Dark Country (20 page)

Funerals. There’d been too many of those in recent years, in disturbing circumstances, and it struck Gil that rather than
some ridiculous aberration, maybe this ball was a desperate claim for community pride and self-respect – for something to
celebrate, instead of mourn.

All the more reason for it to succeed. He didn’t give a flying fig about most of Dungirri, but he did about Jeanie, and he
worried about Kris. She already carried far too many burdens, and his arrival had only added to them. He wished he could reassure
her that it would work out, that Dungirri people could turn things around, deal with the challenge positively and not go to
pieces. He just wasn’t sure if they could.

‘Should I offer to help, Gil?’ Deb asked in a whisper. ‘If you think I should, I will. If it matters to you.’

If it mattered to him … It mattered to Jeanie, to Kris. Maybe that made it the same thing, for him. But her offer wasn’t a
simple solution.

‘You’re an outsider, Deb,’ Gil warned her, plus you’re connected to me, and most of them won’t like that at all. Maybe letting
them solve the problem themselves might be better.’

The warnings only made Deb more determined. ‘I wouldn’t tread on any toes. And unless you’ve got other plans for us for the
day, I’ve got the time. Besides, I’m suffering from kitchen withdrawal. I haven’t cooked anything for days.’

‘Don’t get too excited. Remember, this isn’t the city. The only decently equipped kitchen in town is now a pile of rubble.
As for supplies, Birraga’s sixty kilometres away, with one small independent supermarket that will never have seen at least
half the ingredients you probably use every day.’

‘So?’ Deb grinned with dangerous zeal. ‘I like a challenge.’

He shrugged, and didn’t try to talk her out of it. It would keep her occupied, out of trouble and, truth was, if anyone could
pull it off – short notice, limited supplies, and strange, likely ill-equipped kitchen – it would be Deb. She had a rare
blend of pragmatism and imagination and, unlike some chefs he’d known, her ego was healthy but not bloated. And she didn’t
just like a challenge, she relished it. Her energy and enthusiasm might even be enough to rise above the locals’ prejudice
over her connection to him.

Kris walked into the room, brisk and business-like, and passed him a neat pile of his clothes, without meeting his eyes.

Deb spoke up. ‘Sergeant, maybe I can help with the catering problem, since we’re staying here for a day or two. I’m a chef.
I’ve done plenty of catering for functions.’

‘Could you?’ The wild hope shone in Kris’s eyes for a moment, then dimmed. ‘But there’s no supplies, and I don’t know what
the committee will want to do … There’s only the pub kitchen, or the hall, and that’s pretty basic. They might just go for
everyone bringing a plate.’

‘How about I go along to the meeting, make the offer if it seems appropriate, and see what happens?’ Deb suggested tactfully,
and despite his reservations about the whole idea, Gil felt proud of her.

Kris offered to take Deb to the pub and introduce her, and Liam went with them. Gil had no qualms about Liam mixing with the
locals; the guy had a natural, easy way about him, with a tact and diplomacy Gil rarely bothered with. People generally trusted
Liam, and often talked openly with him; that had proved to be a useful skill, time and again. He’d probably come back with
a good sense of the town’s reaction to the fire, what they were saying and thinking.

The house fell silent after they’d left. Being in Kris’s place, alone, didn’t feel right, in spite of her invitation to make
himself
at home. On top of the disconcerting sense of intruding, the plans he’d made for the day kept changing, being revised, and
the uncertainty and the risks hung over his head, with no clear way to deal with them. Combined with another bad night’s sleep,
it didn’t encourage the best of moods.

Still, there was no point sitting around staring uselessly at the walls. A shower helped to clear the smell of smoke from
his nostrils, and the steam and warmth must have relaxed smoke-strained airways, because his breathing came effortlessly afterwards.
He changed back into his jeans and T-shirt, more comfortable in his own clothes than some other guy’s shorts. Not his business
who they’d belonged to.

