Flare-up: a tense, taut mystery (A Cam Fraser mystery) Page 5

  She glanced out of the window. The stag still glowed like a beacon and showed no sign of falling. All around them on the blackened ground isolated dots of light flickered, like the watchfires of a Shakespearean army on battle’s eve.

  Jo had gone through the glove box and the maps and revised the radio procedure, and now needed to find something else to pass the time. Climbing down from the tanker, she opened one of the lockers on the outside of the vehicle. The first-aid kit was thoroughly inspected, as were the rolled hoses, attachments and sundry tools whose functions she would never remember.

  She was moving towards the locker on the other side of the vehicle when a sharp hiss of panic from somewhere in the darkness made her stop in her tracks. Though she knew what had caused it, the noise sent a shiver up her spine.

  She spotted the distressed kangaroo wobbling erratically from side to side, trying to escape the glare of the tanker’s flashing lights. As it staggered back into the darkness she caught the outline of the bulging pouch, almost dragging along the ground. An injured mother with a joey: she’d better take a look at it.

  Back at the cab, she grabbed the torch and attempted to rouse Charlie. He turned his head towards her and expelled a gust of rancid breath. She hadn’t been aware of the smell of alcohol on him before and guessed he must have been drinking before they were called out.

  ‘Charlie, I’m just going to check something out, won’t be long.’

  ‘Go for it, darlin’.’ He looked at her blearily and smacked his lips a few times before returning his head to his cradling arms. She let out a sigh of exasperation, grabbed the handheld radio from its bracket and put it to the same frequency as the silent radio in the cab.

  Just as well this isn’t an emergency, she thought, giving the stag a wide berth and making her way into the blackened bushland. Her torch played across the ground as she walked, looking for stumps, tangling branches and the vertical plumes of smoke that indicated burning tree roots. She’d been told the ash above these subterranean fires was a pale pink colour. One wrong step and it could give way and suck her down, turning her into an instant New Zealand hangi. She didn’t know if the guys who told her this had been kidding or not, but decided she didn’t want to test the theory.

  Then there was a crack, like a rifle shot. She stepped back just in time to avoid a crashing tree branch not three metres ahead — a widow-maker, the firemen called them, and she could see why. She steadied her pulse rate with some deep breaths and blundered further into the bush.

  She doubted she’d find the injured kangaroo, and even if she did she wasn’t sure what she’d do with it. Wrap it in the fire blanket, she supposed, and take it to the wildlife sanctuary. If it were badly burned, she’d have to get Charlie to put it out of its misery. Hopefully she could at least save the joey.

  Her damp uniform pants chafed at her legs as she walked, the discomfort worsened by the fact that they were about three sizes too big. She put the torch down and rolled the waist of her pants up twice, lifting the hems from the ground. When she’d finished she turned off the torch and strained to hear the noises of the night. No night birds called, no animals rustled, and she could hear no further sounds from the distressed kangaroo.

  Around her, charred saplings rose from the smoking ground like spears.

  Since she’d arrived at the fire ground, the air had been sharp with the smell of wood smoke. Now, as she stood still with all her senses straining, she was aware of a thickening intensity. Listening closely, she thought she could detect a slight crackling sound from the other side of a small rise and see a rosy warm glow filter up through the darkness.

  Shit. Had the fire flared up again?

  And then she caught the sound of raised male voices and let out a pent-up breath. Good, she thought, another fire unit must be dealing with it.

  The voices on the other side became sharper with every trudging step she took. At the top of the rise she looked down into a small valley bisected by a firebreak. Beyond the break the bush was thick and untouched by flames except for a small patch no bigger than a garden bonfire. But in these dry conditions, Jo knew it wouldn’t remain a small patch for long.

  Two men wearing Driza-Bones stood below her on the other side of the break, illuminated by the headlights of a bogged two-decker truck and a dark-coloured four-wheel drive. One man had his hands on his hips and appeared to be shouting something at the other, taller man.

  The smaller, stockier man dropped his hands and walked with a swaying gait towards the truck. He kicked one of the truck tyres, shouting again at the other man, who seemed to visibly shrink from the tirade.

