to the cab and hang onto the tie rail. She was trying to climb through the window on the passenger side. “She’ll kill herself,” Foster muttered. He grabbed the mike and radioed through to HQ to ask for back up. He wanted a roadblock on the other side of the town, but they were running out of time. The truck had already swung onto the Pelican East road, past the remains of Hardy’s Hotel and the big tent. Lee lowered her legs through the open window, but Martello must have reached over to shut it, because she withdrew them quickly. She removed her baton and started beating at the glass. A police car left the refuge area, sirens screaming, and followed them down the hill. “Fat lot of use they’re going to be, coming behind us,” Foster grumbled. “We need them in front.” They were quickly through the town, past the police station, and heading towards the highway. The bends were too severe for Lee to try breaking the glass now. She clung on. Her hair had become unpinned and was streaming in the wind. She looked very small and vulnerable. Suddenly, a police car shot out from a side road in front of the truck. There was the scream of brakes, the crunch of metal, the smell of hot rubber. The truck swerved across the road but couldn’t miss the car in front. Baylard stamped on the brakes, but slid gently into the back of the truck. Lee lost her balance and toppled to the ground just in front of them. Foster called for an ambulance and a tow truck and ran out to attend Lee while Baylard tackled the driver. - 135 -

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Lee was unconscious, but her neck seemed to be okay. Foster lifted her from the middle of the road, surprised at how little she weighed, and laid her gently in the coma position on the grass verge. She was breathing, and her pulse seemed steady. The police from the car in front secured Ricky Martello’s brother, while Baylard vaulted into the back of the truck. The police car that had followed them from the refuge drew in behind them, and Makepeace and another young PC jumped out. Makepeace ran over to Lee. “What happened? Is she all right?” “She fell off the truck when it stopped.” “What was she doing on the truck, for Christ’s sake?” “She was starting to search it when he took off. Look, stop asking questions and just keep an eye on her, will you, ’til the ambulance comes?” Foster jogged over to see what Baylard had found. He was unloading boxes of apples onto the verge. “Eureka!” Underneath, he dragged out bulging blue plastic sacks that were normally used for packing horse feed. He took out a penknife, slit the stitches along the opening, and took a handful of the leafy material stashed inside. “Well, Senior Constable Foster, I’d say we found what we were after, wouldn’t you? Let’s go back and see what young Ricky Martello has to say for himself,” Baylard said. “You’ll need to impound the truck and its load,” Foster told the others. “And let the drug squad know. I’ll explain later.” Baylard tried their car, and they were relieved to find it was still able to start. “Come on. Let’s go.” He backed away from the truck and did a tight U-turn in the road. He drove fast, back up the hill and into Hardy’s Road. “Let’s hope he’s not a very fast runner, eh?” Martello had walked maybe a kilometer or two. He was mooching along, head down, baseball cap on backwards, hands in pockets. He didn’t look surprised when they drew alongside him and told him to get in. He complied without arguing. Foster told him his rights. “What am I going to tell my mum?” he asked. “She’ll kill me.” - 136 -

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“I’d have thought your mum was the least of your worries, Martello.” “You don’t know my mum. What happened to Roberto?” “Your brother? He’s been arrested.” “What for?” “What for? Possession of illegal substances, failing to stop when asked, failing to stop when he knew a police officer was in danger on his truck, ramming a police vehicle—what else would you like?” They stopped outside the police station and walked him through to the interview room. As they half expected, it was already occupied by the younger brother. They guided Ricky through to the office and sat him down. “Now, we’ve got some questions we’d like you to answer,” Baylard said. “Tell us about the marijuana we found on the truck.” “What marijuana? There was apples, there was horse feed. No marijuana.” “So that’s what you feed your horses, is it? Sleepy are they? Spaced out? Come on, Martello, don’t treat us like idiots. The crop that’s growing on Halliday’s property. That’s yours, isn’t it? Nothing to do with Halliday at all. So convenient, hidden away in the bush. It backs onto your property, but you can deny all knowledge of it.” “And I do, believe me. What Halliday did on his own property was his affair. Nothing to do with me. Why would it be?” “How long do you think it’s going to take us to prove that the horse feed is marijuana?” “Okay. I admit stole it. From Halliday. He wasn’t likely to squeal, was he? I can just imagine him fronting up, bleating, ‘Somebody stole my illegal crop, Officer. What are you going to do about it? The perfect crime, stealing from a crook. Anyway, he’s dead. Not much use to him now, is it?” He leaned back in his chair, confidently raising his arms and forming a neck rest with his hands. He smiled. Then he sat up, suddenly concerned. “What have you done with the truck? Those apples need to go to market this morning. They’re our living, they are.” “The truck will be impounded. I expect you’ll get the apples back when it’s all been inspected.” “When will that be? Those apples will go downhill very quick if they’re left in the sun.” - 137 -

