Scrublands(111)

MARTIN DRIVES, CODGER NAVIGATES, GOFFING THINKS.

‘Turn right here,’ interjects Codger from the back seat.

‘Actually, pull up here first,’ says Goffing.

Martin complies.

‘Listen, this stuff about McGill. That and the dope growing. Snouch can no longer blackmail you. If he threatens to sue, you can just throw it back at him. You’re out from under. But I’m not. He still has me by the balls for letting him into ASIO. I’ll wait in the car.’

‘You don’t want to hear for yourself?’

‘I do. I want you to wear a wire. I want to hear and I want to record.’

‘A wire. Are you serious? Lock picks, latex gloves, wires; what else do you carry around in that bag of tricks of yours?’

‘Oh, you know, the usual. Tracking devices, X-ray specs, truth serum.’

‘Very fucking funny.’



Some minutes later, Martin drives into Springfields, with Codger next to him in the front seat and Goffing lying low in the back. The wireless transmitter is pinned under his collar, a thin wire circling behind his neck. There is no sign of life, but in the stillness of the day, there’s the low hum of a generator. Snouch must be about somewhere. Martin’s mouth is dry. He drinks some water and pauses to compose himself, to put the events at Jason’s behind him. He drinks more water before leaving the car, but the dryness remains. He gets a sixpack of bottles from the boot.

He crosses the yard, enters the gloom of the machinery shed. Three fans hang rotating from the roof, pushing air around the space. The shed is not cool, but the concrete slab has retained some of the overnight chill and, combined with the fans, it’s not the oven of Codger’s shanty. Martin walks further in, spotting Harley Snouch seated at the far end of the workbench, concentrating over some work. Martin calls out. ‘Harley.’

Snouch looks up, alert, springing to his feet and coming over. ‘What do you want?’

‘Thought I’d bring you out some water.’ Martin holds up the bottles in their cling wrap.

‘Thanks,’ says Snouch, moving forward and taking the bottles. ‘Thanks. That’s good of you.’ He’s wearing khaki shorts, a singlet and sandals. He’s also clean: his face is washed, his hands are spotless, his eyes are clear. And wary.

‘Mandalay says she’ll do the DNA test,’ says Martin. ‘Thought I’d come and tell you.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Yeah. I persuaded her it was a good idea. Didn’t take much persuading.’

Snouch smiles, relaxes a little. ‘Excellent.’

‘How does it work?’ asks Martin. ‘The test?’

‘I ordered a kit. Got it here somewhere. She takes a swab from inside her cheek, I do the same, we send them off and the lab compares them. Easy for them to tell if I’m her father or not. It’ll take a week or so. I can give you her vial, if you like. She can take the swab and you can drop it back.’

‘Okay. But why don’t you take your swab here, she can do hers back in town and I can post them off for you both?’

Snouch smiles, as if recognising something familiar. ‘That’s an excellent idea. Let me get the kit. You can be my witness. Wait here.’ Snouch walks deeper into the shed, past the old Mercedes, its tyres now pumped up and the paintwork freshly washed, to the far corner of the workbench. Now Martin’s eyes have adjusted to the dim light of the interior, he can see that the far end of the bench is more like a desk, with a laptop, a printer and an angle-poise lamp. Snouch returns with two small styrofoam boxes, each containing a clear plastic vial shaped like a miniature test tube, with a screw lid. Snouch cracks the lid open on one of the vials. Attached to it is a thin shaft, like a cotton bud. Snouch guides the shaft into his mouth, running the end around the inside of his cheek, then carefully inserts the shaft back into the vial and tightens the lid.

‘There you go, nothing to it. She rubs it around the inside of her cheek, same as me, then seals it back in the tube. Label it, put it in the box and post them as soon as you can. Keep them in the fridge until you can send them, just to make sure. There’s some paperwork that needs to go in the box too. I’ve done my bit; she’ll need to do the same.’

Snouch has a form. He’s already filled in his name; now he signs it, passing it to Martin to witness. Martin prints his name in black letters, signing and dating the form in the required place. While he does so, he wonders at Snouch’s confidence. He had all the paperwork ready to go, the two DNA test kits, everything. He must have been sure that Martin would comply with his wishes, sure that Mandy would agree. The thought irks Martin: does Snouch believe him to be so pliable?

Snouch hands him another piece of paper. ‘Here’s Mandy’s form. You can witness that too. I’ve already spoken to the lab and I’ve also written a covering letter, setting out what we’re seeking. You and Mandy can read it if you like. I’ve signed it. She can sign it as well, but it’s not necessary. I’ll pay the bill, or we can go halves if she can spare the money. It’s five hundred bucks all up.’

Martin takes the boxes and forms. ‘You seem very confident of the result.’

Snouch smiles, betraying just a hint of indignation. ‘Of course I am. I was there, remember. I know what happened.’