Dark Country (19 page)

Morning came far too early for Kris. The vivid dream of hot sex in the middle of a blazing building ended when the building
collapsed, jerking her awake with a half-muttered cry. No need to question where
those
images had come from.

Her hair under her face smelt of smoke. Her pillow smelt of smoke. With an effort, she pushed herself upright in bed, every
muscle in her body moaning in protest, with even her gut roiling, as if she had a hangover.

She hated mornings at the best of times, and this morning certainly didn’t qualify as a good one. She’d feel better when she
got moving, she promised herself, in an attempt to find the motivation to get up out of bed. It wasn’t too much of a lie –
she couldn’t, at any rate, feel much worse.

The door to Gillespie’s room was still shut and as she stumbled to the shower there was only silence in the house. Good. She
might have a chance to become human again before he woke up. The shower helped a little to loosen her stiff muscles, and
afterwards she used up most of Beth’s pot of bruise cream on the multiple bruises darkening on her body.

She studied her arms in the bathroom mirror. The bloody grazes and dark bruises would be blatantly obvious with her ball dress
tonight. Just as well she had no ambitions of being the belle of the ball. The sooner the ball was over, the better, as far
as she was concerned.

The official roster had her off-duty for the next five days, but she dragged on her uniform. Responsibilities and rosters
didn’t always coincide in a bush posting.

As she buckled on her belt, someone knocked loudly on the back door. Mindful of Gil’s warning, she glanced out of the window.
On the back step stood a young woman, maybe twenty-five or thirty, neatly dressed in black trousers and a softly patterned
shirt, her long brown hair braided. Behind her, a younger man waited, Asian in appearance, also neat in trousers and white
shirt.

‘Have you got Gil here?’ the woman demanded, the moment Kris opened the door.

The woman’s glare almost matched her own, but even on a morning like today, Kris could summon her sergeant’s stare to outdo
the best.

‘You are …?’

‘Deborah Taylor. Gil’s my boss. Was my boss, I mean. Until the other day, when the new owners took over. Look, I know Gil,’
she rushed on. ‘He wouldn’t have murdered Marci. Not that he didn’t have more than enough reason to throttle the lying, conniving
user of a bitch, and probably should have, but he never did. Okay, maybe a firm grip on her arm to escort her
out of the pub sometimes when she was pissed and kicking up a stink, but nothing more than that. Ever.’

‘It’s okay, Deb.’ Gil’s voice came from behind, and the woman, Deb, audibly breathed a sigh of relief.

Sighing wasn’t exactly what came to mind when Kris glanced around at Gil. She’d found clothes for him last night – a T-shirt,
and Hugh’s old hiking shorts, that he’d inadvertently left at her place that last weekend, years ago, that she’d never quite
been able to toss out.

Maybe it was the white T-shirt that softened Gil’s appearance, despite his rough, unshaven face. Other than yesterday morning’s
brief aberration, she’d only seen him in black. And maybe it was seeing him in her brother’s old cargoes, temporarily jumbling
her thoughts with old memories and grief, and not the sight of naked feet and calves and shorts riding low on slim hips that
stole coherent words from her head.

Fortunately, he didn’t have a muting effect on Deborah.

‘Gil! Some guy down the road said you were here, that they should be locking you up.’

‘Everything’s fine.’ He held up his hands to her view. ‘See, no handcuffs. Deb, this is Sergeant Kris Matthews. She hasn’t
arrested me, so there’s no need to do your Doberman impersonation.’

The laconic, dry humour and the absence of Gil’s usual guardedness spelled friendship and affection, although probably not
intimacy, since neither of them made any effort to touch the other. Kris pulled together what she knew of the woman so far.
His former employee. With a black belt in karate, who’d been
attacked two days ago in her home. Pretty and assertive and fond enough of Gil to confront a police officer to defend him.

The young man stepped forward with an easy confidence and pleasant smile, his hand outstretched to shake hers. ‘I’m Liam Le.
Please forgive us for calling in so early, Sergeant. We were worried about Gil.’

Kris found herself smiling back at him. She didn’t know what his job had been, but she imagined running a successful pub required
at least one person with public relations skills, and this lad had more than enough charm for the three of them.

‘I didn’t expect you two until later today,’ Gil said bluntly.

Deb shrugged. ‘We left last night, as soon as we could after you phoned. We shared the driving, and stopped for a couple of
hours by the road.’

Loyalty
. Kris added it to the affection and friendship she’d already noted. It spoke a lot for Gil that these two young people retained
such a strong personal allegiance to him. She couldn’t think of many people, other than Bella and Alec, who’d drive for eight
hours overnight at the drop of a hat if she was in trouble.

She gave them a few minutes of privacy by heading outside to check the clothes Gil had hung out on the washing line the night
before. The dry night and the early morning sunshine had done their job, and even the thicker pockets of their jeans were
dry.

There was a stack of work waiting for her, and Sandy Cunningham and the arson investigator might already be on site, but she
selfishly took the time in the freshness of the sunshine to unpeg and fold the jeans, T-shirts, underwear and socks,
the cloth sunlight-warm on her aching hands, a small, simple pleasure in what would undoubtedly be a demanding day.

And now that he had transport, Gil would likely leave soon. The realisation left an emptiness, although his departure had
to be for the best – for him, for Dungirri, for herself. The absolute last thing
she
needed was the distraction of an impossible man to highlight the loneliness of her solitary, workaholic life.

Maybe she should get a dog. Bella had Finn, a devoted, if at times dopey, German Shepherd who’d kept her sane through bad
times and good. A dog like Finn would be good company.

She stifled a sardonic laugh. A dog. She was actually contemplating getting a dog. That definitely counted as a sign of middle-aged,
single desperation.

