Blood Feud (51 page)

“Meaning they never came back to the pub last night?”

“Exactly. No one saw them around for dinner last night either. I think they’re missing.”

The Summit was the highest graded bushwalk on Mount Big – a physically challenging trail suitable for experienced hikers only. And even those were meant to advise us of any planned excursions, so that someone knew they’d attempted the sometimes treacherous track. People became lost on Mount Big; people even died on the mountain.

It had been a while since I’d had to do any searching for lost hikers there and the Sarge had not yet done so in his limited time in town.
Just what we both needed this afternoon
, I thought with resignation. I rang him to break the news and we organised to meet at my house as soon as possible for a pre-trek conference. I instructed him to wear cargo pants, his police boots, a hat and to bring a jacket even though the weather was quite pleasant at the moment.

A pre-prepared backpack, which we checked regularly, was stashed in a cupboard at the station. It contained a torch, a compass, maps, a thermal blanket, first aid kit, a multi-purpose knife, bottles of water, rehydrating drinks and energy bars. He would carry that and I’d carry my own backpack with some similar items I kept at home.

He turned up at my house wearing his utility belt. I raised my eyebrows as I only had my knife strapped to my thigh as usual.

“In case we meet any bears,” he explained.

“There aren’t any bears around here,” I laughed and poured him a coffee.

We weren’t rushing off to the mountain, needing to gather all available facts first. So the Sarge rang Abe and spoke to both him and the staff member who’d been advised of the hikers’ plan for their trip to the Summit. Unfortunately, nobody had seen the group of five leave, so we had no idea of how appropriately they were dressed or what supplies and equipment they may have taken with them.

The Summit was a walk that could be conquered in a day – a long and arduous day for sure, but doable. It wasn’t something I’d ever do for fun though. Our plan was to only walk the most navigable section, hoping to run into the sheepish hikers making their way safely back after spending a long, cool evening out in the open.

While he spoke to Abe, I rang the Super to discuss our situation. She took great pleasure in advising me that Red Bycraft had appeared in the Magistrates Court that morning and had been committed to trial, to be held on remand in the interim. And that was the good news. The bad news was that the Big Town Search and Rescue Service was currently stretched by a search-at-sea involving a charter boat which seemed to have disappeared with a local school group aboard. She couldn’t spare us anybody until maybe tomorrow.

It’s a
lways tomorrow with them
, I thought peevishly, hanging up. Our next option was to round up the State Emergency Service volunteers in the local area and have them tramp up the Summit walk with us. We batted this idea back and forth between us for a while, but in the end dismissed it as not being practicable. The track was far too narrow and steep to accommodate a crowd. In the end, we decided that
if
we found no trace of the hikers by the finish of today, we’d start demanding assistance, maybe even the Search and Rescue helicopter.

That sounded callous to the comfort of the lost hikers, but we were a small station with limited resources. And hikers experienced enough to tackle the Summit walk should know to have extra water and food with them. The weather was fine so they weren’t in danger of exposure. Also, in a good proportion of such cases, the hikers managed to find their way back without any assistance and a lot of wasted time and effort was expended on searching for them by people like the Sarge and me.

“Abe hasn’t been able to contact them on their phones,” the Sarge told me as we rechecked our gear.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Mobile coverage is virtually non-existent on Mount Big. If one of them is injured, they’ll need to send someone down to fetch help. That hasn’t happened, which is either a worry or a blessing. I can’t make up my mind.”

“Which is why we need to stick together at all times. Got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got it,” I said impatiently.

“How did you cope before I came? I can’t imagine your previous sergeant ever trekking up Mount Big with you.”

I laughed at the thought. “Never! If I had to do an initial foray while waiting for Big Town to arrive, I’d take one of the SES guys with me. Abe was always my first preference or maybe one of the prison officers. Luckily, considering how deceptive Mount Big can be for hikers, I’ve only ever had to do a handful of searches. The new signs the government erected in the carpark help a lot by letting tourists and hikers know what they’re in for if they decide to tackle the Grade 5 tracks.”

“And the Summit is a Grade 5 track?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Is that the hardest grade?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s only hope we meet them on their way down.”

We looked at each other. “Well, at least it hasn’t rained for a while.”

“No mud bath.”

“Nor as many leeches to worry about.”

“Leeches?”

I laughed. “Oh, you really are a city boy. We’ll have to check each other thoroughly afterwards for the little blood-sucking pests.”

His eyes widened. “I can only say that after an experience like that, I’ll probably be inspired to paint my own portrait of you.”

I threw my cap at him, laughing. “Come on, you clown. Quit fantasising about being a famous artist. You have a hot, sweaty, body-killing hike ahead of you.”

He picked up his backpack and smiled. “And who could resist that enticing offer?”

Chapter 33

We drove to the carpark next to Lake Big and hoped for the best in leaving the patrol car unattended, though locked. The Bycraft juniors would love nothing more than the chance to joyride in it all afternoon while we were trying to help other people.

We stopped for a moment to check the park signs in case there had been any changes to the walking tracks such as sudden closures due to rock falls. Usually the Parks and Wildlife rangers dropped in at the station when they updated park information, but we didn’t always cross paths if the station was unattended or they visited on an off-duty day.

We noted there were no current issues with the Summit track and followed the signposts to its beginning.

“Ready for an afternoon spring stroll?” I joked.

“Not looking forward to this at all.”

There was a reason this track had been graded at level 5. It started in a leisurely way, sharing a path with the more tourist-oriented tracks, the most popular (and easiest) of which was a very pleasant two hour walk around picturesque Lake Big, returning to the carpark at the end.