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“Tough,” Baylard said. “You shouldn’t have broken the law. Anyway, you won’t need them when you’re in jail.” There was a knock at the door, and a constable crept in and whispered to Foster. “I need to go out for a minute,” Foster told Baylard. Fitzgerald was at the front, his meaty arms resting on the counter. “Reporting as requested,” he said. Foster ran his fingers through thinning hair. This little station wasn’t built for all this activity. Where could he take this one? “I’ll have to put you in the kitchen for now. Sorry. There’s a lot going on this morning.” He led the big man down the corridor. As they passed the office, Baylard opened the door and called to the constable to get two coffees. Fitzgerald and Martello saw each other, and both men stiffened. Martello flushed, leapt out of his chair, and ran screaming to the door. “It was you dobbed us in! I warned you what would happen to you! You and your girlfriend. You’re dead, mate. I warned you.” Baylard jammed his body in the doorway between the two burly men. “Martello! Sit down! Sit down!” Martello slunk back to his chair. “That’s better.” Foster continued on his way to the little kitchen with a visibly shaken Fitzgerald. “What’s he doing here?” Fitzgerald asked. “No, it’s me that’s asking the questions.” Foster pulled out two kitchen chairs, and they sat facing each other. He noticed Fitzgerald was sweating more than the cool morning occasioned. “What was all that about? What did he mean, ‘I warned you’? Come on, Fitzgerald, what’s the link between you two? Are you in this marijuana business together?” “You must be joking. I’m not into that stuff. I hate it—anything to do with drugs.” “So why is he so upset?” Fitzgerald breathed deeply and stared at the window before he decided to speak. “When I was doing some fencing down the back of the block, I found the plantation and Ricky was there, adjusting the irrigation. Unbelievable, that bloke. Scum. It wasn’t just that he was growing that stuff on Halliday’s - 138 -

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place, but he was pinching their water to irrigate it, too. Can you believe that?” “What did he do when he realized you’d seen him?” “He threatened me. Said he’s got Mafia connections and if I said anything to the police he’d make sure Judy’s pretty face would never look the same again.” “So he knew about you and Judy?” “Yeah. I don’t know how.” “Did you do anything?” “Yes. I told Pete. It was his property. I thought he had a right to know.” “What was his reaction?” “Oh, he was angry enough at first, but then he got this quiet little smile on his face. Like he was scheming something, but he didn’t say anything to me about it. I never mentioned it again, and he never said any more. I told him what Martello said he’d do to Judy.” “Is that what the fight was about on the twenty-fourth?” “Yes. I saw Martello, a couple of days before, handing over a wad of money to Pete. They didn’t know I was there. I saw them from the hayshed. It didn’t take much to work out what was going on. Pete was doing a spot of blackmail. It took me a while to think out what I could say to him. I confronted him with it that afternoon of the twenty-fourth. He laughed at me. He said Martello was making so much money out of it he wouldn’t miss a bit more, so he was going to up the ante. I said I was really worried about what Martello would do to Judy if Pete got too greedy. He laughed at me and said he didn’t care. That’s when I lost my cool and thumped him.” “And then you went down to the school to see Judy?” “Yes. I told her I’d hit him. I said we needed to arrange a time to meet, so I could tell her what had been going on. When I saw her black eye, I felt better about what I’d done to him.” “When you fought with Halliday, did he pull any of your hair out?” Fitzgerald rubbed his head, as if to find the answer there in his scalp. He looked puzzled. “I don’t think so. I’m a good bit taller than him. He’d have had trouble getting at my hair. Why?” “Doesn’t matter.” On cue, there was a tap at the door, and the doctor poked his head round. - 139 -

