‘Speaking of which …’ Dodge wiped his brow on his hairy forearm. ‘Did you say to me once that your dad’s a cop?’
I ignored the question, having had more than enough talk of my father for the day and wanting to get a jump on the case. ‘I’m gonna go take a look.’
‘Because the name I have for the guy who—’
‘The hotel rooms are up top, yeah?’
‘Ah, well—’ Dodge put a hand on my arm. ‘It’s a closed scene, Evan.’
‘Not for me, it’s not.’ I walked off.
RUSSELL
Tight bends in the road. Hints of the river, brown and sandy and flecked with painter’s brush-stroke reeds. I rode the brake as clouds of tiny brown birds erupted from the grass at the side of the road every few kilometres, seeming to waft by only inches from the windscreen, cheating death. Bridie sat up in her seat to take in the township as we came onto the bridge. The pub on the left. The playground. A sign indicating a cafe down the street.
‘This is it?’ she asked.
‘It used to be just the pub,’ I said. ‘When I was a kid.’
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Bridie glanced at me. ‘You grew up out here.’
‘Back at Maroota.’
‘We passed it? Pop’s farm?’
‘We passed the road leading to it, yeah.’
‘Why didn’t you point it out?’ she said. ‘I always wanted to know where it was.’
I stared ahead, didn’t answer the question, because there was no way of answering it. Not without opening all those closed doors in my mind, doors I’d spent decades steadfastly bolting. There was police tape visible outside the pub but no gawkers lined up along it. I parked under a sprawling fig tree and got out, and a beer-bellied sergeant emerged from under an awning. He had to step sideways to avoid a peacock in full rainbow regalia that was pecking around under a picnic table. Bridie got out and gave a little cry of delight atthe bird while I went to greet Louis Dodge, who looked like he wanted to smile but didn’t dare.
‘Sir.’ Dodge offered a sweaty hand. I shook it but made a face. ‘Forensics arrived about ten minutes ago. And there’s one officer up there now, who’s been assigned ground team leader, who’s getting his first look. I’ve held everyone else back so you can do your walk-through. They’re in the beer garden. I didn’t realise you were bringing your, uh, your …?’
‘Daughter.’ My eyes met Bridie’s. ‘She’s going to make herself scarce until I wrap up here.’ The kid didn’t need to be told twice and went off after the peacock. ‘Show me the room.’
We walked around the back of the pub. Lush gardens hopping with bowerbirds, picnic tables under prehistorically large camphor laurel trees, their branches meeting, blocking out the sun. Four patrol cops were eyeing me as they smoked, leaning against one of the tables, while two women were slipping into protective forensics suits behind the open-doored van. I scowled at everyone, took in the layout of the place. The pub was divided into two separate buildings, an external wooden stairwell between them, leading up to a landing. On the left, the hotel rooms. On the right, an unmarked blue door. I walked up the wooden stairs, taking in the scene behind me, of the beer garden, and in front of me, of the strip of land before the road, the distant playground, the river. Louis Dodge swiped a card to unlock the door to the accommodation area. It opened onto a musty, dimly lit hallway.
‘So, everyone has been cleared out,’ he said, taking a pair of forensics booties from a fold-out table just inside the door and handing them to me. ‘The pub owner, the guests who were here last night, everyone. I confirmed the IDs of all the guests and took initial statements, and they’ve been informed they will likely be required for formal interviews. Happily, we haven’t had any looky-loos gathering outside. We’ve had a few slow drive-bys, but that’s it.’
‘Have you got an officer there noting down all the drive-by plates?’
‘Uh, no.’
‘Why not?’ I snapped. ‘Your patrol cops are inactive. That’s a problem. I saw four idiots lounging around downstairs, smoking. You should have one watching the traffic and two out door-knocking.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Dodge slipped a phone from his pocket and fired off a text. ‘It’s just … Look, this is our first homicide here in a while, sir. It’s certainly the first one I’ve ever had where it wasn’t immediately obvious who the killer was.’
‘Good! I sure as shit hope homicides are rare around here,’ I said. ‘If you were dropping balls like this every other week, Redbelly Crossing would be as popular with serial killers as Los Angeles was in the seventies. There’s a few people I’d like to knock off myself; maybe I’ll do it here.’
‘I get it, sir.’ Dodge nodded.
‘Who’s the arsehole who’s in my scene?’ I raged, marching up the hall. ‘One of your cronies, Dodge?’
‘Well, I actually wondered if—’
‘Never mind, I’ll get him out myself,’ I barked.
EVAN
