Scrublands(55)

A source close to Crime Stoppers has confirmed the tip-off was received three days after German backpackers Heidi Schmeikle and Anna Brün were seen getting into a blue sedan in Swan Hill, and two days before Riversend priest Byron Swift went on a murderous rampage, shooting dead five locals.

Bellington police officer Sergeant Herbert Joseph Walker offered no comment when contacted by…

There’s more. Much more. But Martin can’t bring himself to read it. Herbert Joseph Walker. Shit a brick. The use of the policeman’s full name was no subeditor’s slip; Bethanie had deliberately used it knowing it is the form typically used to identify criminals appearing before a court. Walker would know that too.

Martin turns to Fran Landers, who has been watching his reaction with interest. ‘Fran, can I use your phone? It’s important.’

Fran nods, perhaps sensing his desperation, fetches her keys from the ignition and unlocks the door of the general store. Martin rushes to the counter and picks up the phone.

‘Thanks for giving us a hand,’ says Fran, carrying in the newspapers and spreading them out on the low flat areas before the magazine racks, but Martin ignores her sarcasm. He has his notebook out, dialling Walker’s office number, but is put through to an answering machine.

‘Herb. It’s Martin Scarsden. I am so sorry about the story in today’s paper. I promise, I didn’t know. It was my colleague, Bethanie Glass. She got it from her sources in Sydney. I’ll try your mobile. Hope to talk soon.’

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit,’ he mutters to himself as he dials the mobile number.

The call goes straight to voicemail. Martin is forced to repeat his awkward message of denial.

‘Shit,’ he says to himself, hanging up. He addresses the shopkeeper, who is lugging another load in from the car. ‘Thanks for that, Fran. I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk. I’ll make it up to you somehow. Promise.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ she says as he rushes past her and out the door.

Doug Thunkleton and his camera crew are draped over the old armchairs inside the Oasis, drinking coffee and reading the papers, when Martin pushes through the door. One of the camera guys has Liam out of the playpen and is bouncing him up and down on his knee, making vastly stupid faces and eliciting gurgles of joy from the boy.

‘Here he is,’ says Doug enthusiastically, ‘the man of the moment.’

‘Hi, Doug,’ replies Martin flatly. ‘Where’d you get the papers?’

‘Bellington. We’re in the Riverside Resort and Spa. Swimming pool, bar, wireless. Mobile reception. And there’s some okay restaurants down there. You should move down. It’s only a forty-minute drive.’

‘I’ll think about it. Thanks for the tip. Is Mandy about, the owner?’

‘Out the back, making toasties. You just missed the coppers. They were just in getting coffee.’

‘Bugger. Did they say anything? They doing another doorstop?’

‘No, didn’t say a lot. Not overly impressed with your piece, though.’

‘I guess not.’

‘Yeah, well fuck ’em,’ says Doug casually, oozing journalistic solidarity. ‘We’re not here to help. It’s a top story. I wish I’d got it. My people are very revved up.’

‘Yeah, I can imagine. Did Walker say anything?’

‘The Bellington cop? No. I asked him for an interview. You know, giving him the opportunity to put his side of the story. He just looked at me like I was some kind of turd. The old story: when the cops want publicity, they tip us off, but when they fuck up, they brush us off.’

‘Always the way,’ says Martin, wondering if he should wait for Mandy or go out the back to find her.

‘Say, Martin,’ says Doug, ‘you got time for a quick interview? Your story is driving the news cycle. We could get it out of the way before the day gets messy.’

The last thing Martin wants is to be seen gloating about Bethanie’s scoop on television; nothing would piss Walker off more. ‘Maybe later on, Doug. There’s a few things I need to check out. The story may have moved on by this evening.’

‘Really?’ says Doug, news antenna twitching. ‘You got more coming?’

‘We’ve always got more coming,’ says Martin, regretting his smart-arse tone even as he speaks. What is it about these TV types that gets up his nose so much?

The situation is saved by Mandy emerging from the back room carrying toasted sandwiches in brown paper bags. Doug Thunkleton pays, making sure to collect the receipt from Mandy, then distributes the bags to his crew. The camera guy gently returns Liam to his pen.

‘We’d better get going,’ says Doug. ‘Lot to do. Got a few strong leads of my own to follow up. Might catch you later.’

The television team departs, leaving Martin and Mandy in the silence of the bookstore.

‘Busy morning,’ says Martin.

‘Busy morning,’ says Mandy. ‘Sold a lot of coffee.’ Her manner is distant, her smile absent, but at least the quiet anger of the past day or two seems to have dissipated. Perhaps she’s accepted he has little choice but to report the story. ‘There’s a lot of messages for you. Your Sydney journo, Bethanie, left at least half-a-dozen.’

‘This morning?’

‘Yesterday afternoon and evening. She didn’t find you?’