Murder with the Lot (8 page)

‘Yep, Ernie.' There didn't seem much else to say.

‘What do you mean
hic
“yep”?' Ernie hiccups when he gets worked up. If you don't move in quick and calm him, he starts vomiting. If you're in the same room, you need to be agile.

‘I meant yep, I'll boot him out. I'll go up there right now and sort it out. And,' I looked at Brad, who'd come in and was shaking his head. ‘Brad's checking now to see who won at Horsham.' I handed Brad the phone before he could tell me not to.

‘Reckon it must've been Flathead Phil,' Brad was saying as I left. ‘Hang on, sorry, wrong race, it was Glendale Wastrel. Is that the dog you backed?'

I chewed my lip as I drove. The road ahead was still glassy in the heat. Taking a clammy hand off the steering wheel, I wound down my window to get some breeze. Would Clarence even be there? Unlikely. Terry and Sergeant Monaghan were looking for him. He would have cleared off, surely. Still, I had to try, for Ernie's sake. And maybe I could find out something useful while I was there. Something Terry might appreciate.

I arrived at the turning to the shack. The shadows of the mallee gums were at full stretch as the light drained from the day. I started thinking about what I'd say to Clarence and what he might say back. No one would hear a shot out here. I shivered, despite the heat. Maybe I should have brought Brad along for some support. Or at least my star picket.

I pulled up outside the shack, my wheels whisking up the dust. Clarence's black Lexus and Mona's silver Mercedes were still here. Surely Clarence must be around somewhere. It's not as if the bus comes past on the hour. Nearest bus stop is fifty k up the road, a once-a-day job to Melbourne via Hustle, Trawilda and Sheep Dip.

I got out, crunching over the dried tufts of grass to the front door, then knocked, waiting on the skew-whiff verandah. I jumped as the warning call of a willie wagtail stabbed the air. No sounds from inside the shack. No reassuring smells of dinner cooking. No lights on, although that wasn't surprising since Ernie never got around to connecting the power. He was always the sort of bloke who preferred a kero lamp.

I peered in through the window. Dark inside. I went back to the door, turned the handle: peered into the dim hallway. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the murk and stepped forward, bits of plaster crunching underfoot. ‘Hello? Anybody in?' My voice had more than a hint of quaver. I jumped as something banged above. A bit of rusted corrugated iron on the roof come loose. The whole place was coming loose.

I tiptoed into the front bedroom. The room looked like it had been hit by a meteorite. Clothes strewn across the floor. A suitcase turned inside out, long gashes cut into it. The other bedroom wasn't any better. There were dresses piled on the bed, some ripped apart. High heeled shoes lay scattered around the room.

I walked down the hall to the kitchen. Knocked-over chairs, smashed-up plates and glasses. I sighed. The place would take a shit load of tidying up. I really should have got references. I stopped by the back door. It had been ripped half off its hinges. Three round holes in the wall. Bullet holes?

I peered out at the mallee scrub, the soil purple in the dusk. The buzzing of the cicadas was fading as the heat bled from the day. The sky was dark blue, last light a smudge of buttermilk on the horizon. I tiptoed outside.

I paused by the row of parked cars, dim shapes in the gloom. I grabbed the torch from my glove box. Strode over to Clarence's car, shone the torch in through his car windows. The foot wells were filled with drifts of takeaway food wrappers and drink containers. The doors and boot were locked.

The door of Mona's Mercedes was unlocked. Soft leather seats, no takeaway wrappers. I rootled around the glove box. One Mercedes manual, a handful of parking tickets and a couple of letters from the infringements court. I peered underneath the seats. Nothing. I closed the door with a quiet thud. The boot was locked. Stepping back from the car, I bumped into Ernie's old water tank and slipped in a wet patch below the tap.

Hang on. There was another car parked here yesterday. The silver Mercedes, Clarence's Lexus, the undercover police car—a white commodore—and another, fourth car. Yes, four cars. What had the other one looked like? I screwed up my eyes while I tried to remember. Orange. A beat-up orange ute. Who did that belong to? And where had it gone?

I stared through the dim at Ernie's shed. Maybe the ute was parked in there.

