Novels 02 Red Dust (16 page)

'Yep, that's fine. It's Rodney Woods in Adelaide. Do you know him?' Gemma asked.

'No I don't. Can you fax through a letter explaining the circumstances and tell him I will be in touch today?'

'Yeah.'

'Okay, lovely, hope shearing goes well today. Take care,' Jess said and she was gone.

Gemma hung up the phone in a daze. Hiding places. Gemma looked around the kitchen, hoping to spot something she hadn't seen in her nine years of living there. Dropping the phone she ran from room to room, looking for something she hadn't noticed before. A hidey-hole, a hidden compartment in a chest of drawers. She pulled all of the drawers out of her dressing table and upended them, leaving a trail of clothes behind. She checked underneath every piece of furniture, looking for papers taped to the bottom and behind the pictures on the walls. Nothing. What about the bathroom? Nothing. There wasn't a cellar. There wasn't an attic. Old houses were supposed to have those things. Maybe this one did and she didn't know. With rising panic she crawled along the floor of the corridor, pulling at the edges of the carpet to see if it came up easily. It didn't. Moving into the lounge room she looked around wildly. Ah, the manhole into the ceiling. Maybe there was something up there. Racing outside to the laundry, she grabbed the ladder and hauled it back inside. Just as she was propping it up against the wall, there was a knock on the door. Panicking, she jumped and the ladder clattered to the floor. She straightened up and tried to control her breathing. The knocking sounded again.

'Coming,' she yelled. What on earth was the time? Was she late for shearing? Amazed, she realised it was only six fifteen. Shaking her head to clear it, she went into the kitchen and opened the door. It was the shearers' cook.

'Good morning, Helen,' Gemma said, trying to appear normal. 'How are you? Things okay?'

'Morning, Gemma. Actually I've run out of milk, have you any powdered stuff?'

'Yeah, I have. Come in and I'll grab it for you.' Rummaging in her pantry she found the tin and handed it to Helen. 'Do you want me to get some fresh stuff out today?'

'Nah, you're right. I just forgot to get enough out of the freezer last night and get it defrosted in time for brekkie. I'll give you my list on Friday for next week.'

The bluntness and practicality of the cook settled Gemma and enabled her to focus on the day. Realising she was still in her pyjamas she said, 'Well I guess I'd better get on. Running a bit late this morning.'

'Yeah, me too – the fellas will be looking for their brekkie. Thanks for this.' She held up the tin. 'Catch ya later.'

'Seeya,' Gemma replied. Going back into the lounge room, she lifted up the ladder and leaned it against the wall. It would have to wait until evening. She needed to get to the shearing.

Chapter 22

Gemma was in the yards, back-lining the wethers, when she saw a plume of dust coming up the drive. Watching nervously, expecting it to be Dave Burrows and his partner, she was relieved to see Ben's car. With everything that had happened that morning, she'd forgotten he was coming today with the wool buyer to inspect the wool. She met them at the steps of the shearing shed and led the way inside, hugging to herself the smile that Ben had bestowed on her. He'd been pleased to see her, and she him. Their phone call a few nights ago had been a welcome distraction.

Watching the shearers peel the wool from her sheep, she felt that surge of optimism again. There was going to be good wool and lots of it. Even Jackie the classer had told her it was some of the best wool she'd classed in this area this year. The wool buyer looked over all the bins. He took out samples, looked at their length, measured them against his finger and then moved on to the next bin. He stopped to speak with Jackie, who showed him the wool and specification books that detailed what the wool was like, how many bales had already been put out and at what weights.

Ben took Gemma aside. 'How're you going?' he asked, with such concern in his voice that Gemma almost cried.

'Terrible,' she answered honestly. 'Jess rang this morning with some bad news about the books. Hopefully she's coming out in the next couple of days and we'll go through a few more things then. Dave and his partner from the stock squad are coming out today to have a look over Billbinya and camp for a couple of nights.'

'Has Jess sorted things out with Brad?'

Gemma looked aghast as she said, 'You know, I forgot to ask. Oh, I'm such a bad friend at the moment. Completely wrapped up in my own problems. How thoughtless of me.'

Ben put his hand on her arm. 'Don't worry. Jess is perfectly able to cope with that incident herself. In fact, I'm really pleased that Brad was the subject of her wrath, not me!' He smiled encouragingly at her but left his hand on her arm. Gemma glanced around the shed to see if anyone had noticed the contact and moved closer for a moment, relishing the feeling of comfort and security, before gently removing herself from his hold.

'Looks like you've got company,' Ben said, gesturing towards the door. Dave stood there, waiting to be noticed. Behind him stood another man who must have been his partner.