  So busy were they with their arguing, the men seemed unaware of the patch of flames that was creeping closer and closer to their truck.

  Jo scrambled down the hill, her heavy boots and oversized uniform making the job more difficult than it should have been. The men stopped arguing as soon as they saw her and stood riveted to the ground. A clumsy lone figure in a baggy yellow uniform and a skew-whiff fire helmet was probably the last thing they expected to see stumbling out of the bush in the middle of the night.

  ‘It’s not a good idea for you guys to be hanging around here, the area’s not safe yet,’ Jo panted, gesturing with her hand to the growing patch of flames.

  Both men looked to where she was pointing and appeared stunned.

  The shorter man pulled himself together first. She couldn’t see much of his face under the brim of his bush hat, but the movement of his head suggested he was scanning her in a way that made her appreciate the benefits of her ill-fitting uniform. He took a breath and shot a glance at his companion.

  The younger man pulled the peak of his baseball cap further down over his face and said, ‘We were helping the fella who owns this property move his stock, but got the bloody truck bogged before we could get to them.’

  His downturned mouth was no more than a slit and the only part of his face Jo could see. She glanced at the fire again; it was getting closer to the truck with every second.

  ‘As far as I know there isn’t any stock here now. You’d better stop fiddling with the truck and leave.’ She took some deep breaths, trying to slow the rising panic in her voice. At this proximity none of them would stand a chance if an errant flame reached the truck’s fuel tank. ‘I’ll radio for my fire vehicle and hopefully we can put the fire out before it reaches the vehicle.’

  She stepped away from the men and called Charlie up on the handheld. He seemed to take an age to pick up, but when he finally answered he said he’d be there straight away.

  Jo turned back to find the men whispering between themselves. The shorter man had pulled something from his pocket and was rubbing his nose with it. It looked like the bowl of a pipe, though she couldn’t be certain in the dim light.

  There was something about these men that disturbed her. Was it their lack of concern over the fire? Or was it their shrouded faces and unsmiling mouths? People in the country usually banded together during a crisis such as fire and welcomed each other’s help, but in this instance she couldn’t have felt less wanted.

  After an awkward silence she asked, ‘Do you have a shovel in your truck? We might be able to make a break around the fire and stop it spreading.’

  ‘Don’t have one,’ the stockier man answered, slipping the pipe back into his coat pocket.

  ‘But weren’t you trying to dig the truck out?’ she asked.

  The younger man turned to the older, shuffled his feet in the dirt for a moment. ‘I forgot to bring the shovel.’

  Oh, duh, as Ruby would have said.

  Standing around with these two was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Jo straightened her crooked helmet and said, ‘In that case, I think you should leave. My partner and I can manage this.’

  The men made no effort to move. Jo cleared her throat and took a step backward. She clapped her gloved hands together as if she was cold, while beads of nervous sweat trickled down her sides. ‘I may as well get back up the
hill. See if Charlie needs directions.’

  Jo shot them a tight smile, turned and clambered back up the hill, faster than she thought possible, looking back only when she reached the top to check the progression of the fire. She’d expected to find the men gone, but they were still standing where she’d left them, the older man rubbing at his chin, staring back at her from the bottom of the hill — watching her with eyes she had never been able to see.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tuesday

  Cam’s trainers squeaked across the lino of Ruby’s bedroom. She’d kicked off her bedclothes in the night and lay curled in the foetal position in her blue T-shirt and matching satin boxers. He sat on the edge of her bed and stroked the bird’s nest of faux blond hair from her eyes. It had been a sticky night, and despite the whirring ceiling fan she was still hot to the touch.

  Her latest acquisition, a pink iPod, still lay in her relaxed hand. When she’d first mentioned buying it, he’d only half been listening and thought she’d said she was saving up for a whale-watching trip. He gently pulled the plugs from her ears, placing the diminutive machine on her bedside table.

