5 p.m.
Walker can’t find Blair or Grace, asking himself how it’s possible in a tiny town like this, and with no way out, that the pair have disappeared. He’s been to Blair’s place, found the front door unlocked but neither Blair nor Mullins at home when he’d called ‘G’day.’ Grace, too, not at the cabin, neither of them at the pub, and the servo is shut.
Out of ideas, he’s driven down to look at the water level and think about what McGregor said. Blair’s car is there, parked off to one side. He calls out. No answer. Looks around: no one in sight. The river, the water level coming down only slightly, is still running fast and wide. He’s standing there, looking at the water, increasingly anxious thoughts running through his mind, when he hears them coming, Blair and Grace walking together, laughing and chatting without a care in the world.
‘Hey, Lucas!’ Grace waves at him when she sees him. He tries to rearrange his face into an unconcerned smile. ‘Blair’s been showing me around, showing me the country. He’s amazing, he knows everything, all the birds, all the trees. We even saw a goanna. I filmed Blair explaining stuff and I’m uploading it to TikTok. He’s gonna go viral.’ She’s laughing as she walks up to him. ‘He’s the next Crocodile Dundee.’
Blair is shaking his head, smiling, more relaxed than he’s been since they arrived. Seeing Blair back to his usual self, Walker’s doubts and fears subside. McGregor is mistaken, that’s all there is to it. ‘Nice one,’ is all he says.
‘I got some groceries from the gas station today. I’m gonna cook us all dinner,’ says Grace. ‘I need a break from hamburgers.’
They drive the short distance to the cabin, Grace telling him about her plans for making Blair’s tourism business famous on TikTok. He waits for Blair to park up beside the ute, lets Grace go ahead into the cabin.
‘Look,’ he says to Blair. ‘Were you walking around yesterday? In the morning, before I picked you up?’
‘What do you mean, was I walking around?’
‘You know, taking a walk around town before I picked you up, couldn’t sleep or something …’
‘Nah.’ Blair shakes his head. ‘Why?’
Walker hesitates. He shouldn’t be sharing police information with a suspect, that’s how Stones would see it. But this is Blair and Blair isn’t a suspect. ‘Some bloke says he saw you on your street, around five a.m.’
‘Mighta been me, I suppose,’ says Blair. ‘I went out first thing, when I saw Mark’s car parked outside the house.’ He gestures with his head towards the Toyota he’s been driving. ‘I had a look inside. I was expecting … Well, in case he was sleeping in it, thought he might want a coffee or something. But I didn’t go anywhere else.’
‘You didn’t walk down the street towards the Mullins house?’
‘Nah …’ says Blair.
Walker nods. McGregor was mistaken, as he’d thought. But the Land Cruiser outside Blair’s, the car Blair has been driving, belongs to Mark Bailey. Walker hadn’t realised. Stones won’t be happy if he finds out Blair has Mark’s car. ‘You shouldn’t be driving Mark’s car. You’ll need to turn it in to DSS Stones – I know he wanted it searched again and it might be pertinent to the inquiry,’ he says. ‘Why was Mark’s car outside your place anyway?’
Blair looks at him, something Walker can’t recognise in his eyes. I’m interrogating my own cousin, he thinks, this is out of order. Before he can apologise, Blair says, ‘I usually drive this vehicle. Mark has a ute he uses. He only had the Land Cruiser because I’m leaving. It was parked outside my place when I got home from the pub the other night. He must have parked up and then walked down to Karen’s.’
Of course, thinks Walker, Mark wouldn’t park his car outside Karen’s place, too obvious. ‘Yeah, that makes sense,’ he says. ‘Sorry about all the questions …’
Blair nods. ‘Yeah, no worries. That other copper heard about this supposed walk I took?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Does that mean he’ll be breathing down my neck again?’
‘Probably. But just tell him the truth. And give him the keys to Mark’s vehicle. You’ll be right.’
Todd Mullins is pale and spitting bile when he arrives at the pub. He threw up again in the park toilets, the rum all gone, nothing left for him to bring up but bitter-flavoured spit. The pub is empty, only Susie behind the bar.
‘You look like shit,’ she says, bringing him his beer.
‘You don’t look too fucken good yourself,’ he says.