'I'll be back in a minute,' Gemma said, looking at the pair appre hensively.

'Want me to come with you?' asked Ben. Gemma hesitated, tempted by his offer of support, then squared her shoulders and shook her head.

'I'll be right,' she said, and headed over to greet the men.

After introducing her to Craig, Dave explained, 'I want to go into each of your paddocks and see if your stock figures tally with what's there. We're going to have a look at the earmarks, do a rough count. If we find anything that's a bit off, we take photos, videos and so forth. The other thing that you need to be aware of is that in the unlikely event we do find some stolen animals on Billbinya, we will need to access your weigh bill books, stock sale invoices and financials.'

'Yep, that's fine. What's the motorbike for?'

'If we find some stock that we don't believe belong here, we muster the paddock and bring them into the yards. Depending on what we find with them – you know, if you tell us you've bought them, then we will need to see proof: a signed contract or something like that, or if they aren't yours then we will impound them and return them to their rightful owners.'

Gemma nodded then turned towards the yards. 'Hey, Bulla?' she yelled. When the older man raised his head she motioned for him to come over. 'I'll get Bulla to give you all the details. I have the wool buyer in the shed and I need to talk to him.' Turning to her stockman, Gemma said, 'Bulla, would you mind getting a map of Billbinya and making a list of which stock are in what paddock? Let Dave and Craig know how many are in each mob and answer any of their questions. They're going to do a run around and see if anything is amiss. Oh and you better tell them where Jack is getting the sheep in from so they don't get a fright if the sheep aren't in a particular paddock or they run into him somewhere in their travels. Okay?'

'Yeah, no problems,' said Bulla.

Gemma turned back to Dave and Craig. 'If you've got any problems, talk to Bulla. I'll be a bit freer this afternoon if you want to come back and talk to me then.'

'Okay,' said Dave. 'Thanks for your help. See you later.' Craig nodded and Gemma left for the safety of the shearing shed, wondering where she had seen Craig before. The men followed Bulla over to the machinery shed to get the required information.

Craig and Dave watched as Bulla noted all the stock movement and numbers in slow, deliberate handwriting. Looking up, Craig saw Ben, the wool buyer and Gemma coming out of the shed.

'Be back in a tick,' he said.

He walked to within thirty metres of the group,

hoping to catch Ben's eye. When Ben saw him he muttered his excuses and walked over.

'How's it going?' asked Craig.

'G'day mate. You don't look so undercover now.'

Craig grinned ruefully. 'Nah, that went by the board when you made me. Had to tell the boss.' He nodded towards Dave, who was now reading a sheet of paper and asking questions of both Bulla and Garry, who had materialised from the depths of the machinery shed, holding a spanner in his hand. 'We're camping out for a couple of nights, but I was wondering if I could catch up with you when we get back to town?'

'Sure. Want to have a beer?' Ben asked.

'Yeah, sounds good. I might have to tackle you on some stock sale invoices and contracts, if that's okay.'

Ben nodded regretfully. He'd known he'd be interviewed, but he was hoping to avoid handing over those sorts of docu ments. If he thought for one second Gemma was involved in stock stealing he'd have handed her to the police on a platter. But he'd seen her face when Ned had told her about the contract and about the extra stock numbers. There was no way she could have faked that shock. No, he was positive she was innocent.

Jess looked up Rodney Woods' phone number in the book, picked up her phone and dialled.

'Rodney Woods and Associates,' answered a crisp voice.

'Good morning,' answered Jess, in her most professional tone. 'This is Jessica Rawlings calling for Rodney Woods.'

'One moment and I'll transfer you.'

Tick, tick, tick.

'Rodney Woods,' a voice growled down the phone.

'Jessica Rawlings here, Rodney,' Jess began. 'I'm calling on behalf of Gemma Sinclair. I'm her auditor and I have her authorisation to ask you some questions.'

'I'm unaware of any authorisation.'

'Gemma is busy shearing and she's assured me that she'll fax you as soon as possible. I'd like to talk to you about payments made to Ian and Joan Sinclair for the purchase of Billbinya Station.'

'I won't answer anything until I have heard from Gemma,' Rodney stated.

'I understand that. Perhaps I could tell you what information I require? Then, once you have received Gemma's fax, maybe you would consider calling me back with the information?' Jess's voice dripped with sweetness.

'I'd rather wait until I have the fax,' the accountant said stubbornly. 'Now I have a question for you. Why does Gemma Sinclair require an auditor?'

'I'm afraid I can't answer that question at this stage, Rodney, but I'd be happy to talk to you properly once the information is available.'

Silence.

'Touché, Ms Rawlings. What information do you require?'