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“Hallo. Can I come in?” He was a tall, ascetic man with an eagle beak and silvery hair that curled over his collar. “This is Dr. Betheris. He’s going to take some samples from you. I’ll leave you to it, if that’s all right, doc?” He tapped at the office door and called Baylard out. “Don’t know if Martello’s told you, but he was being blackmailed by Peter Halliday. Fitzgerald discovered Martello’s grand venture and told Halliday, who thought he’d cash in on it.” “Thanks. He’s proving a hard nut to crack.” “The doc’s here to get samples from Fitzgerald. I think he should get some from Martello while he’s here. See if you can get young Ric to agree, will you?” Baylard nodded and went back in. Four men walked into the front area of the police station, announced themselves as the drug squad, and asked if Foster could show them the area in question. “Look,” he said. “Everything’s going on at once here. I haven't got any spare officers.” Makepeace slammed the front door on his way in. “Am I pleased to see you,” Foster said. “First things first, how is Lee?” “She’s recovered consciousness, and they’re taking her to hospital. They think she’s broken an arm.” “Nothing too serious, then. That’s good. Look, there’s a lot going on here, and I need to stick around for a bit. Fitzgerald’s in with the doc having body samples taken just now. These blokes are from the drug squad, and they need to be shown where the marijuana crop is. I haven’t charged Fitzgerald yet. What I’d like you to do is get him to show you and this lot where the crop is but to stay with him. I don’t want him getting away in case we need to interview him again. Can you do that?” Makepeace looked a little puzzled, but he nodded and entered the kitchen to collect Fitzgerald as the doctor left. Foster explained to Betheris what he wanted with regard to Martello, and the doctor moved into the office to do what had to be done. Baylard, meanwhile, left Martello in the care of the young constable and the doctor and drew Foster aside. “What do you think? Which big, dark- 140 -

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haired bloke did Halliday in? They both had ample motive. Even the forensic evidence won’t be conclusive because I reckon they both had a fight with Halliday that day.” They sank down into the kitchen chairs with a cup of coffee each. Foster said, “What has Martello admitted to? Does he confess to planting the crop? Or intimidating Halliday?” “He’s a slippery one. He swears the marijuana was nothing to do with him. That it was Halliday’s and he just ‘appropriated’ some.” Baylard spread his arms in imitation of Martello’s gesture. “While Fitzgerald told me Martello grew it and Halliday was blackmailing him about it,” Foster said. “He also says Halliday had decided to up the ante, try to extort more money out of him. Martello could have got mad enough to kill him if he could see all his lovely profits disappearing into Halliday’s hot little hands.” “But he swears he’s got a cast iron alibi for 4:30 p.m., when Holbrook saw the shed go up in flames. A most reliable witness, too, he says.” Baylard grinned. “Who’s that, then?” “You.” Baylard poked his finger into Foster’s chest. “What?” “He says he spoke first to Lee and then to you at the refuge because he was worried about his mother being trapped by the fires at home.” “Yeah. That bit’s true, he did. I thought at the time he was making a big fuss for no apparent reason. I’d just been down that way and saw no one at the Martello house. If he was that worried, you’d think he’d have gone back himself, but no, he insisted I go. He was setting himself up with an alibi using me. Cheeky sod! Nearly got me killed in the process, too. I was cut off by fire in the car on my way back from Martello’s. And of course his mother wasn’t there.” “What was the timing, then?” Baylard started jotting the order of events on a piece of paper. “That’s what he’s counting on, isn’t it? There was so much going on, who’d take notice of the time? The first time I went down Hardy’s Road, I saw what I thought was a spot fire go up in the direction of Halliday’s place. - 141 -