  ‘Time to get up, sleepy head,’ he said, casting his eyes around her room at the posters littering the wall — animal pictures, ‘Save the Whales’, ‘Say No to Nuclear’. There were more clothes strewn around the floor than there were hanging in the wardrobe.

  Ruby scrunched herself up into a ball as tight as the school dress she’d left in a puddle on the bathroom floor. Fleur, their toy poodle, who’d followed Cam in, stood up on her back legs and scratched at the side of the bed.

  ‘If you’re not up in ten seconds, I’ll let Fleur jump up and lick your face,’ Cam said.

  ‘Yuck!’

  ‘Breakfast’s on the table, I’ve made you McDaddy’s. C’mon, we don’t want another late detention. I’ll iron you a clean uniform.’

  ‘You going to see the bank manager about the loan today?’ Ruby asked without opening her eyes.

  ‘Yup, but first I have to drop you at school, and we’ve still got to feed Sweet-Face on the way.’ They were agisting Ruby’s new horse in a paddock down the road from her school.

  Ruby’s moan coincided with the ringing of the telephone. Cam thumped his hand on the bed. ‘Come on now, breakfast’s getting cold.’

  He crossed the burned-orange shag of the lounge room, picking his way over scattered magazines and the spaghetti tangle of PlayStation wiring to reach for the phone before it stopped.

  Superintendent Rod Cummings, his friend from police academy days and superior in Toorrup, cut straight to the chase. ‘You handed in your resignation in yet?’

  ‘No, just about to, why?’

  ‘Something’s come up. I’m going to have to call you in from leave. Get into your uniform and over to me in Toorrup ASAP.’

  ‘Care to tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘I will when I see you. Believe me, you’ll be glad I called.’

  Cam’s heart began to race, as it always did when he sensed an interesting case. But it almost stopped when he saw Ruby watching him from her bedroom doorway.

  ‘Listen, can I call you back?’ he asked Rod.

  ‘No need. This is an emergency, Cam. Get over here now.’

  Rod hung up on him. Shit.

  ‘That was Uncle Rod, wasn’t it?’ Ruby said, wide awake now, her voice sharp with accusation.

  ‘Yes, he needs to see me, says it’s urgent. Hurry up and have your breakfast.’ He looked around the lounge room, trying to find a good enough reason not to have to look her in the eye. ‘Now, where’s that clean school dress of yours gone?’ He walked into the laundry and started riffling through the ironing basket.

  Not to be put off, Ruby followed him. ‘He wants you to go back to work, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I’m not really sure, but I have to go and see him. I’m not officially retired yet, you know. Still have to do as I’m told.’

  He extracted Ruby’s crumpled school dress from the pile, pulled the ironing board down from the wall and flicked the iron on so it could heat up while he changed.

  Tracking him into his bedroom, Ruby said, ‘You wouldn’t have to do as you’re told if you’d handed your resignation in earlier.’

  ‘No, that’s not how it works. They always take time to process. I probably would’ve been called even if I’d handed it in last month.’ He tugged off his blue polo shirt, conscious of his daughter watching his every move, no doubt scrutinising the patchwork of skin grafts down the right side of his body and his discoloured left arm, still slightly swollen from the snakebite. He might still look a mess, but the phone call from Rod had filled him with a vigour he hadn’t felt for weeks.

  Until Ruby whispered, ‘You’re going to die this time, I know it.’

  He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. After counting to ten in his head, he turned, doing up the buttons of his khaki uniform shirt.

  ‘Now, Ruby, just stop and think for a moment: the fire, the snake, they really had nothing to do with my job.’

  ‘You don’t give a shit about me, about my feelings. You promised you’d leave the police when you were in hospital, but all Uncle Rod has to do is click his fingers and you jump,’ she said, her voice now only one notch below hysteria.

  ‘I didn’t promise.’ His own raised voice and his automatic childish response made a knot of self-disgust tighten in his stomach. ‘I will leave the police, but not straight away.’ He moved towards her with his hands extended, searching for words he could not find. ‘Look, love . . .’ Then he caught the whiff of scorched fabric coming from the laundry.

  Shit!