Ernie's shed has never been an orderly, pine-shelved establishment, it's more a piled-up-with-dusty-old-sinks-and-handy-bits-of-piping type of spot. It had an overpowering smell of oil, with a hint of something nastier underneath. I shone my torch around. No utes. Down the end was the old tin bath that Ernie called his bathroom. It had a new-looking tarp draped over it.

A sound. A light, scuffling sound, possibly a rodent sound. I swung the torch around. I'm not wild about being near rats, especially in the dark. I shone the torchlight along the floor. No rats. I moved slowly towards the bath, then heard a sob. Rats don't sob in my experience. I waved my torch wildly all around.

‘Who's there?' I said in my boldest ragged whisper. I waited, holding my breath. Silence. I stared at the tarp. When had that arrived? Ernie's been in the home for the past year, he doesn't go out tarp-shopping. Not to my knowledge, anyway. I whipped the tarp from off the bath.

I sucked in a quick frantic breath. There was a woman's body in the bath. She lay there in her gold knit dress, her eyeless face grey in the torchlight. The smell hit the back of my throat. I gagged.

There was another sound, behind me. I swung around. A girl's face looked back at me in the torchlight, blonde hair ragged around her face. She put her hand up to her eyes, turned and ran out of the shed, lugging a water bottle in one hand. I charged out after her.

‘Aurora,' I shouted, waving the torch at the cars, the track, the trees.

But she was gone.

I'd learned my lesson about phoning Dean. This time I fished out the bit of chip paper from my bag and called Terry.

‘I'll be there right away.' His voice was bleak.

He didn't ask any pointless questions like if I was sure she was dead.

Terry hadn't said how long ‘right away' would take but he was coming from the Muddy Soak police station, about two hours south of Ernie's. It was possible he might do it a little quicker than that in the circumstances.

I waited at the doorway of Ernie's shed, the wind gusting, hauling at my hair and dress, with a whingey, fractious sound. My torch flickered a few times, then went out. I found myself wishing I'd never heard of Clarence or his relatives. There were a lot more interesting things I could be doing. Like scrubbing out my fryers or Jexing down my sinks.

I leapt in the air as my phone rang.

‘Where are you?' Brad.

‘Ernie's. Something's…come up. I'll be a little while.'

‘Come on, Mum, it's dark. You need to come home. This Clarence bloke could be dangerous.' He hung up.

Brad had a point, but I knew I had to wait near Mona. I wasn't turning my back on her body. Not this time.

Then, from the shack, a shriek. I jumped, my heart jack-hammering in my chest. The shriek ended in a nasty muffled sound.

I spent a hectic moment panicking. Was it Aurora being killed? If I went in, I could be next. Should I jump in my car, get right out of here? But then the murderer might follow me and kill us all.

I inched towards the shack, stepping as quietly as I could over all the brittle, crispy leaves. At least the raging wind might fill the murderer's ears, distract him from my crunching.

The full moon came out, lighting up the place. I shrank into the shadow, until the moon slid behind another cloud.

Feeling my way along the shack wall, trying not to pant, I found the door. I paused, listening, my ears on high alert. I wished I'd paid more attention to Brad's briefings on screaming-woman owls. Maybe their scream ends in a muffled sound, as if a hand was placed over the owl's beak. Wouldn't it be terrific to find it was just an owl. A lost, bedraggled owl, longing to get home.

I edged along the dark hallway, full of the sad, musty smell of a place empty too long. A scratching sound. I froze, held my breath. Whack. Something hit my leg. Soft, but also sharp. Something way bigger than a rat. I shrieked, kicking, trying to shake it off. It just gripped on harder. A shaft of moonlight shone through the window. I looked down. A cat was clinging to my leg. It stared at me with huge eyes, hissed, then scampered off. I let out a lungful of pent-up breath.

I headed down the hall, retracing my steps towards the back door, almost jaunty with relief. It was just the cat, that noise. A yowling cat. No one shrieking. I needed to Jif out my ears. I turned into the kitchen doorway.

There was a shadow lurking by the door.

I screamed as I leapt back into the hall. The shadowy maniac screamed back. Then it rushed outside, dragging a clanking bag. It was a smallish kind of maniac, I realised, as I followed it outside. A maniac with long blonde hair.

I galloped after her, to see her race to my car and yank at the driver's door, then open the back door, fling in the bag and scramble in over the back seat. She drove off.