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I’m sure that would have been when the shed went up. In fact, the Telstra witness confirmed he saw my car at about that time.” “And how much later was it when Martello made a fuss?” “It took me about five minutes to get back to the refuge. I spoke to Lee, and she told me Mel was missing. I found Dot and got the story from her. Went back to Lee, and that’s when Martello had turned up. Maybe fifteen to twenty minutes after I saw the shed catch fire.” “So that would have given him ample time to do the deed and get down to the refuge?” Baylard asked. “Easy. Halliday Road is closer to the refuge than Hardy Road. I should’ve been able to smell petrol on him, but I don’t remember it. Too much going on, I suppose, plus the smell of smoke was very strong. It would have overpowered everything.” “What’s your gut feeling? Which of the two seems genuine to you?” “I think Fitzgerald’s telling the truth. He seemed genuinely upset when he thought he’d knocked Halliday out and left him to die in the fires. He swears he hates drugs. He’s very protective of Judy.” Foster felt convinced that Fitzgerald was innocent. “That’s the thing. Is he so protective he’d kill someone who was hurting her?” Baylard said. “I don’t know. Seems to me he’s the sort who might front up with his fists, but I can’t see him using a weapon or setting fire to the bloke, whatever he’d done. He’d see that as the coward’s way out. Thing is, how can I say? I’ve only spoken to him a couple of times. We need hard evidence, and that’s what we’re lacking. Even if the prints on the pinch bar and the hairs belong to Fitzgerald, it still doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. It means he hit Halliday, and he’s already admitted to that, anyway.” “Though you can’t imagine Halliday hanging on to a handful of hair for a couple of hours before he died. Look, why don’t you go over to Bailey’s store to see if they can confirm Fitzgerald’s story about the time he took the chain to be sharpened. I’ll just check with the younger Martello where he and his mother were during the afternoon of the twenty-fourth. I reckon he’d have taken her somewhere safe early in the piece. And I reckon he’d have told his big brother where they were going.” - 142 -

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### Foster headed for the front door but stopped in his tracks. Two horses were entering the front gate, one piebald, bearing Fitzgerald, the other black with a white blaze on its forehead, straining under Makepeace’s bulk. “Come on, fellas, what is this? There’s enough mayhem round here without adding horses to the equation.” “I was reading your description yesterday, Senior, of the horses Mrs. Montague reported missing.” Foster felt a spasm of guilt. He’d completely forgotten about them. “And you reckon these are hers?” “They fit the description.” “Where did you find them?” “In a back paddock on—guess where? Martello’s property.” Fitzgerald chipped in. “I’m sure they’re not his. He never had horses before.” “Perhaps he had something planned for them,” Makepeace added with a grin. “Godfather style.” Foster looked blank. “Leave a chopped off head on Halliday’s bed, as a warning.” “You’re sick, Makepeace.” “It wasn’t me thought of it. Blame Mario Puzo.” He slipped out of the saddle and wrapped the reins around his hand. “Anyway, what are we going to do with them?” “Well, they can’t stay here. Give the Montague woman a ring and see if she can come down to identify them. Pity you didn’t think to take them straight round there.” “Stolen property. We need to follow correct procedure, don’t we?” Makepeace’s grin was getting wider by the minute. Even Fitzgerald seemed to be enjoying the joke. A car drew up, and Gallagher emerged on the passenger side. He gingerly sidestepped a pile of newly dropped dung and glared at the offender, who blew down her nose at him. “What’s going on here, Foster? It’s like a bloody circus.” - 143 -

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“You name it, it’s going on here. My little station wasn’t built to cope with all this. Assault, murder, drug growing and dealing, horse stealing, blackmail, looting. And only a few days ago, Lee was complaining about how quiet it was. And how is Lee? Glad you asked. Concussion and a broken arm, but she’ll live. Now, if you could relieve some of the congestion here, so I don’t have to conduct interviews in the kitchen, I’d be very grateful. I’m on my way to speak to a witness.”