She hoisted the laundry basket to her hip, and caught sight of Beth walking down the road towards her. She waited, poised
there, idly watching a family of small wrens flitting around a low branch in the gum tree, until Beth reached her.

‘Can you spare a minute, Kris?’ Beth asked, the tiredness in her eyes undermining her wan smile. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem.’

Gil gave Liam and Deb a brief summary of the previous night’s dramas, but all the while at least half his attention was on
the scene out the window. Standing at the bench, making coffee, gave him excuse enough to keep Kris in his sight.

It felt somewhat disconcerting – the contrast of the police uniform, and all it signified in his mind, and the quietly
domestic, feminine stance with the basket on her hip; two images that didn’t fit together in his experience.

But then somehow the two images slid together, melded, and he saw just Kris, police officer
and
woman, independent, strong and proud.

Whatever Beth was telling her, it wiped away the calm expression that had softened her face just a few moments before. But
he read frustration, more than worry, in the way she huffed her breath out, and jammed breeze-blown hair behind her ear with
her free hand.

‘This Jeanie, I gather she’s important to you, Gil?’

Deb’s question dragged his attention back, although it took a moment for his brain to relate the words to Jeanie, rather than
Kris.

‘Yes. She gave me my first real job. And she helped me, when I needed it. She’s …’ He searched for words, couldn’t find adequate
ones. ‘She’s the kind of person who holds a town like this together.’

And two more of them were out there, in the backyard. Courage, he thought. But it was more than physical courage. Emotional
courage and compassion, the strength and determination to stand with the community, long term, and to stand up to them too,
when necessary.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ Liam asked. ‘Do you have to stay here, or are we going back to Sydney?’

He mulled over Liam’s question while he pushed the plunger down slowly. Last night, before the fire, the decision had seemed
clear – he’d leave here as soon as he could. But later, lying awake in the dark, leaving didn’t seem such a good idea – at
least, not until he knew more about what he was up against, and whether the threat to Kris was serious.

He’d have more chance keeping informed about the police investigation by staying in Dungirri. If he went back to Sydney, he’d
be working alone.

And, he acknowledged to himself, there’d be a certain amount of satisfaction in staring back at some of Dungirri’s residents,
showing them he had nothing to hide.

‘I want to stay here for a day or so longer, see if I can get any info from the forensic reports on Marci, and on the fire.
But I need to get a vehicle.’ He hated being trapped, reliant on others. ‘There’s a chance I might be able to pick up something
in Birraga this morning, but if there is a car dealer there, they’ll probably close at noon.’

‘You can use my car whenever you need it,’ Liam offered.

‘Thanks, but you’ll need it yourself.’ Because Liam and Deb wouldn’t be going back to Sydney with him. They could stay here
for today, while he found out some more about what was going on, but he wanted them going somewhere else, safer, when he went
back to Sydney.

Outside, Beth was leaving, and he held the door open for Kris.

‘Any word on Jeanie?’ he asked.

‘She’s okay. Awake, and talking, and with no major damage. They’re a little worried about her heart, though. There could be
some underlying problem. They’re going to run some tests over the next few days.’ She let out a sigh. ‘I’m glad in a way.
I’d been worried about her. She’s been very tired lately, but she
kept saying it was nothing. Now they’ll find out if something is wrong, and treat it.’

Whatever Jeanie needed, she’d have, he resolved. The best specialists, private hospital if she needed surgery. They could
do amazing things these days with hearts, and although he still worried, it wasn’t at the same level as before.

Probably unaware of it, Kris let out another huff of breath.

‘There’s other trouble?’ he prompted.

She paused on her way through to the laundry, shifting the basket to her other hip. ‘Jeanie was catering for the supper for
the ball tonight, and all the supplies and everything she’d prepared were at the café. With Jeanie in hospital and Nancy Butler
with her, there’s no-one with any experience in catering to organise replacement food, even if Birraga has things in stock.
There’s a meeting at the pub shortly to decide what to do, but since there’s less than twelve hours now before the ball starts,
I’m afraid they’ll end up buying a stack of frozen party pies.’

Deb echoed her, aghast,
‘Party pies?’

‘Okay, it probably won’t be that bad,’ Kris conceded, with an unsteady laugh. ‘This town can band together to produce food
when needed, but barbecued sausages and Eleni Pappas’s lamingtons aren’t quite the supper Jeanie had planned.’ Her voice caught,
and she turned her head away sharply, digging in her pocket for a handkerchief, her cheeks flushing red.

‘I’m sorry.’ She blew her nose, shaking her head at herself. ‘It’s so stupid. I didn’t even want this bloody ball. But it
was supposed to be something special, to build morale and community pride,
and now … now I’m afraid that without Jeanie it will be a disaster.’

Her voice cracking, she turned on her heel and left the room.

Since Gil had met her, Kris had been strong; resilient and professional in the face of murder, capable and focused in the
terror of the fire. But now defeat and self-doubt sat heavily on her shoulders and shadowed her eyes, and he saw the cost
of the long struggle she’d endured, providing leadership and hope through all the community’s traumas.

When she’d first mentioned the ball the other night, the idea of a ball in Dungirri had seemed so ridiculous he’d dismissed
it from his mind. Some country towns had an elegant social set, the type of people featured in country fashion magazines,
people with wealth, position, social standing. Dungirri wasn’t one of those towns. Mark Strelitz and his parents, wealthy
landholders, came the closest. Beth’s parents moved professionally in social circles, due to Harry Fletcher’s veterinary work
in livestock research, and old Doctor Russell and his wife had always upheld old-fashioned standards, but the rest of the
town was decidedly working-class, with more than its share of battlers. He’d bet that Mark and Doctor Russell were the only
men in town who wore a suit to anything but funerals.