Novels 02 Red Dust (14 page)

Chapter 20

Dave and Craig were making plans to head out to Billbinya.

'We'll head off first thing in the morning,' Dave decided. There didn't seem to be much point in keeping Craig undercover since Ben had identified him at the sale yards.

'I'll ring Gemma today and tee it up with her. We might call in and see a couple of other families on the way. I've got some questions for Sam and Kylie Smith. They seem to have been to Billbinya more than anyone in the last year or so.'

Craig nodded, still smarting from yesterday's failure. Dave clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past, knowing his friend was feeling down.

'Don't worry, mate. You can still go to the sales; no one will know you in Adelaide. It will probably take time to filter through here as well.'

'Dave, you heard of Jess Rawlings?'

'Nup, should I have?'

'Maybe. Remember how I told you I saw Gemma Sinclair and a friend at the Jewel on Friday night?'

Dave nodded.

'Well, the friend was a girl called Jess Rawlings who lives here in Pirie.'

'Why don't you ask around about her? I don't know if she is going to make any difference to our inquiries though, do you?'

'I didn't think so at first, but the barmaid told me Jess works in a bank. I've been thinking about that. I don't know what her job is, but it might be worth finding out.'

'Yep, good thinking. Banking, hiding money . . . yeah, definitely worth following up. What's she like?'

Craig was lost suddenly in the green eyes and stunning smile.

'Um, tall and skinny with red hair. Amazing green eyes.'

'Must have been up close and personal to check the eyes out, mate!' Dave joked. 'Good detective work.'

'Yeah, yeah.'

Dave was about to leave the room, but stopped at the door. 'Out of interest, let's do some more criminal checks. Let's check Adam and Gemma, the stockies – Ned Jones and Ben Daylee and they've got another partner in that office . . . Bert Hawkins, I think? This Jess Rawlings and all of the interviewees. Let's see if we come up with something there.' He went into his office and picked up his phone. Dialling Billbinya's number he thought over what Craig had just told him. If Adam and Gemma had inside knowledge from a friend in banking, it would be easy to hide money that was coming in from stolen stock and bring it back into the system as legal money.

'Gemma, Dave Burrows here from the stock squad. It's, ah, Tuesday morning. My partner and I'd like to come out and see you tomorrow. If you don't get this message until after hours my hotel number is on the card I left with you the other day. We'll probably be out first thing in the morning.' Dave hung up, and sat staring at the phone blankly. It was amazing how little snippets of information could bring down a huge operation. Adam . . . large station . . . plane . . . Jess . . . banking . . . money. T
here's got to be something
there,
he thought. W
e've just got to find it.

Gemma watched in awe as the shearers flew through the sheep. Her dog Scoota sat quietly at her feet, watching intently in case a wether tried to make a getaway.

The shearers made hard work look so simple. Gemma's dad had told her once that a good shearer was one who made it look easy. Kenny hardly raised a sweat. He dragged a new sheep out from the catching pen and opened up the belly. Throwing it on the floor he then proceeded to the crutch and onto the side of the sheep, where the long blows started. One of the rousies, Paula, who was working the flat blade paddle, swept up the belly and threw it into a wool butt. Manoeuvring the paddle next to the sheep's rump, she expertly swept out the crutch and then went on to the next shearer.

Kenny's sheep hadn't moved out of position. He held it firmly between his legs, putting on small amounts of pressure when the sheep moved to let it know who was in charge. Jamie, one of the younger, less experienced shearers, found the big wethers hard work. They struggled and didn't like sitting on their rear. Whenever he accidentally loosened his grip, the wethers took full advantage, thumping their hind legs on the board and throwing their heads, ending up on their backs with Jamie swearing.

Lisa, the young blonde rousie whom the shearers had been teasing, swooped down on the fleece that had been left on the floor. She jiggled the wool around on the board until she found the legs, scooped it up in her arms and ran to the wool table. She flicked her wrists and the fleece flew up into the air, landing perfectly flat on the wool table, where Jackie skirted it quickly and decided which line it belonged in. The little pieces of wool that didn't stay attached to the fleece floated onto the floor like soft snowflakes. Paula scraped her paddle across the floor, sweeping up all the excess wool.