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Chapter Fifteen Foster left the confusion behind him with a sense of relief. He was half way across the road to Bailey’s hardware store when he came to a halt. A passing truckie swerved around him, pressed his hooter, and gave Foster a onefingered salute. He took no notice. He’d forgotten. How could he have forgotten? The store was a burnt out shell, not yet demolished. Ted had lost his living, and his good mate Al hadn’t even remembered. Maybe it was time to retire. He really wasn’t coping very well with all this. He returned to his house—he didn’t want to face everyone in the station just yet—and rang Ted’s home from there. The assistant who would have served Fitzgerald had lost her home as well as her job and moved in with a sister, but Ted didn’t know where. Tony should check his docket, he said, if he’d bought something when he’d dropped the chain off for sharpening. Pity about that, the chain would be part of the molten mess on the floor. Ted had recently invested in a computerized till—a major advance for Pelican East—that recorded the time and the salesperson on the docket. All gone now, of course, otherwise he’d have his own records. Foster commiserated and promised a drink some time. He dragged himself through to the station. It had been an early start, and a lot had happened. He was tired and feeling his age. Martello the younger was being removed from the interview room, and Makepeace was taking Fitzgerald in. No fear of the seat cooling. Foster drew one of the detectives aside. “Any joy?” “Not much brotherly love in evidence. He says Ricky organized the whole deal: planting, watering, markets. He was just the general dog’s body and wasn’t going to get much of the profit from the sound of things.” “Have you told Baylard yet?” “No. Can you let him know? We’ll get out of your hair.” Foster agreed but first visited Fitzgerald. He got straight to the point. “Look, Tony. We need something to back up your story about going to Ted Bailey’s to get your chain sharpened. Did you buy anything when you were there?” “Yes. I thought I told you. I bought a new chain.” - 145 -

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“Would you have the receipt?” Fitzgerald felt in his back pocket and produced a wallet. “Should do. I keep the receipts for Halliday’s tax. Yep. Here.” He handed it over. The print was a faint purple. Foster couldn’t read it. He held it at arm’s length in an attempt to focus. He handed it to Makepeace. “Read it for me, please. I think I’m gonna have to get myself some glasses.” “What? All of it?” “Date and time.” “Twenty-fourth of February, 16:28.” “Well, mate. Looks like you could be in the clear.” Relief swept across Fitzgerald’s face, and he sagged. “Thank Christ for that. I’ve got something to thank the tax department for, then. The frightening thing was, it could’ve been me. I was angry enough to kill him. But once I’d knocked him down, something stopped me. No sense doing any more to him, once he was lying helpless.” “I suppose that ‘something’ is what stops the majority of us from going that step too far. Tell me. When you hit him, did you use a pinch bar?” “Nah. I would’ve killed him if I had. Just me fists.” He clenched them as he spoke. “So—can I go, or are you going to arrest me for assault?” Foster went next door to Baylard for a quick consultation. “What do you think? I can’t see anyone laying charges, can you? Let him go but make sure he sticks around?” Baylard nodded. Foster returned to Fitzgerald. “We’ll let you go, but you’ll need to stay in the area. Let us know if you’re going to leave the district. Makepeace here will take a statement from you. Okay?” ### When Foster entered the room, Ricky Martello was still declaring his innocence. “No way you can pin this on me. Police harassment, this is. A lot of people died in these fires, and you pick out one and blame it on me. I’m not saying anything else until I get a lawyer.” “Have you got anyone in mind?” - 146 -

