Thirty-one

The Upper Colo homestead in the early morning light was a vision to behold.

The wooden footings that had held up the homestead had collapsed under the flames, and the blackened walls sprawled out across the scorched grass as if the building had burst its stitching and come apart at the seams. Only two brick chimneys sat in their original places, proud and intact, the rest of the homestead having fallen away. And standing like sentinels from a surreal apocalyptic tale, Mr. and Mrs. Satan were almost untouched: blackened and charred, but their posture unchanged, their glittering eyes feasting on the scene.

The East Kurrajong Bush Fire Brigade had arrived in the dead of night in a single battered red Ford truck with a pump, alerted by a watchful farmer in the hills to the growing inferno at Upper Colo. It was a motley crew of brave locals with firefighting knapsacks on their backs who had erupted out of the truck, six in all, and without pause had begun their work against the raging flames, barely noticing at first the huddle of women and the strange man cowering at the side of the river. With something like awe, Billie had stood up on the riverbank and watched them contain the blaze after a battle that had lasted hours. The areas beyond the road and river were saved; the evil house and its contents stood not a chance.

The firefighters, all volunteers, had beaten Inspector Cooper in his race from the city. But at five in the morning, fully an hour earlier than he had promised her, Cooper and his colleagues had arrived and the white-haired man known as Franz was placed in irons and driven to the Richmond lockup, while Billie, Shyla, and the girls were ordered to stay put and await questioning. There wasn’t a vehicle big enough for them all.

Shyla, Ruthie, Ida, and Eleanor were huddled together on the wool blankets provided by the firefighters, talking in low voices and sipping from shared cups and a thermos. Young Eleanor was still in something of a trance since she’d been taken from her prison room by Ruthie, Billie had noticed. Those wide dark eyes remained blank, empty with shock. She was the youngest, Billie guessed, and she’d done well to get to the river at all in her state. Ida, who was barely older from what Billie could tell, was more animated, but also showing signs of shock, hands clammy and pupils enlarged. All of the girls needed medical attention, Billie thought. She had left them when the inspector silently signaled for her attention, but even as she stood with him she watched the group in their semicircle, clothes torn and wet, and wondered about their futures.

Now Detective Inspector Hank Cooper was beside Billie Walker, steady and tall, concern written all over his face. “Billie, I got here as fast as I could,” he said to her. “I hope you know that.”

Billie was almost unrecognizable, covered in streaks of soot, her suit filthy and ruined, a wool blanket wrapped around her and a steaming cup of black tea in her hand. Her muddy oxfords were drying, so a spare pair of oversize boots, volunteered by the firefighters, covered her feet. Her tilt hat had been lost somewhere, probably engulfed in the house, and her curls were unrestrained. Unruly locks framed her streaked face like a mane. Her eyes were bloodshot, her elegant hands scratched and bruised.

“I know you did, Inspector,” Billie replied softly.

The firefighters were walking over the paddocks now, putting out small spot fires. Parts of the homestead still smoldered, walls crackling and glowing orange. Above them, the air was heavy and dark, a smoky cloud hanging over the scene even as the early morning sunlight fought against it, the eternal battle between night and day playing out more violently than usual.

“Please call me Hank.”

Billie looked up at Cooper and nodded, and he put an arm around her shoulders, closing the blanket gently across her with his other broad hand. They stood in silence for a while, watching the scene, she cocooned in the blanket and in him. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier,” he said again.

Her shivering stopped. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it. “I know, Hank,” Billie said again. “I know.”