With time to fill in before the others would be back, he sat at the table and pulled over the writing pad Kris had left there
last night. Ripping a page off it, he turned it sideways and wrote four names as headings across the top – Vince, Marci, his
own, and Jeanie. Under each of the headings, he jotted down names of people who might have a motive to harm them.

Before long, he had three or four possibilities for each of them – all capable of violence, all capable of killing, and all
with significant resources. But it was their links that concerned him most. Each of the possible suspects had connections
to the others. From whichever way he viewed it, he wasn’t up against one person, but a web. Now he just had to work out who
was the deadliest spider, and when they’d come for him.

When Kris arrived at the Progress Association meeting with Deb and Liam, Angie Butler had just stepped forward, quelling the
panicked chatter by offering to do the cooking, assuring everyone with a cheerful laugh that she’d learned a thing or two
since she’d helped her mother in the pub as a teenager.

‘It won’t be anything fancy, folks,’ she announced, ‘but I probably won’t poison you.’

With the crisis averted, the committee dispersed, and Kris introduced Deb and Liam to Angie, who leapt on their offer of assistance
with the down-to-earth practicality and acceptance that Kris had discovered was her natural way, in the month or so since
she’d returned to Dungirri. Angie seemed to have no reservations about their connection with Gil; her only comment, when she
learned why they were there, was thankfulness that Gil had been in time to rescue Jeanie. The three were much the same age,
and Kris left them already on friendly terms, brainstorming menus.

Sandy Cunningham and the arson investigators had yet to arrive, so Kris returned to her place, hoping to grab a bite of breakfast
before the day got too busy. As she pushed open her back door, Gil folded a piece of paper and tucked it into his pocket.
The move was unhurried, and his carefully blank expression was innocent – maybe too innocent. Her fingers itched to get hold
of that piece of paper.

She almost asked about it, then stopped herself. He’d shared a lot of information with her, and if the fragile trust she’d
built up with him was going to hold, she needed to keep trusting that he’d tell her what he knew, when he was ready.

‘How did the meeting go?’ he asked her.

The kitchen bench gave her tired body some support. ‘There was some panicked talk about cancelling the ball when we got there,
especially since most of the good cooks have hair appointments in Birraga for chunks of the day. But Angie Butler volunteered
to take over. She’s not a trained cook, but she pretty much grew up in the pub kitchen, and helped Nancy a lot before going
to university. She was pleased, though, to have Deb and Liam offer to help – and I think a bit relieved.’

‘People weren’t wary because they know me?’

‘Most had gone by then. And as far as Angie’s concerned, you’re a hero.’

It might not have gone quite so smoothly, she thought, if the others had not rushed off so quickly. Ironic how some of them
distrusted him so much, yet a real evil had remained undetected for years, a trusted member of the community. But that was
in the past now, and she had to hope they’d all learned from that experience. At least Beth and Ryan were on Gil’s side, and
they’d speak up for him. And the fact that he’d saved Jeanie’s life had to count for something. Once word got around about
that, surely there’d be some respect for him?

‘There may be a grumble or two later today,’ she admitted, ‘when people realise who’s helped Angie, but since no-one else
volunteered, they’ve got no grounds to complain.’

He shrugged, unsurprised and accepting. From a few of the comments she’d heard since he arrived, he’d been as outcast as his
father all of his life, long before Paula Barrett’s death. A cruel thing for a boy to carry, and his lone-wolf wariness probably
covered the scars. Yet she was becoming far too aware that he was capable of gentleness, and trust, and respect.

She’d seen that herself, these past days, and Deb and Liam had spent the walk to the pub providing her with glowing character
references that confirmed her impressions.

‘Is there a car sales yard in Birraga?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Birraga Autos, east end of the main street. New and used vehicles, but not a huge range. But if you’re planning to buy
a car, you probably want to know that Birraga Autos is owned by Dan Flanagan’s son-in-law.’

‘Shit. There’s nowhere else, I suppose?’