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Martello handed over a business card, and Baylard snorted with disbelief. “Something wrong?” Martello said. “Nothing at all. Here. You can use the phone.” Baylard joined Foster at the door and moved him through to the corridor. “Biggest crook in the city, that lawyer. Martello refused to let the doc take a sample, you know. But—it seems the boffins can get enough DNA off a phone now to do an ID, so I wiped the phone clean earlier, and I’m hoping he’ll have a good long conversation.” “How do you get the DNA off, then?” “You use gloves, forceps, and sterile cotton wool. Pop it in a tube and off she goes.” “Yeah? That’s amazing.” Foster shook his head. There’d be no room for good old-fashioned policing the way things were going. All this technology was leaving him behind. “Now, look. Ricky’s little brother has dropped him right in it. Says Rick was totally responsible for the marijuana plantation. I don’t suppose he’s aware of the blackmail side of things. Looks like our Rick isn’t into profit sharing. And Fitzgerald’s come up with proof of where he was just on 4:30 p.m. I’ve let him go for now. We just need some proof to place Martello in Halliday’s shed, and we’re home and hosed. This DNA matching might take a bit of time, I’d imagine. How long can we hold him?” “Well, we’ve got enough on him to hold him regarding the marijuana. I expect the drug squad will want to take him into town for questioning. I can’t see them letting him go. We’ll give the labs a bit of a hurry on. I reckon it’ll all come together rather nicely. Now, you should have all I need for the swabs in your medical kit, right?” ### Martello watched, with a frown. Baylard carefully moved the phone towards himself, his hands in disposable gloves looking like shrink-wrapped sausages. He swabbed saliva from the mouthpiece and fingerprints from the shaft and placed the swabs into little plastic bags, zipping their tops closed and sticking labels on them. “What are you doing?” Martello was clearly suspicious. - 147 -

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“I’m just collecting microscopic bits of you that were left on the phone. Our scientists will be able to match them with what you left on the pinch bar in Halliday’s shed. And with the hairs in Halliday’s fist.” Foster thought Baylard was taking a bit of a punt here, but it was probably worth it. “How could there be anything in Halliday’s shed?” Martello said. “It burnt down. There was petrol everywhere. There’d be nothing left.” “How do you know that? That there was petrol everywhere?” “I suppose I read it in the papers.” “It wasn’t in the papers, as far as I know. Did you see it in the papers, Foster?” Al shook his head. “No, I thought not.” “You sure? Anyway, his shed was full of petrol cans, for his tractor and his chainsaw.” Martello gave his characteristic shrug. “I’d have to check back on the tapes,” Baylard said, “but I could have sworn you told us you’d never been to Halliday’s place.” Martello’s face ran through a series of contortions as he struggled to extricate himself from the mire. “No, I meant—when I said ‘his place’—I meant his house. I never went to his house. I saw him about business, once or twice, in his shed.” “The business was blackmail, wasn’t it? You were paying him to keep quiet about the marijuana crop.” “How did you—I mean, what makes you think that?” “You were seen handing money over.” “Who said that? Bloody Fitzgerald? He was making out with Halliday’s wife, you know. He’s your murderer. He had a motive.” “He also has an alibi for 4:30 p.m. when the shed went up in flames. You know we have a witness who saw you running from the shed straight after it caught fire. Puts you right at the scene and time of the crime.” Martello shook his head in disbelief. “Seems to me,” Foster said, “you know an awful lot about what was going on at Halliday’s place for someone who wasn’t there. I don’t know why you don’t just come out and admit it. Halliday was blackmailing you over the marijuana crop—you were seen paying him. He upped his rates. You got mad, and you hit him with the pinch bar. You saw your opportunity with the bushfires advancing and set fire to him while he was unconscious. Brave - 148 -