The radio was blaring and the engine that drove all the handpieces was humming loudly. Kenny bent over and said something to Jamie that Gemma couldn't hear, but all the shearers burst out laughing and Jamie, already red in the face from exertion, looked up and gave a mouthful of cheek back. Kenny laughed, clapped him on the back and went to grab another sheep.

Lisa danced across the board, in her short shorts that showed off her tanned legs, a tank top that left nothing to the imagination, and sandshoes. Her blonde ponytail was swinging to the rhythm of her body. She sang along to the radio, picking up fleeces, sweeping up locks and never standing still. The golden rule in the shed was never, ever stop to lean on the paddle.

Gemma watched the other members of the team – the third rousie, the presser and the pennerupperer. Those three were different from the rest. They were younger by quite a few years and had a sullen air about them. To Gemma they looked like unsavoury individuals, but she also knew it was hard to get people to work in shearing sheds and the rural industry full stop. It was hard, tiring work and it seemed that people were shying away from the industry. The money offered to shearers, farm employees and station managers didn't seem to be as good as the mines, and many young people were heading to where the big money was. Gemma supposed that Kenny couldn't be picky when it came to getting a team together. The important thing was, the shed seemed to be running like a well-oiled machine so Gemma, singing the words to one of her favourite songs that was on the radio, bounced outside to the yards. She went to the count-out pens to let the wethers out so she could back-line them. As they ran from the dimness under the shed they were suddenly blinded by the bright sunlight and stopped, piling up on top of one another until their eyes adjusted and they could see the open gate heading into the yards. Gemma's reaction was similar, her eyes responding to the iridescent whiteness of their bodies now the wool had gone. It made her blink a couple of times until her eyes adjusted to the brilliance of the skin.

'Push 'em, Scoota,' Gemma said. Her black kelpie ran forward and barked at the sheep. Turning, they ran in the direction of the open gate and piled in through it. 'Good boy. Siddown now.' Gemma closed the gate and pushed the sheep towards the race. Whistling to Scoota, she filled the backpack with chemical, hoisted it on her back and gave the instruction to 'pack 'em in'. The wethers, feeling energised without the wool on their backs, jumped and bucked as they ran into the race. They ran fast until they realised there was a gate at the end and tried to stop. The first three went crashing into the gate while the others ran into the backs of the sheep in front of them with a domino effect. Gemma shut the gate behind them and started walking along the race, squirting the bright blue liquid on their backs. When they were all done, she opened the front gate and let them into the big yard where they would wait for the rest of the mob, and started on the next lot of wethers.

Gemma made her way back to the homestead that night weary but happy. The sheep had cut about six kilos per head and the amount of wool they had baled for the first day was above her expectations. She'd been working out prices per kilo a bale in her head all day, knowing the amount she needed to achieve to make all the payments she had coming up, and so far she thought she might be above what she needed. How good it would be to actually have a bit left over after paying everything! Gemma felt a surge of optimism for the future. Going into the office, she listened to her messages, writing them all down so she wouldn't forget any phone calls she needed to return. Jess was the first one, Dave Burrows the next. Two from Patrick.

Gemma made her way to the bathroom and washed, then thought about some tea. While she was preparing everything she grabbed the cordless phone and started to return the calls, starting with Dave, who confirmed that he and his partner Craig would be out tomorrow to look over Billbinya, and she agreed to let them camp on the property for a couple of nights. She dialled Patrick at Hayelle.

'Hey, Pat, what's happening?' she asked when he picked up the phone.

'Ah, it's the sister. How're you going?'

'Shearing went brilliantly. I'm so excited. We cut about six kilos per head.'

'That's great.'

'How's everything in Adelaide?'

'Oh well, probably not the best. Dad's a bit down in the dumps, reckons he's gonna cark it any minute. Mum's scared he's going to and is watching him like a hawk, and Leisha is finding them all a bit hard to cope with. I think they'll sort it out over time but at the moment it's a bit hard.'

'Yeah, right. I guess it's natural to be a bit scared after a heart attack. Brings mortality to the front of your mind. Did they all dump on you? Are you coping okay?'

