It was around two and half hours before they assembled at the Derby police station. Cutting straight across from Dieter Schaffer’s shack, a mixture of dirt roads and open scrub, Earle had managed to arrive ten minutes ahead of Shepherd. Even though starting at Jasper’s Creek made him geographically the closest, he had faced the worst terrain. Clement had simply hammered full-bore down the highway. Constable Luke Byrd might have only been fractionally taller than Shepherd but his mass was far greater, and it was all oak. Policing outback Western Australia, size mattered. Byrd ran them through what he knew as the detectives strapped on protective vests.
‘Your suspect is Sebastian Kilmorley, seventeen. He’s from Fitzroy Crossing. I did a stint there last year and picked him up a couple of times; usual shit, sniffing petrol, bit of break and enter, stole a car. Nothing big-time though, I wouldn’t have thought he was hardcore. His girlfriend is Diana. I don’t know her second name. Everybody called her “Princess”. I think she was from one of the settlements north.’
‘How sure are you this is the guy?’ Earle was struggling to get the vest to sit over his expanding gut.
‘Sebastian drove an old yellow Ford station wagon, exactly like the one the kid with the outboard had, at least as my mate described it.’
‘He could have sold it.’ Shepherd establishing a bit of pissing room. Clement almost groaned.
‘Yeah but the girl sounds just like Diana.’
Clement checked his pistol. ‘There’s no chance Sebastian could legitimately have an outboard?’
‘Some mate might have given it to him to flog but none of Sebastian’s mates would have it legitimately either.’ Luke Byrd put his hands on his hips, almost defying them to disagree.
Clement had no inclination to. ‘So where do we look for him?’
‘Fifteen k that way.’ The answer came not from Byrd but his sergeant, a dark haired stocky man who introduced himself as Dave Drummond.
‘Sarge has eyes and ears all over,’ said Byrd.
‘Costs me a slab twice a year, best investment ever. Soon as Luke told me, I leaned on a couple of contacts. They said the boy and girl are camping at a place they call Smooth Rock.’ There was a large map of the region on the wall. Drummond stabbed a location to the east. Like a body surfer in a wave’s aspic, Clement allowed the momentum to carry him; he felt his speech quicken.
‘We’ll take two cars. Constable, you ride with me. Shep, you’re in with Sergeant Drummond.’
Earle drove, Byrd in the back. It was five degrees hotter here than Broome, sparse, primitive. We’re like an old-time posse heading after the outlaw, Clement thought as he stared through the bug-smeared windscreen. He had been in this kind of situation before. Confronting a young psycho with a weapon was never routine. Logic might tell them to put down the weapon but logic did not camp in the minds of young stoners. An image of Phoebe mourning her dead father barged its way into his brain. He dismissed it but not before reminding himself he was supposed to get her this evening, which would not be possible now, whatever happened. He dialled.
‘Yes, Dan.’
Did Marilyn save the world-weary tone especially for him or was Brian subject to it too?
‘I’m in the middle of this thing. I can’t get Phoebe today.’
‘Don’t worry about it. She was invited to go on Ashleigh’s boat anyway, but didn’t want to hurt your feelings.’
He knew she was waiting for him to ask who Ashleigh was thereby confirming he wasn’t really part of the family unit only an interested onlooker.
‘This might be done by tomorrow sometime.’
‘That’s not going to work. I just told you, they’re sailing.’
She hadn’t explained it was for the whole weekend but what did that matter? She had the high moral ground.
‘I’ll call her when this is wrapped up.’
‘Okay. Good luck.’
His relationship with Marilyn had devolved into a series of skirmishes that were never decided in his favour. And yet he sometimes felt she could have been a more ruthless foe if she really desired. Clement was aware the other men were staying studiously deaf.
‘Up here,’ said Byrd, pointing at a turn-off.
Earle turned down the narrow, rutted dirt track. The usual savannah-style topography gave way to something dense. Clement checked the rear-vision and saw Drummond and Shepherd follow. A couple of minutes in, Drummond flashed his lights. Earle read the signal and pulled over.
The men clambered out of the vehicles and were instantly desiccated. There was no breeze and the smell of bush grasses was strong. Drummond pointed at a grove of trees.
‘Likely just down through there.’
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than two shots rang out, blended with a volley of screams.
‘Shit.’
Clement couldn’t even be sure which of them had said it. He was already running through the bush, changing direction to home in on shrill shouts. The others were either side and behind him. They emerged into a small clearing. A yellow station wagon was parked under a gum tree. A bare-chested young man, really only a boy, was pointing a rifle at a girl. He turned, confused and half-dazed at the commotion.
‘Sebastian, put the gun down.’ Byrd put his hand out in a calming manner. Earle and Drummond already had pistols drawn. The girl let loose a stream of invective at the boy.
‘You dumb shit. I told you. You’re fucking dumb.’
The boy’s eyes were white bubbles. They darted between her and them. Clement could see it was a Ruger 22 he was holding.
‘Put the gun down, Sebastian.’
‘I’ll shoot her.’
‘Fucking try it.’ She leapt towards him, blocking their lines of fire and tried to beat him with her fists. He shoved her backwards towards them and was gone into the trees in a flash.
Clement hollered, ‘Shep, stay with her!’
With the girl’s expletives ringing in their ears, Clement and the others broke into the bush which was surprisingly thick. Clement pointed right.
‘You guys that way; don’t fire unless you have to.’
He and Earle started left but quickly slowed. There was no sign of the boy in the surrounding bush which varied from sparse tall grass to squat thick clumps.
Clement called hopelessly, ‘Sebastian this is pointless. We just need to talk to you. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Put the gun down and come out.’
Nothing.
It was hot and uncomfortable in the vest under the baking sky. This was the boy’s territory but Clement had to pursue. He and Earle edged carefully forward listening. Not even a rustle of leaves. If Sebastian had been running, Dan figured there would have been some sound so he reasoned if the boy came this way he was lying somewhere, motionless. Catching Earle’s eye, he signalled they split again and circle in opposite directions. Crouching low, he pushed along the rough, hot ground through tall grass, wary of the weapon in his hand. He had never fired at anybody. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally shoot a fellow cop. He fixed on a clump of trees fifteen metres ahead as a likely hiding spot. Slowly he began to flank it. Whenever he paused longer than a few seconds ants crawled all over him. He flashed back: schooldays, Bill Seratono, him, a couple of others playing sniper, honky nuts as ammunition …
There, from the thicket, a sound like somebody edging backwards. He stood and advanced.
‘Sebastian, we need to talk. I’m not holding a weapon.’
Too late he heard the sound behind him and swung round. Sebastian pointed the rifle, a smile spreading over his crusted upper lip.