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man, our Ricky. You were seen running away. Then you had the cheek to set up an alibi for yourself by sending me up to check on your mother.” Baylard added, “Funny that, because your brother tells us he took your mother to stay with her sister in Warragul, well before the fires arrived. And he rang you on your mobile to let you know.” “I’m not saying another word until my lawyer arrives. You’re confusing me,” Martello complained. Foster butted in. “Just one thing I’d like to check with you. My officer found two horses on your property that fit the description of horses missing from the Grove. Know anything about that, do you? The owner’s coming in to identify them, so we’ll soon know whether they’re yours or not.” “Oh, them. Well, they just came tearing down our road, frightened by the fires I expect, so I locked them in our paddock for safety. I was waiting for someone to claim them.” “But you didn’t think to let anyone know you had them?” Martello gave another of his shrugs. ### Lee arrived looking like a refugee from a war zone, head bandaged, and arm in a sling. “What the hell are you doing here? You should be at home.” Foster knew he sounded like an over-protective parent, but then he felt like one. “How are you?” “I’m fine, thanks. A bit bruised and my arm’s broken, but nothing drastic. I didn’t want to miss the excitement. Come on. Fill me in on what’s been happening.” “You sit down, and I’ll make you a cup of tea while I tell you about it.” “Excuse me, officer.” It was the Montague woman—ropy arms, leather skin, spider legs. “I hear you’ve found some horses which may or may not be mine.” “Yes, ma’am. Well, they do fit the description you gave me. I’ll show them to you.” He turned back to Lee. “Please rest. I’ll be back shortly.” Mrs. Montague smiled at Lee. “Country life not as quiet as you imagined, eh?’ - 149 -

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“Er, no, not quite.” Lee moved into the kitchen crabwise, steering the injured arm in first. Foster led Mrs. Montague to the garden, where Makepeace had left the horses conveniently within reach of the roses Dot was bringing on for the local show. For a horrible moment, he thought the woman was so overjoyed she might kiss him, but she spread her arms wide and hugged and kissed each horse in turn, whispering sweet nothings in their ears. He wondered, briefly, how Mr. Montague, if he was still on the scene, felt about his wife’s equine love affairs. He helped pull Paint and Princess out of the rose bed and along the path to the double horse float parked on the road. A bucket of feed at the front of each section ensured speedy loading. He slammed and bolted the tailgate and waved them off, hoping that was the last he’d see of the woman. Baylard led a struggling Martello down the path, and Foster briefly wondered whether a bucket of feed in the back of the car would smooth the loading of prisoners. He watched Baylard duck Martello’s head as he put him in the back seat of a police car with one of the out-of-town officers. Baylard wandered back, hands in his pockets, whistling. “We’re taking him in to St. Kilda Road. The lawyer said he’s happy to meet us there. Been nice working with you, Foster. Reckon this case will be good for both of us—should be another rung up the ladder. And one in the eye for Guppy Features. See ya, then.” “Thanks for all your help, mate. Appreciate it,” Foster said as they shook hands. ### The station was strangely quiet. Everyone had left except Lee. A cool change was coming through. A real change, not an apology for one. He opened the windows in the office and let the wind drive out the accumulated body odors of Victoria’s finest. And, thinking about Martello, her not-so-fine. He gave Lee an apple from Martello’s box and crunched into one himself. They were starting to go a bit floury. “Back to normal, eh?” he said. “And I thought the bush was going to be so quiet and boring!” - 150 -

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They heard the front door swing open. “It had better not be that Montague woman, decided she’s got the wrong horses,” he said. It wasn’t. A tall young man with short fair hair, protruding teeth, a big grin and a bellow strode into the office. “I’m back. What happened round here? Looks like a bomb hit the place and you got blown up with it, Lee. Boy, have I got some tales to tell you, Senior. Never seen so much water in all my life…” “Shut up, Vandenberg.” ### Foster wasn’t at all surprised when the DNA results confirmed Martello as the owner of the hairs in Halliday’s fist and the fingerprints on the pinch bar. Martello was held in remand. He and his brother were also charged over the marijuana crop. All the media crews returned for the spectacular burning of the crop. Another Great Fire in Pelican East, they headlined it. And all the locals gathered, if not for the spectacle, for a little experimental inhalation to see what all the fuss was about. ### Clouds of dust rose from the stamping feet of the dancers who whooped and clapped to the music of the local family bush band, set up on Ted Bailey’s truck in the grounds of the primary school. Foster felt the grit between his teeth and swallowed a mouthful of his namesake’s ale to wash it down. He wandered over to the wood chopping contest where the men were lined up behind their logs, axes at the ready. One man stood out from the rest. Tall and bulky, he flexed muscles that were accentuated by his dark blue singlet. He smiled briefly at Judy Halliday then sank into deep concentration. At a signal, the axes flashed and V-shaped chips flew out of the logs, to the roar of the crowd. Not fair, really, Foster thought. If the committee had known Fitzgerald was the Tasmanian champ, they wouldn’t have let him compete. He made it look so easy, like hacking into Edam. - 151 -

