Only Killers and Thieves(33)

One beside the other, tongues lolling, paws crossed; like they only slept.

And Tommy was right back there, standing in the clearing as Billy found Joseph’s revolver and offered it to him like a prize. Walking past the front railings, the tread of Father’s boots, Billy crouched before him; coming up the steps.

His mouth hung slackly. His empty eyes stared. A fly crawled onto one of the eyeballs and sat in the corner of the lid, drinking.

Into the house. Bars of sunset streaking through the shuttered window, dust motes dancing; lifting back the curtain, Mother facedown on the bedroom floor.

Her feet were poking out, dirty and rough-skinned, the little buds of her toes.

Tommy was shaking. Rocking back and forth. Sullivan reached out and cupped his knee and Billy wasn’t talking anymore. Then Sullivan’s voice, coming in gradually, as if from very far away, or carried on a shifting wind, asking, “You alright, son? What’s his name again? Tommy? You alright?”

Tommy looked pleadingly at his brother; Billy only frowned. Sullivan stood and went to the drinks table, poured a measure into a crystal tumbler, held it for Tommy to take. He sipped at the drink, coughed, took another sip.

“Best Scotch outside Sydney,” Sullivan said, sitting. “That’ll see you right.”

Tommy drank the whiskey. Gradually the trembling eased. Sullivan turned his attention to Billy again.

“How are you sure it was this Joseph?”

“We found his old five-shot, here . . .”

Billy pulled the revolver from his waistband; Locke levered himself from the wall and reached immediately for his ankle piece, but Sullivan gestured for calm. He took the revolver from Billy, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s empty,” Billy said. “I think the dogs was speared. Both was run through.”

Sullivan glanced at Locke, now resettled against the wall.

“And this was his weapon? You’re sure about that?”

“Yessir. We were there when Arthur gave it. Joseph had it with him when he left.”

Sullivan was still inspecting the revolver. “He’s the one Ned let go?”

“We found those two natives hanging in that tree. Joseph didn’t like it, wanted to cut them down, take them back to his people—he’s Kurrong, see, same as them.”

Sullivan looked knowingly at Locke, took a long breath, shook his head.

“Fucking Kurrong,” he said. “So, him and Ned argued, the boy took off, might have got together with a few more of them, then came back for revenge. Doesn’t sound like the kind of thing he could have done on his own.”

Billy nodded. Sullivan leaned and handed the revolver to Locke.

“And what about the other one?” Sullivan said. “The old boy—where was he?”

“Gone too. Daddy gave him a spell. You think he was involved?”

“Probably, son. Blacks side with each other. Always have.”

“Arthur didn’t do it,” Tommy said. They all looked at him.

“You don’t know that,” Billy said.

“I do. He never would. He’s not even Kurrong.”

“The tribe doesn’t really matter,” Sullivan said. “Like I say, blacks side with other blacks. Sorry, boys, but it all seems pretty clear to me.” He slid his hands over his thighs and drew himself tall in the chair. “A fucking outrage, that’s what this is, same as Cullin-la-Ringo, Hornet Bank. And right here in my own bloody yard.”

Locke spat discreetly into a handkerchief, balled it, put it away.

“Arthur didn’t do it,” Tommy repeated.

“We need to get out after them,” Billy said. “Now. Tonight.”

“Well now, let’s sleep on it,” Sullivan said. “There’s plenty time for all that, but we’re not riding anywhere tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get ’em buried, we’ve an ex-priest who can say a few words, do it right. I always respected your father. Might not have seen eye to eye, but I respected him. And your mother, of course.”

“Tomorrow’s too late,” Billy protested. “They’ll be too far gone.”

“Don’t worry, son. Noone’s boys track natives like hounds after blood.”

“Noone?” Tommy echoed. “Billy, please . . .”

Locke grunted distastefully. “Aye, anyone but that cunt.”

“He has the district now,” Sullivan told him. “We don’t get to choose.”

“Rather just do it ourselves, like we used to.”

“This isn’t the old days, Raymond. I don’t intend on getting hanged.”

Billy jumped to his feet. “You killed three of the bastards for duffing, now our whole family’s been done and you won’t even—”

Sullivan rose also. He held out both hands. “Easy now, son, easy. I’m not saying I won’t help, but there are other considerations, we have to be careful with these things. Tomorrow we’ll talk it all through.”

“I don’t need to talk it through. I’ll ride out myself if I have to.”

“You wouldn’t last two days,” Sullivan said. He picked up a handbell from the mantelpiece and rang it. “I’m not going to stop you, but if you want my help you’ll sleep on it. Jenny’ll show you to your room.”