I stood, shouting, but Aurora was gone, belting my little Corolla down Ernie's track at top speed.

I scuffed back to the shed, cursing. There was a good long wait, which gave me the chance to review in detail exactly how stupid I felt, how I should have stayed at home, how I should have turned Clarence away that night he'd first arrived. Then eventually headlights appeared on Ernie's track. A car pulled up in front of me, dazzling and skidding in the gravel.

Two men jumped out. Monaghan strode towards me, Terry following. In the headlights, they cast long skinny shadows across the shed. Terry gave me an anxious smile. Monaghan's off-looking, half-shut eye was oozing. Maybe it did that when he was stressed.

‘Mrs Tuplin.' Monaghan sounded impatient.

‘In there.' I pointed at the shed.

Terry went inside but Monaghan stayed put in front of me. He barked out a bunch of questions. What was I doing here? Where exactly had I seen Aurora? What had she said, where had she gone? And had I seen Clarence?

‘And tell me, Mrs Tuplin, why do you continually snoop around this property?'

I explained about Ernie's phone call, his worry about the tenant. Aurora and her water bottle. My stolen car.

Another set of headlights appeared on Ernie's track. We stood, watching the lights approach. It was Brad, with Claire in the passenger seat. He pulled up behind Monaghan's car. Brad gave his horn a couple of parps, as if I hadn't seen him. They stayed sitting in the car.

‘And how many more of your family do you expect to call in here tonight?'

I wasn't keen on Sergeant Monaghan's tone. I might have to mention it to Victoria Police. I imagined they'd have standards about police officers' tones.

Terry came out of the shed, looked at Monaghan and shook his head. ‘I think we should let Cass go home now.' Terry put a hand on Monaghan's arm. ‘We'll discuss all this with her later.'

Monaghan shook off his hand and gave him an angry look. ‘Mrs Tuplin needs to answer my questions.' His voice was a hiss. ‘It's a serious offence to withhold evidence.'

‘Is there anything else you'd like to tell us, Cass?' Terry's voice was low.

I probably could have told them about yesterday, how this wasn't the first time I'd found Mona in her present state. I probably could have told them about the briefcase. And about the key in my bag. But I was worried for Dean. I wondered why they hadn't sent him, it would have been quicker, surely. Maybe it was one of those turf-pissing type of contests; they didn't trust Dean to do a proper job.

I came close to telling Terry, though. He walked me to Brad's car, linking his arm in mine like Piero used to do. The air had cooled and I liked Terry's warmth by my side, although he held my arm more firmly than Piero would have.

‘Go home, Cass.' He almost pushed me into the car. ‘I'll call around and talk to you later. When we've finished here.'

‘Talk to you later' could have meant a lot of things. I'd imagined a cosy formal statement given one-to-one, over a late-night hot chocolate, in my kitchen. You never know where a hot chocolate might lead when the circumstances are right. But Terry didn't want hot chocolate. And he brought Monaghan along, so any possible circumstances scurried on and out.

Monaghan swept into my kitchen in that two-cow coat and gave me a bad-mannered glare. Terry drooped along behind him looking like a ticked-off pup. It probably wasn't easy working for a bloke like Monaghan. Terry had a black eye, his cheek below it was red and puffy.

‘Cuppa? Tim Tam?' I invited them to sit. Terry moved towards the table, but Monaghan just kept walking, striding up and down the room. Back and forth he paced, like some enraged, endangered panther shut up in its cage. His coat made a heavy swishing sound as he thumped along my floor. The eye was oozing bad. He should get some drops for it, I thought. Whitey's, the chemist up in Hustle would have something; I might suggest that to him later. When the timing was right.

Terry sat beside me in a doleful heap, staring at the floor. Things weren't going well with the investigation, then. No sign of Clarence, I was guessing. At least they had Mona's body now, thanks to me. Forensics would be at Ernie's place any minute, jabbing Mona with their tweezers, finding important hairs. Possibly they were there already. I might have to get the burners on. No doubt they'd need a feed.

Dean would be there too, helping out. He wouldn't have had time to call and let me know. They'd need to know what kind of gun the bullet came from. Dean could be good at that, he's methodical. I bet Forensics would want methodical. Another potential career path for him.