Scrublands(67)

‘Well, it seems like an abuse of power to me.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ Martin dissembles.

‘But that’s not what really pissed me off. It was all the stuff about my history. You know, how many men have I slept with, how well I knew Craig Landers, how the business is going. How the business is going, for Christ’s sake? Who my friends are, who I see on a frequent basis, who looks after Liam when I can’t. What’s that all about?’

‘Covering their arses,’ Martin assures her. ‘They’ve ballsed up the investigation, pinned the backpackers’ murder on Swift, and then you turn up and demonstrate that they’re on the wrong track. So they’re trying to make sure they don’t miss anything this time around.’

‘And will all this come out in court?’

‘Can’t see why it would.’

‘And then all the questions about you. How is that relevant? You weren’t even here a year ago. What the fuck could you have to do with any of it?’

‘They asked about me?’

‘Yeah. The fat cop from Bellington and that skinny one with the five o’clock shadow, the creepy one.’

‘Goffing. His name is Goffing. What did he ask?’

‘Weird stuff. Like whether you’re reliable, whether I feel you’re leading me on to extract information from me.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘Yes. I said you had seduced me. That I’m putty in your hands.’

Martin laughs. ‘Really? You told him that?’

‘No. I suggested it was unlikely you were hanging around to extract information from me because, until this morning, you didn’t know that I had any. I told them you were just another cunt-struck middle-aged loser. They thought that had the ring of truth to it.’ She offers a weak smile.

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Any time.’ The smile vanishes again. Pity; he likes her smiles.

Just then Liam lets go with an audible fart, huge for his size, with a disturbingly liquid quality to it. A few seconds later the smell wafts across the kitchen table like a chemical weapons attack and the remains of Tommy’s takeaway lose any residual appeal.

‘Nappy time,’ Mandy declares with faux levity, and goes to release her boy from his highchair. She cradles him so as not to squash his nappy. ‘Martin, I just want to be with Liam tonight. You okay at the motel?’

‘Sure.’

She walks over, still holding Liam, and gives Martin a generous kiss on the mouth. The stench is unbelievable.

‘And thanks for coming to cheer me up. And for dinner. And for listening.’

Banished, Martin walks out through the store and into the evening calm. The sun is down and the stars are emerging. A blood-red moon hangs in the western sky like the blade of a scythe. Hay Road is deserted, but there’s a car parked outside the general store and the lights are on. Martin walks down, hoping to buy water. Instead, he finds Jamie Landers, slouched on the bench outside the store, nursing what looks like a half-bottle of tequila. The boy is staring at the moon.

‘Mind if I join you?’ asks Martin.

Jamie looks up at him, face blank, the aggression of Bellington hospital nowhere to be seen. ‘Sure.’

Martin takes a seat on the bench. Jamie offers him the bottle; he takes a small swig. He was right: tequila.

‘Do you think it means anything? The moon?’

From where they are sitting the moon sits in the narrow gap of sky between the bottom of the awning and the silhouetted shopfronts across the road. It looks much larger than it would in the expanse of an open sky.

‘It’s the smoke haze from the Scrublands, turns it red.’

‘I know. But even so.’

They sit in silence for some minutes before Jamie speaks again. ‘About the other day, at the hospital. Sorry I was such a little shit. It was Allen, dying like that. I was upset.’

‘It’s totally understandable.’

‘Stupid, isn’t it? Pointless. He survived St James. He saw Swift shoot his dad and his uncle. He was sitting next to Gerry Torlini when Swift shot him. He got covered in blood, but he survived. And now he’s gone, just like that.’ The young man clicks his fingers to emphasise his point. ‘Just meaningless. Fucking meaningless.’

Martin says nothing.

‘I’ve been reading your stories,’ says Jamie. ‘You think you’re getting any closer to working it out? Why he went mental and shot everyone?’

‘Sometimes I do, I feel that I’m almost there, then the next thing I’m back at square one.’

‘Yeah, well, at least the coppers are talking to you. I guess they have to.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘’Cos they’re not smart enough to work it out by themselves.’

Martin chuckles. ‘I’ll let you tell them that.’

‘Yeah. Sure.’

There’s another pause as they consider the moon.

‘Hey, Jamie. The day your dad died, the day Byron Swift shot him, had you been out hunting with them the day before?’

‘Nah. Allen went; he liked guns and all that shit, not me. They were too boring for me, all those old men.’

‘Did you speak to your dad, though? That morning?’

‘Yeah. Too right. He was fucking rabid. Said the coppers had told him Swift was a ped. Said if he’d laid a hand on me he’d do for him.’