Our track branched off to the left after five hundred metres, and after another five hundred metres became increasingly steep and rocky. At some points the track was nothing more than a tumble of rocks to climb up and over. It was unsurprising that in the higher reaches, where the path disappeared for considerable lengths, people lost their way and began to panic.

At the beginning we chatted casually as we walked. But as the track became sheerer, the surrounding bushland thicker and more impenetrable, and the afternoon warmer, our conversation ceased except for an occasional warning about any particularly rough bits ahead. We stopped for a rest at one point, both of us taking a bathroom break in the bush. He returned in a minute, but I wasted a lot of time searching for a secluded area that didn’t include any snakes or spiders and made my best effort not to pee on my boots. Men didn’t realise how much easier they had it in life sometimes.

We sat on a rock and admired the panoramic view while swigging bottled water and munching on energy bars.

“It really is beautiful up here. I’m beginning to see why this mountain attracts so many tourists,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“It’s the reward for all the hard work in getting up here,” I replied, slinging my backpack on again and standing up. “But we’re not here to be rewarded today.”

“No, I guess not.”

Before I trekked off, I cupped my mouth with my hands and yelled out as loudly as I could, “Mike Amour? Can you hear me? This is Officer Tess from the local police. Yell back if someone can hear me.”

We listened, but all we heard in response was the loud buzzing of crickets and the call of a distant kookaburra.

“Nice idea, Tess. I’ll try again in ten minutes. My voice is louder than yours.”

We trudged in silence until those ten minutes elapsed and he shouted out, but also received nothing in return. We continued walking and yelling for another hour but heard only normal bush sounds for our trouble.

After a difficult scrabble over a jutting rock formation, I flopped down on it, taking another glug of water.

“I think we’re reaching our limit, Sarge. If we don’t turn around soon, we’re going to risk walking back in darkness.”

“We can’t do that. It’s too dangerous. We’ll end up lost ourselves.” He yelled out in frustration one last time, but there was nothing but silence.

“It’s no use. They’re either not here or they’re so far up the track they’re stuck. We can’t help them today. I only hope they took enough supplies to last them another night.”

“I’ll give Search and Rescue a call when we get back to your place. Hopefully they’ll be able to get moving at dawn tomorrow.”

I yawned. “Another early morning. But what if the dees want to mount an early search for Dylan too?”

“We’ll have to split up. I’ll go with the dees – you have more experience with searching.” Somehow I didn’t think that was his only motivation in deciding that, his natural protectiveness kicking in again.

We’d just packed up the water bottles and hitched on our backpacks again, when I heard a rustling on the track behind us. I spun around to catch a glimpse of something in the bushes.

“Hey! You there, show yourself,” I shouted in my cop voice.

The rustling halted and there was stillness for a beat. A shape moved in the bushland and a person stepped out from a barely discernible minor track onto the main one.

“What the . . .?” I asked, gobsmacked. “Are you absolutely crazy, Denny Bycraft? Following me all the way up here? Really? What kind of an obsessive nut are you anyway?”

Though nervous, for once Denny didn’t bolt at being spotted. He stood his ground in the path, his palms up in supplication as if we would shoot him otherwise.

“Did you follow us up here?” I asked, still incredulous at the nerve of the man.

He stood silent in the path, just staring at us and nodded. It had been a long time, if ever, that I’d paid any close individual attention to Denny Bycraft. To me he’d always been an annoyance, the mosquito in my life. He was someone who’d teased me mercilessly when we’d been at school and then who’d become my shadow when I’d returned to town. I spotted him and I yelled at him, but I never really noticed him. The common belief in the Bycraft family was that Denny wasn’t ‘quite right in the head’. For once, I was in complete agreement with them.

Being a Bycraft, he had the requisite height, fine build, wavy golden hair and tawny eyes and was by any measure a good-looking man. He had no problem attracting women and had fathered a number of children to a number of women. I had no good opinion of him, considering him a major snitch, running off to Jake to report on my every activity. But I’d never thought of him as dangerous or a personal threat to me, not after I’d thumped him decisively that time at school.

Today, I began to worry that I’d underestimated him. He was edgy, unsettled, his eyes large with some kind of emotion I wasn’t able to read. And it was as if the Sarge didn’t even exist, his attention was so pointedly on me.

“Tessie . . .” he started, his eyes darting around the bushland. I wondered if he was on drugs. He took a step forward and reached for his back pocket. I pulled out my knife and let him see it. The Sarge yanked his Glock from its holster.

“Step back if you know what’s good for you, Denny,” I warned.

He put his hands up again. “Tessie, I don’t mean anything bad for you, but I gotta show you something I found. I made a map so I could remember where it is. It’s in my pocket. Let me show you. You gotta see it.”

“What kind of something?” I asked suspiciously. It was the longest conversation I’d had with Denny for over a decade.

He looked tortured, pleading almost. “I don’t have the words to say. It scared me so bad. It’s near here. I found it when I was going to the farm.”

“The farm? What farm?”

“Our farm. The family farm.”

I couldn’t keep the scorn from my voice. “The Bycrafts don’t have a farm. That would be entirely too much like hard honest labour for you people.”

“We have small farms around in the mountains where we grow . . .” His natural instinct not to rat on his family overrode his need to talk to me.

I hesitated and glanced over at the Sarge briefly, while trying to keep an eye on Denny. This was such a left-of-field occurrence I wasn’t sure how to handle it. It was no surprise to me that the Bycraft family kept some family ‘farms’ in this park, despite it being public land. They were so at home in the surrounding bushland and mountains that they’d probably come to believe they owned the land or were at least entitled to use some for their own purposes. And I strongly doubted they were growing chives and parsley on their ‘farms’. Pot would be their specialty and the thick bushland provided ample cover for growing it without the nosy local police asking awkward questions.