He takes a long drink, trying to clear the taste of vomit from his mouth, the burning from his throat. ‘You’d look worse too,’ he says, ‘if you’d seen what I saw, if you knew what I know, if you remembered what I just remembered.’
She narrows her eyes at him. ‘You’re pissed,’ she says. ‘I don’t want you starting any trouble here. You’d be better off taking a few stubbies home, I reckon.’
‘You reckon, do ya? Well, I reckon it’s a free country and you can fuck off. I’m gonna cause as much trouble as I want. And I tell you what else. I know what happened to Mark and Karen. Someone tried to set me up and I know who it was and they’re not getting away with it.’
Susie crosses her arms. ‘You’re pissed,’ she says again. ‘You start shouting accusations and causing any trouble tonight and I’m banning you. For good.’
She walks away and Mullins takes another long drink and smiles bitterly. Ban me if you want, he thinks. I’ll be out of Kanpara as soon as I get what I’m owed.
Slowly, a few others filter into the pub. The usual crowd. Paul and his missus take a table at the far side. Paul clocks him and pulls out his phone, texting someone. Fucken Pidgeon probably. Well, let her come.
Brett and Warren come in too, order twenty-four cans of JD and Coke to take away and some papers for their spliffs. Brett spots him and comes over. ‘How you doing, Todd?’ he asks.
‘How d’you think?’ he says. ‘Me missus is dead, murdered in me own bed.’
‘Yeah, I heard that. I’m sorry, mate,’ says Brett.
‘Yeah. Well. There’s people who’ll be sorry alright. I know who done it. And I know why …’
‘Yeah?’ says Brett. ‘Who was it, then?’
Mullins taps his finger to the side of his nose. ‘That’s for me to know.’
Warren is standing at the door, carrying the carton, watching them, his hard eyes missing nothing. ‘Come on, mate,’ he calls to Brett. ‘Let’s go …’
‘We’re having a few drinks at ours,’ says Brett. ‘Come over later if ya want. You can tell us all about your theory.’
‘Maybe I will …’ Mullins says.
He finishes his beer. Susie gives him another one like he knew she fucken would. The bar fills up. A few people give him dark looks, there’s a lot of muttering and staring, but without Pidgeon rallying the troops no one has the guts to confront him. He’s on his third, or maybe fourth, beer when the big Queensland Police detective turns up, comes and stands right beside him.
‘Alright, Mullins?’ he says. ‘You been avoiding me? That’s not a good look, is it? Looks very fucking suspicious when your missus is dead and I need to talk to you and you go into hiding.’
Mullins turns towards the cop and the movement of his head makes the room go topsy-turvy. He holds on to the edge of the bar, swaying with the motion of it, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Three beers and he’s got the spins. He can’t hold his booze no more.
‘I haven’t been hiding, I’ve been doing your job for ya,’ he says. ‘I know who killed them. Don’t you worry about that.’ He tries to sit up straight but feels the bar slipping through his fingers, feels himself tilting then falling, crashing off the side of the stool, straight into the cop. The cop catches him, puts hands under his arms, gets him back on his feet.
‘You do, do ya,’ says the cop. ‘Well, you better sober up and present yourself at the station first thing tomorrow …’
Mullins is trying to concentrate but it’s taking all his focus to stay upright. He sways a bit. Tries to hold on to the bar, feels his legs buckle and fold. Finds himself sitting on the dusty floor, looking at the brass foot rail, the polished wood of the bar. Knows he needs to go home, sleep it off. He knows who did it, but he’s too pissed to say what needs to be said, do what needs to be done.
He feels hands under his arms again. Blair’s face swims into his vision, the big copper beside him. The copper looking at Blair, his eyes calculating.
‘I know what happened,’ Mullins says, his voice loud, trying to catch the cop’s attention. He’s half standing, half leaning against Blair, looking around the bar, all of them watching him now. He can see Vero beside Susie, giving him a look like he’s shit on the bottom of her shoe. He sees Paul and Scott, their faces grim. A couple of others, the faces a blur, and the big copper standing there, holding a beer, watching him and Blair.
‘I know who fucken did it!’ he shouts. ‘I know who killed ’em!’
‘Alright, Todd – let’s get you home, mate,’ says Blair, putting an arm round his shoulders and walking him out.