  Ruby pushed his hand away, spun on her heel and headed back towards her bedroom. ‘I’m not going to school today. I have a headache and I feel like shit,’ she shouted before slamming her bedroom door.

  This was the same headache ploy she’d used on him in Sydney. He’d let her have the day off school and she’d spend it at the beach with her loser friends. Strange that she should be reverting now. He thought she was enjoying her new school. He was about to shout back, but the continued smell of burning stopped the words before they’d started. He rushed into the laundry and turned the iron off just as the smoke was beginning to rise from the smouldering ironing-board cover.

  Outside Ruby’s bedroom he could still feel the heat from the iron stinging his face. ‘I don’t have time for this today, Ruby,’ he said through the closed door, struggling to keep his voice calm. ‘Someone’s got to feed Sweet-Face this morning and it’s not going to be me. We’re going to school. Now.’

  The door vibrated under his hand as she thumped back, but he knew he’d won.

  This time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Any lingering frustrations over the tense morning with Ruby had vanished by the time Cam pulled up a chair in Rod’s Toorrup office. Leaning forward with his elbows on Rod’s desk, he hung on to his friend’s every word.

  ‘. . . So when the emergency crew hauled Harris out of the hole, he alerted them to the second man’s body,’ Rod said. ‘The poor bloke had been lying on it for half the night, very much the worse for wear.’

  ‘Christ almighty. What condition was the body in?’

  ‘Worse than Pilkington’s, it’d been exposed to more damp and bugs in the hole. Freddie McManus seems to think they died at more or less the same time, though we won’t know until the autopsies are complete. He’s working on Pilkington now and has the other one scheduled for tomorrow.’ Rod took a sip of coffee and eyed Cam across the rim of his mug. ‘So the long and the short of it is this: Harris is laid up with a broken leg and won’t be returning to Glenroyd Station.’ Rod shrugged, put his cup on the desk and spread his hands. ‘Of course, it was just a temporary posting while we waited to find out what was going on with you.’

  ‘So you want me to take over?’ Cam didn’t even try to keep the eagerness from his voice.

  ‘Absolutely. The medical officer’s report said you were fit eno
ugh to resume duties.’ Rod hesitated. ‘Unless of course you feel too emotionally involved; I understand Pilkington was a friend of yours.’

  The constant justifying of his relationship with Pizzle was becoming wearing. Cam said, ‘He was never a friend. We were at school together, that’s all.’

  Rod’s hound-dog face sagged with relief. ‘That’s settled, then. Get yourself down to the morgue first then catch up with Constable Henry and hear about her traumatic night. She and Constable Dowel are with SOCO again, going through the haystack in the shed. There’s another SOCO team combing through the old rubbish tip. I just hope nothing else crops up in the district over the next few days. There’s nothing like a double murder to stretch the resources.’

  ‘Do I get any extras on my team?’

  Rod smoothed a hand over his balding head. ‘Remind me who you’ve got?’

  ‘Constables Pete Dowel, Leanne Henry and Derek Witherspoon. No seniors.’

  ‘Shit, is that all? I’ll see if I can find you some more uniforms. Meanwhile we’ll operate from dual incident rooms, make it a joint operation. I’ll be team leader here, you in Glenroyd. My people in Toorrup have been briefed and will help out, so what you can’t cope with, delegate.’

  ‘I’m not a stickler for procedure, as you know, but shouldn’t the Toorrup dees be handling this? I don’t want to be stepping on anyone’s toes.’

  ‘You were a detective sergeant in Sydney, about to be promoted to inspector — that’ll do me. I’ll coordinate from here. Officially this is my investigation; unofficially it’s yours. With the distances we’re faced with, this is the only way I can see either of us coping. Anyway, better get down to the morgue before you miss all the fun.’

  ***

  Gloved and gowned, Cam pushed his way through the swinging door and into Toorrup Hospital’s necropsy room. The specialist autopsy suite was situated as far as practically possible from the rest of the morgue and used exclusively for badly decomposed bodies, to limit the spread of the engulfing stench.