'Pleased to get out of the city,' Patrick conceded. 'Tell you what though, those two little girls are just great. If they don't bring a bit of sunshine to their grandparents, I don't know what will.'

Gemma smiled. She could imagine the chaos of two active kids, a fraught pregnant mother, a sick grandpa and an overwrought grandma.

'I bet they've grown since I saw them last. They were brilliant then. Do you want to come over tomorrow and stay for a bit?' Gemma tried to keep the hopefulness out of her voice.

'Nah, sis, I can't. Dad has given me a list of jobs as long as my arm. Don't know why, when he couldn't care less about the farm at the moment, but gotta do these things. Dutiful son and all that.'

'You wanting out, Pat? Ready to head north again?'

'Sometime soon I reckon. Need to get a bit of sun and see Kate. I'll hang in here a bit longer though and see what happens with Dad and how things shape up for you.'

'Well, Dave Burrows from the stock squad and his partner are coming out tomorrow for a look around. They're going to be camping on Billbinya for the next couple of days, so hopefully this mess will be sorted out by the end of the week and I'll be able to go to Adelaide and see Mum and Dad myself. And once everything's back to normal I can cope with Hayelle and Billbinya with the guys' help,' Gemma assured him, hoping it was true.

They said their goodbyes, and Gemma turned her attention to stirring the pot full of tinned spaghetti and turning the toast. She'd call Jess after she ate. Barely had she sat down at the table when the phone rang.

'Hello?'

'Hi, Gemma, it's Paige Nicholls here.'

'Hi, Paige,' Gemma said warmly. 'You were on my list to call tonight. Sorry I haven't called back; we've just started shearing so I've been a bit busy over the past few days. How've you been?'

'Oh, that's okay. I know you're busy. Yeah, I'm good. Busy with work and stuff. You know how it is.'

At Gemma's prompting, Paige told her a bit about what had led her into nursing.

'It's so fulfilling,' she enthused. 'You get to help people, and often when people are really sick and you're the one that makes them better, the gratitude is amazing. I love it.'

'That's great, Paige. I'm so happy that you found something that you love. Working is just a means to a pay packet for so many people; to really enjoy your work is such a bonus. I know when Adam died I found that work wasn't as much fun as it had been when he was alive. But it's getting better and I've just had the most brilliant day with shearing. It's so great to know that I've managed it all by myself and there haven't been any problems. That gives me a buzz!'

'Oh, of course it would. How are you managing with the workload since Adam . . . ?' Paige trailed off.

'Died? It's okay to say it, Paige. The workload's hard, of course, but I'm so lucky. I've got the two most fabulous stockmen who've been here since Adam's mum and dad ran the place. They've been so helpful since the accident. I ended up having to put another guy on just in the last couple of months. He seems okay with all the work I give him, he can handle it all, but I think he's a bit weird. Bit of a loner or something.'

'Well, I'm glad to hear everything's going okay. I've been thinking about you. I heard there were a few exciting things happening with stock out your way,' Paige said.

Gemma suddenly remembered that one of the things she'd never liked about Paige was her gossipy nature. She seemed to be one of those people who felt important and fulfilled if they knew everyone's business. Had this phone call been all about milking her for information so she could talk about it around town?

Gemma considered her next words carefully. 'Yeah, there has been a bit of excitement. Don't know much about it though. Think the police have been around asking questions, but I haven't come across them at all.'

'Well, that has to be good,' Paige answered. 'Okay, if you're shearing again tomorrow I'd better let you get some rest. Maybe next time you're in town we could have lunch?'

'Sounds good, Paige.' Gemma was suddenly desperate to get off the phone. 'Talk soon, okay? Bye.' Sighing, Gemma hung up the phone with a sense of relief. She picked at her now-cold dinner and finally pushed it away in disgust. Cold spaghetti on toast. Yuk.

Tucked up in bed with a hot chocolate, Gemma finally dialled Jess's phone number. The answering machine kicked in and Gemma felt a stab of disappointment. She'd really wanted to hear Jess's upbeat voice and laugh with her for a while. Leaving a message to say she'd called, she pressed the disconnect button. Maybe Ben would be home . . .