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Watching him, Foster could see what he meant when he’d said, if he’d used a pinch bar to hit Halliday he’d have killed him. He felt his sleeve being tugged and looked down to see Lisbeth Gaye. She clutched a notebook and pencil. “Lovely day, isn’t it, officer? I wonder if I could ask you a favor? I’m writing an account of the fires, and I’d like to make an appointment to interview you when it suits. You might have some ideas of other people I could contact. What do you say?” “No worries, Miss Gaye. It’s pretty slack now, after all the excitement. Come over for a cup of tea tomorrow arvo, and we’ll have a chat.” And we can christen my new cups, he thought. He watched as she spotted Ted Bailey and sprinted—well, the intention to sprint was there—to grab hold of him. The bush band moved off the stage, and Judy Halliday’s preps took their place. With fresh-scrubbed faces and shiny, brushed hair, they launched enthusiastically into a song with actions about living in the bush. It was almost like a Mexican wave as each child watched the one next door for the cue to raise arms like a tree or crouch like a wallaby. Dot handed him a cup of tea and slipped an arm through his. Her eyes were teary. “Gorgeous, aren’t they? It’s hard to remember Melanie was like that, not so many years ago.” She sighed. “I hate to tell you this, Al, but her friends have been telling me they think she’s run away again today. She was talking about going to Queensland this time. I haven’t seen her since breakfast, but that doesn’t mean much.” “Well, I’m not chasing her all the way up there. I reckon she’s just reached nest-leaving time a bit earlier than the others, Dot. All we can do is hope she keeps herself out of trouble. You know, that bong disappeared from her room a couple of weeks after I, ahem, attended to it, and she’s never ever said a word about it.” He laughed, satisfied with his solution to that problem at least. “Hey, look who it is.” He saw Lee approaching with a tall young man with pale skin and red hair tied back in a ponytail. She beamed. “Hi, Senior, Dot. This is Rory.”

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Dot was the one who noticed the emerald on Jade’s ring finger. She gave a little cry of joy and hugged Jade Lee, swamping her in her large, comfortable body. “Congratulations, Jade, and you, Rory. Let’s have a look at that ring. Isn’t it gorgeous? When are you going to get married, then? And where?” Jade laughed. “Slow down, Dot. One step at a time. But you’re both invited to the engagement party on the twenty-fifth of next month.” Rory smiled and gently pulled Jade’s long, black hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Foster felt satisfied she’d be safe with this man. She was a perceptive, knowledgeable young woman. No victim, this one. “We’ll be there, don’t you worry about that,” he said. “And how’s life treating you in the Asian Squad?” “Really interesting. And it’s given me the chance to follow up the gang who vandalized my uncle’s shop. But of course it’s a bit quiet after life in Pelican East. I mean, natural disasters, murder, drug hauls. How could the big city compare?”

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Biography of Author A retired science teacher and career counselor, Jackie Tritt has since become a widely published award-winning writer. Her novel, The Burning, was published in Australia in 1998. She has written articles for the major newspapers around Australia, and has had many stories and articles published in magazines for children. Her short stories have appeared in anthologies and ezines in Australia and the USA and have been successful in many short story competitions, including one in Canada. She won the prestigious $5,000 Herald Sun/Collins Award in 2005. She has completed a second crime novel and is in the early stages of a third. Author website: Thttp://lrw.fathen.net

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