TWENTY

The crowd of blacks in the park opposite the Coroner's Court grew larger every day: on this particular day there were about thirty people there, mostly men. They had set up camp and at night fires were lit prior to the men arriving with game brought in from the bush. Police were asked by Barry Stevenson to keep an eye on the park: a police car patrolled the area every thirty minutes.

'Where the blazes can he be?' Barry asked Esther of Jarra's whereabouts. 'Has he left the country?'

'I don't think he's done that,' she scoffed. '... he's just left town.'

'To go.... where?' Barry asked gesturing with shrugged shoulders and upturned palms.

Esther knew but hated saying it.

'He's gone... walkabout.'

'You're joking!'

'Nope, his sister told me that he's gone bush and that means....'

'But he's... educated.'

'He's a traditional man, Barry. He just happens to have studied law at one of our universities.'

Barry slumped back into his seat.

'Walkabout?'

'It helps the grieving process. Most Europeans don't understand... it clears the mind and soul, a necessary part of life - think of it as therapy.'

'So, if I get fed up with you lot I should just go bush.'

Esther left the room in a good-natured flurry.

'Yes... and often we wish you would.'

––––––––

Barry Stevenson and Esther Wright were diligent in their work. They completed autopsies on the three murdered Aboriginal men and were compiling a growing list of evidence: plaster casts of the tire marks found at the murder site had been completed; they had matched the shells picked up at the site with the markings on a bullet found lodged in one of the victims; clear finger prints were taken from the beer bottle found at the site; a fresh cigarette butt was found beside the fire trail near to where it joined the main road - the hope was that saliva from the filter tip was of sufficient quantity to conduct a DNA test - and a microscopic search of the clothing worn by the victims was being done.

The police computer came up with two men with prints similar to those found on the beer bottle, both were Aboriginal, both were found in Darwin jail. They had been there for weeks and could not possibly have been connected with the murders. Police were also making a list of all known owners of rifles with the same calibre of the murder bullet - the list was long.

Hours later that same day, Esther came into Barry's office carrying a pile of paper and a brown expandable file.

'Good news!' she said dramatically dropping her pile on his desk. 'There was saliva on the cigarette butt, plenty for the DNA testing.'

She held a faxed sheet in both hands and pushed it at his face.

'Here is the result.'

'Great...'

Barry reached out and took the sheet from her. The DNA computer printout consisted of lines with varying thicknesses, it represented an identity to him, a real person.

'I've faxed it off to the police - a match is being sought for it Australia-wide. Also our labs have come up with something, they found chemical matter present in the weave of all the victims' clothing.'

She squinted as she read from the sheet.

'Blah, blah, blah... here it is! Our tests have discovered an unusual substance in the weave of clothing taken from each of the men: Thanolin.'

'What is thanolin?' Barry wanted to know.

'It's the base substance for plastic explosives.'

Esther looked up from the page and they both raised their eyebrows.

On Barry Stevenson's insistence, a match for the DNA readout was sent overseas to agencies known to maintain DNA databases, including Interpol. Two days later the FBI in Washington said they had a match; the name they sent to Barry's office was Werner Brauer; aka Berndt; aka Prosel; aka Müller - a former member of the East Berlin Security Police. Their listings showed he was living in San Francisco and was presently employed by TransGlobal Mining.

––––––––

Lee woke before Aaron as usual. With the chill of the morning air smarting her cheeks she stood and walked gingerly about and stretched. She looked around the camp she and Aaron had hastily assembled late the previous afternoon and admired the thoughtful way they had gone about it. They had built a three-sided tent. For a roof they arranged a tarpaulin to drape from the helicopter to the ground, another tarpaulin was used as a ground sheet and a mosquito net draped across the opening.

The incredible quiet was precious to Lee. Internal and external sounds fused together in her ears: the whooshing of her own blood circulating in her head and the low decibel rush of breezes passing her face. She was wearing socks, tights and an oversized long-sleeved sweat shirt as she started to scale the slope that led to the Wandjinas. She pulled herself over the final ridge, her hands feeling the cold of the rocks. The narrow entrance opened wide into the ancient cathedral. Suddenly, there they were.

'My God!' she gasped when she saw the large scale of the paintings.

Standing beneath them she was overwhelmed, transported. It was as if she had presented herself to the altar to receive the Holy Sacrament. She was conscious of her body being physically cleansed as a warmth of well-being coursed through her. From a remote area of her mind she recalled she had felt this once before, in her earliest childhood, as an infant. She reached up with her arms as if to touch the images then slowly went to her knees. Transfixed by the paintings, she was motionless, soaked with enlightenment, experiencing a connection to all things. She was at one. This was it - she thought. This was the desert experience expressed in numerous Holy Scriptures; this was part of the passion known to desert people throughout time.

Lee walked down from the craggy hilltop and was re-made and full of ideas. She woke Aaron and told him of her experience. Over breakfast he related his own story to her - they agreed they were similar.

'My cameras?' she asked turning her head. 'I want to record this... create a portfolio, huge colour prints of the Wandjinas and the entire surrounding landscape.'

As she moved to begin, Aaron looked at her and frowned. 'Slow down...,' he gasped.

'No way, I don't want to slow down ever again. Why waste time?'

'Well for one thing, at this rate you probably won't last past tomorrow. Try to be calm, come on I'll help you.'

In the sky a white sun climbed to where its lustre dominated everything. It was hot and unexpectedly humid, a warm breeze swept in from the gulf. Aaron passed the leather camera cases and tripod down to Lee from the helicopter and they both began to prepare for another climb up the bluff.

A third of the way up the slope they stopped, above them the sound of the bull roarer ricocheted off rocks, near the Wandjinas. Mutta had arrived.

'What on earth is that?' Lee was startled.

'It's the old man'

'Old man?...What is he doing? '

'He's trying to frighten us away. He's the caretaker of this place, its custodian.'

'What does he want?

'He wants us to leave.'

'Well I'm not going.'

'Yes you are, last time I saw him, he almost killed me.'

'What!'

'It's his duty to protect this place.'

'But... by killing people?'

'Execution... I intruded and he asked me not to tell anyone about it.'

'And you did?'

'Yeah... well, TransGlobal are moving in soon. Do you think the blacks won't notice?'

'Do you think he'll really kill you?'

'I'm not sure but we had better get out of here just the same. I don't want to test the old man's determination.'

'Well I don't care, I'm taking my shots,' she said and headed at double time toward the painted shrine.

As she reached the rock art, Lee looked up and examined one of the faces - the hooded head and deep black eyes peered over a colossal crimson slab. She set her equipment hastily and quickly began photographing the mystical, visual phenomena.

Aaron scurried about behind her in silence and the nearby monster continued to roar.