Blake brings my animals into the stables when it rains, and cleans the small yard where Eeyore prefers to spend his days. When I’m late back, Blake fills the hay nets. But besides courteous acknowledgements when our paths cross at the Coach House or zoo, it’s been two weeks since I’ve spoken to him. He said he didn’t want a one-night stand. He suggested there would be more. A month? Six months? That would make it worse when it ended.
Trangie is a long drive from Ballimore, but the money I earn will settle a lot of bills. The road back home throws up familiar landmarks. Giant discs of hay stacked in a barn before the turn-off to Ballimore. Vivid green shoots around a heart-shaped dam. A cocos palm, standing all alone at the crest of a hill.
A police car, parked on the opposite side of the road, does a U-turn. The wail of a siren, flashing red and blue lights. I slow my four-wheel drive and wait for it to overtake but it pulls up alongside me.
Jeremiah Jones, a local senior constable, lifts a hand and gestures that I follow. The second man in the car isn’t wearing a uniform like Jeremiah, but a white shirt and a tie. Jeremiah indicates to turn into a layby, sheltered from the road by a narrow but dense swathe of eucalypts and shrubs. To the left of the kerb is a cleared patch of earth and a council bin.
My heart pounding, I turn off the ignition and jump from the car. ‘W … what’s the matter?’
Jeremiah holds up a hand. ‘All good.’
‘Is Phoebe okay? Patience?’
Smiling reassuringly, he slings an arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s not about your sisters or your animals, and you haven’t done anything wrong. Just want a chat and to ask a few questions.’
Jeremiah’s family is from Warrandale where, as children, my sisters and I holidayed with Auntie Kate and Uncle Bob. He’s closer in age to Patience than Phoebe, but he had a crush on my eldest sister all through his teenage years, and now they’re good friends. With an athletic build, curly black hair and an open boyish smile, he’d be one of the most popular officers in the district.
As the other man steps out of the car, Jeremiah releases me and pulls on a cap. ‘You know this guy, right?’
The man is in his mid-thirties and tall, with very broad shoulders and closely cropped blonde hair. We’ve met somewhere before but—
‘Primrose Cartwright.’ He thrusts out a hand. ‘Nathan Gillespie.’ His smile is open and genuine. ‘Nate from New York.’
‘You … were at Phoebe’s wedding. You worked at the UN with … Sinn.’
‘Sinn has moved on—I’m still the Australian liaison.’ Nate leans into the car to take out his jacket, pulling it on and fastening a button. He takes out a card and hands it to me. Nathaniel Gillespie, United Nations First Committee (Transnational Security). ‘You’re not so easy to track down.’
‘I told Nate you’d turn up eventually,’ Jeremiah says.
As shards of light filter through the gaps between the tree branches, I look from Nate to Jeremiah, then back to my four-wheel drive.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Nate asked me to come along so you’d know this is all above board,’ Jeremiah says. ‘What we want to talk about—’ he runs a finger across his lips, ‘—is a bit on the sensitive side.’
‘A few weeks ago, you made calls to a government department,’ Nate says. ‘You got a callback, right?’
I glance at Jeremiah. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Nate’s got state and federal cops on side. It’s all good.’
‘I had questions about veterinary pharmaceutical products,’ I say. ‘A … woman from the department answered them. Is that … what this is about?’
‘The government has a responsibility to monitor imports and exports—legal and otherwise,’ Nate says. ‘You spoke with a first assistant secretary. I have a transcript of that conversation.’
I cross my arms, rub the goosebumps. ‘I don’t understand … why the police are involved.’
‘I’m not strictly with the police,’ Nate says, ‘but my work crosses boundaries. Let’s just say we collaborate.’
‘You and … Sinn were looking into money laundering weren’t you?’
He smiles apologetically. ‘I can’t say much about that.’
‘What do you want … with me?’
‘You had a run-in with Douglas Farquhar earlier this year. Is that correct?’
‘I think you know the answer to that.’
‘Just getting my facts straight.’
‘You said you had a transcript.’ I sort my thoughts while he gets out a notebook. ‘I didn’t talk about Farquhar.’
‘This drug …’ he pulls out a notebook and flicks through pages, ‘… PMSG. What’s that all about?’
‘It’s a hormone, extracted from the blood of pregnant horses. I … wanted to check it wasn’t available here.’
