‘What happened with the roo?’ I asked Bridie, resisting the urge to reach over and pull her to me and hold her. ‘Any luck?’
‘It was male.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’ve been here finding out about Chloe.’
‘You got anything good?’
‘Yeah,’ Bridie said. She swivelled her laptop towards me. ‘I think she’d pissed off a serial killer.’
2024EVAN
The car was on Eight Mile Trail at eleven o’clock on a Friday night. Footy night. I sucked air between my teeth when I saw it rumbling through the trees ahead of me, because I knew even before I noticed the wheels kissing the rocky edges of the trail as it drove along that the driver had to be drunk. Circumstances just guaranteed it. Stupid move by me to take the shortcut between Redbelly and Mangrove Mountain, known almost exclusively by locals. Because, although I had officially finished my shift for the night, I was still in the patrol car, having just delivered some files to Dodge and his guys in Wisemans. Policy dictated that when I was in the car and I saw a crime, it was mine to deal with. I watched the big black Jeep Wrangler drift over and narrowly miss clipping a huge lump of sandstone in the bush, and cursed my life. I hit the lights. I’d been on the cusp of five days off after twelve days on, was already emotionally and physically checked out, needing only to return the squad car and sign the station register before entering full-blown holiday mode. Now the finish line had been yanked away just as I put on a last burst of speed. This was going to delay me getting home for dinner, and Delle had texted to say she had homemade pizza in the oven.
Something big crashed through the bush as I exited the squad car. The telltale thumping of kangaroo. With lush bushland hugging us all around, lit blue and red and yellow like an enchanted fairy garden, I approached the driver’s side of the Jeep with dreadin my heart. Watched the window roll down. A thick forearm lolled out onto the sill. There was a passenger in the front seat, looking over at me, white eyes glittering in the dark. When I recognised the ruddy, sunburnt face of the driver my breath hitched in my chest. This was both good and bad.
‘Oh, hey, look who it is,’ I said, putting a hand on the top of the car. ‘G’day, Blake.’
‘Heeeeey.’ Blake Sanderson leant back, his mouth shifting awkwardly as his bloodshot eyes wandered across my face. ‘There you are.’
‘Evan Powder. Chris’s dad.’
‘Of course!’ Blake grinned, putting a hand out. Shaking mine too hard, so that both our hands knocked on the windowsill. ‘Of course! I know who you are. Good to see ya, mate! Good to see ya! This is Constable Powder.’ Blake turned to his passenger, a similarly built sun-baked brick of a male in a singlet and ball cap. I let the misidentification of my rank slide by as he went on. ‘His son goes to school with Jacky.’
‘Oh, right. How ya goin’?’ The passenger flashed me an open palm, fingers spread wide, the awkward wave of someone caught red-handed.
‘Yeah, I’m good. Just noticed you were wobbling a bit.’
‘Oh, this bloody thing’s acting up.’ Blake slapped the steering wheel. ‘Just had the alignment done on it the other day and it’s still pulling to the left.’
‘Are you heading back from footy night at Wisemans?’
‘Ah, we stopped in at the RSL for a biiiit …? But we weren’t there for long, were we, Trev?’
‘Nah. Middy of mid-strength. That was about it.’
‘That was about it,’ Blake confirmed, turned and grinned at me. His red eyes were full of tense hope. Because, surely he knew how badly he stunk of bourbon. Knew it was permeating the air around us, completely overpowering the acidy, minty taste of the eucalypts. Blake could see that I was struggling with the next few steps. He reached out and touched my arm with his meaty fingers to help me along. ‘Your Chris, he’s the one with the long hair, yeah?’
‘That’s him.’
‘I’ve seen him and his mates getting around town, in their hoodies.’ Blake smiled. ‘With the make-up. Heavy metal kids, are they?’
‘Ah, well …’
‘There were heavy metal kids at my school,’ Trev offered. ‘I was one of them. And look how I turned out.’
‘They’re a good lot, though, Evan’s son and his crew.’ Blake shot his friend a warning look. ‘Not like this degenerate here and his band of wannabe satanists.’
‘He’s a good kid,’ I confirmed. ‘Going through a phase, that’s all. We’ve all been there.’
‘How’s he going at school?’
‘He’s all right,’ I lied.
‘Listen, when he’s done with his heavy metal phase, why don’t you see if he wants to come over our place sometime and hang with Jacky and his mates? Jacky could use a couple of friends who aren’t such boofheads. A thoughtful little bloke like your Chris might do Jacky good.’
‘Maybe.’ I felt the devil whispering in my ear. Looked at Blake’s big hand on the steering wheel. ‘Maybe. Listen, Blake—’