‘Not in Birraga.’

‘F- Damn.’

‘Can you ride a motorbike? ‘

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I ride.’

‘Ryan has a good one that he and Adam have just fixed up to sell. It’s years old, but well looked after. Ryan hasn’t ridden
since his accident, of course, but Beth uses it sometimes, when
Ryan needs the car. Now they’re selling it because they need the money.’

‘I might go and see Ryan, then.’

‘They live in the old O’Connell place, up on Scrub Road.’

‘I know.’ His eyes didn’t shift away from hers.

Of course. He’d followed her last night from the Wilsons’. It must have been from some distance back, because she hadn’t been
aware of him.

She wasn’t sure which annoyed her more, the fact that he’d done the he-man protective thing and followed her, or the fact
that she hadn’t noticed. Probably the latter, if she was going to be honest.

‘I didn’t need protecting last night,’ she told him.

‘Someone had sent you a death threat. It was a dark road, and you weren’t armed.’

Before she could argue that she was a trained police officer, he shrugged dismissively and headed to the door.

‘It’s no big deal, Blue. I was walking down there, anyway.’ Having calmly claimed the last word, he left.

It occurred to her that she could have countered by observing that he was more at risk than she was, but by then he was already
halfway across the back paddock.

Oh, well, they were both probably safe enough, walking around town in broad daylight. And with the supper crisis averted,
she had to get back to her real job – make a few calls, and meet with Sandy and the arson investigators at the ruins of the
Truck Stop. There were killers and arsonists to catch – if they could.

And after that, she’d have to look into Gil’s allegations against Dan Flanagan, and find out once and for all whether one
of Birraga’s leading businessmen was, in fact, up to his neck in crime.

Gil heard voices around the back of the Wilsons’ house, and he found Ryan at a small workbench on the veranda, fixing the
leg of a doll’s chair while his three little girls watched, keeping a steady flow of light chat, explaining what he was doing
as he straightened and glued the broken timber.

The quiet family scene was a far cry from Ryan’s larrikin youth and the toughness of his early boxing days. Despite the wheelchair,
the musculature of his upper body suggested he kept in better shape than most men, and he’d been a force to reckon with the
other night, dealing with the Barretts.

Ryan glanced up as Gil approached. The oldest girl immediately sidled close to her father, tucking her hand under his arm.
Gil paused on the grass, keeping his distance, conscious that these kids had more reason than most to fear a strange man.

‘Hi, Gil,’ Ryan greeted him with a broad grin. He pushed his chair away from the bench, and all three girls gathered tightly
around him, staring at Gil with wide eyes.

‘Hi.’ Gil nodded at the girls, but his experience with children was minimal at best, and he made these ones nervous enough
without paying them awkward attention. He came straight to the point of his business. ‘Kris tells me you’ve got a bike to
sell. I’m in need of wheels, and a bike would do me fine.’

‘It’s in the shed, if you want to have a look. But mate, I gotta say, she’s near on twenty years old.’ As ever, Ryan dealt
straight and honest. ‘Bought her in my first year of professional boxing. A damned good road bike, and I’ve looked after it,
but you probably want something newer.’

‘It’s registered?’

‘Twelve months rego, new tyres and brakes.’ Ryan reeled off some more details, but Gil had pretty much made up his mind already.
When he went into the shed, and pulled the tarpaulin off the gleaming bike, he knew it was the right decision. He’d ridden
around Sydney for years on a bike like this one – sturdy, reliable, with guts and good handling, but not flashy or distinctive.
A rider in a helmet on this bike could be almost anonymous. Especially in Sydney.

Ryan offered a couple of helmets as part of the deal, and Gil took the bike for a test ride a few kilometres up Scrub Road.
Damn, he’d missed riding. With the fresh warm air, the smooth rumble of the engine, and the bush road straight ahead, the
temptation to just keep going tugged at him. But he had business to attend to, and he reluctantly turned the bike around.