'There have been payments made in September of the last two years to Ian and Joan Sinclair towards the acquisition of Billbinya Station. I have sent a fax with the dates of these transactions to you. The problem is, I'm having trouble tracing where this money has come from.'

'Ah,' Rodney said, his tone full of meaning. 'Could you perhaps give me a brief rundown on why you need this information?'

'Gemma has requested that I look through Billbinya's books, and I'm having trouble accounting for these payments.'

'Your number, Ms Rawlings?'

Jess recited her home phone number, thanked the account ant for his time and then hung up. 'Pompous prick,' she muttered under her breath. Well, there was nothing to do now but wait and hope Gemma remembered to fax the letter of authorisation through at lunchtime.

Dave and Craig headed to the northern part of Billbinya, Craig studying the map while Dave drove. They followed a two-wheeled bush track that weaved its way through cassia trees and creeks, then opened out onto wide empty paddocks. The green grass covering the stony red ground was about two inches high. Dave knew that this was harsh country, even though it was productive. Temperatures in summer soared above the forty-five-degree mark and plunged to frosty minus ones and twos during winter.

The barley and spear grass waved gently in the breeze as Dave pulled up at a windmill, tank and trough. Looking around near the trough Dave could see fresh sheep tracks. One thing he'd learned during his time with the stock squad was how to track animals. The department had employed an Aboriginal tracker who taught all the detectives. Getting out of the car, he surveyed the land. Today the sun shone brightly and made the sky seem a vivid blue that was rarely seen in the cities. Against the ruggedness of the hill range that went through the top part of Billbinya, it seemed like a timeless land.

'Looking at these tracks I'd say the sheep have already been in for their morning drink,' Dave commented. 'It's not that hot, so they may not come back in again tonight. Maybe if we head over towards that creek line, they might be camped up in some shade.'

'Windmill looks like it's working pretty well and the trough is clean. I'd say someone has been by recently to clean it out,' Craig observed.

'Garry does all the maintenance on the bores and machinery, apparently. Geez, I reckon you could have a disaster out here in summer if things weren't maintained. Stock running out of water and so forth.' Dave shuddered at the thought of thirsty animals hanging around empty troughs in forty-degree heat. 'I think Jack is the lackey who cleans out the troughs, does boundary fence runs and all that sort of general work. Bulla seems to be the head stockman and the other two lend a hand with the stock when it's needed.' Dave lifted his binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the gum-tree-lined creek. 'Can't make any sheep out over there, but we'll go and have a look.' They climbed back into the car and Dave eased it into gear. Craig took control of the binoculars, scrutinising every inch of the landscape.

'Hey, look over at eleven o'clock, Dave. Looks like there's an old building that's been let go to ruin. Want to have a look?'

Dave swung the car towards the ruins.

'Look at those stones. They're huge.' Dave shook his head. 'I don't know how the early settlers tamed this land.'

The men walked around the ruined house marvelling at the way it had been built. The pug looked like it had been made with mud, clay and water, without a setting agent. The sheep were making themselves at home around the ruins, Dave observed, looking at the sheep manure that was dotted through the two rooms.

Walking over to the creek Dave looked up at the towering red gums. They must have been hundreds of years old. The galahs on the branches were squawking to each other, and Dave could hear sheep bleating in the distance. Turning to locate the sound, he saw a mob of sheep walking down the creek towards them. He quietly made his way back to the ruins, where Craig was still poking about, and settled himself behind a crumbling wall. Motioning to Craig, he put the binoculars to his eyes and watched. Craig sat beside him with his own pair trained on the sheep. Quietly, one by one, the sheep followed a well-worn path at the edge of the creek, unaware of the watching men. Some of the lambs ran ahead and some stayed with their mothers. Some ewes followed nose to tail with the one in front and others seemed to be more individual and strayed off the path, but not by far. They walked quietly except for the occasional bleat of the mums to ask where their lambs were. Dave couldn't believe how easy it was to count them. Two, four, eight, ten, fifteen. As the tail of the mob sauntered past, Craig said, 'What the bloody hell is five hundred and thirteen plus eighteen?'

Dave grinned as he stood up. 'Well at least I know you got the same count as me. Five thirty-one. All the earmarks on the ewes match as Billbinya's earmark, same with the lambs, and the numbers match what Bulla has given us. No problems in this paddock.'

'Dave, have a look at this.' Craig pointed to a cigarette butt. 'Looks like someone else has been here recently too . . .'

Dave squatted down and looked at the butt, then looked around, trying to ascertain where it could have come from. 'Probably nothing – one of the stockmen. Let's poke around a bit more and see what we find . . .' He stopped as Craig indicated a half bottle of rum stashed in a hollow mound of rocks. 'Interesting,' he said with raised eyebrows.