‘How does it relate to Farquhar?’
‘You’re the investigator. Why don’t you tell me?’
Jeremiah takes off his cap and spins it around a finger. ‘You know something, Prim, don’t you?’
‘Have you contacted the veterinary board?’ I ask. ‘I’m not … supposed to talk about the … settlement.’
‘This is strictly between us,’ Nate says.
‘It’s got nothing to do with your work as a vet,’ Jeremiah says.
‘What we want is your assistance,’ Nate says. ‘We’d like your cooperation.’
I trust Jeremiah. And Nate has worked with Sinn, who is scrupulously honest. Weeks ago, Billy said the Avengers did better as a team …
‘What I say … won’t get back to Farquhar?’
Jeremiah laughs. ‘No way!’
A truck changes gear as it motors down the hill.
‘When I was … working for Farquhar, I told him the pregnancy rates of his cows didn’t add up. I thought—I still think—the cows were given hormones to increase fertility. A couple of months ago… someone told me that the hormone could have been PMSG.’
‘Who told you?’
‘It was said in confidence.’
Nate flicks through pages in his book. ‘Was it Mr Farquhar’s nephew, Jamie Farquhar? Tell me about him.’
When I hesitate, Jeremiah shoulder bumps me. ‘Do it, Prim.’
I rub my hands together to warm them. ‘Jamie finished school last year and was … working at the stud. He’s not much more than a kid, and he suffers from anxiety. That’s why he’s moved back to his mother in the city.’
‘You believed him?’
‘Jamie had taken me to the office, which is … why his uncle was telling him off. When Farquhar shouted something about PMSG, Jamie didn’t even know … what it was. I don’t think he understood it had been used on the cows. Even if he did, he had no idea of the implications in terms of fertility or Farquhar’s reputation. Jamie had no reason to make anything up or to lie.’
Nate walks a few steps before walking back. ‘This PMSG. What’s your problem with it?’
‘I don’t approve of animals being given hormones to increase fertility. My particular problem … with PMSG is the way the horses’ blood is collected. If a producer has to use hormones, there are synthetic alternatives.’
‘Thanks for that,’ Nate says.
‘I don’t want you to hassle Jamie.’
‘Nate doesn’t care about PMSG,’ Jeremiah says. ‘It’s a means to an end, a way for him to get to bigger fish.’
‘Fish?’
‘Criminals.’
‘Like the money launderers you and … Sinn were after,’ I say to Nate.
Besides a flash of white teeth, Nate ignores what I’ve said. ‘I won’t talk to Jamie, but do you reckon he’ll talk to anyone else?’
‘Like I … said, he doesn’t appreciate the significance of PMSG. And he’s keen to stay clear of his uncle.’
‘Do you reckon you could keep quiet about this too?’
‘Quiet about what?’
‘Prim won’t talk if you explain why she shouldn’t,’ Jeremiah says. ‘You’ve got to give her context.’
Nate gives little away, but at the end of ten minutes it’s clear that neither Nate or the police are interested in PMSG or anything to do with horses or livestock. They think Farquhar could be linked to something far more serious.
‘Is he importing other pharmaceuticals?’
Jeremiah shrugs. ‘We think—’
‘That’ll do,’ Nate interrupts.
My hands are frozen; I rub them together ‘Why don’t you arrest him?’
‘This matter crosses international borders,’ Nate says. ‘It’s complex and, like Jeremiah said, it’s sensitive.’
‘Someone could see us here.’
Jeremiah drapes an arm around my shoulders again, squeezing lightly but pushing me off balance. ‘Just stopped by for a friendly chat, hey, Prim?’
‘It’s the kind of annoying thing you’d do, but why would Nate be with you?’
‘No one has a problem with me if they haven’t done anything wrong,’ Nate says. ‘I’m one of the good guys.’
‘Pretending this chat never happened, that won’t be an issue, will it?’ Jerimiah says.
‘You don’t … want people to know you’re interested in Farquhar, or that he might have imported something?’
‘You got it,’ Nate says. ‘And on that, does anybody else, besides the first assistant secretary, know you’ve got an interest in pharmaceuticals?’
‘No.’
‘Are you friendly with anyone associated with Farquhar?’ Nate asks. ‘Through work? Socially?’
‘Do you know about Pascal? He disappeared when I accused Farquhar. Is he involved too?’
Nate taps the side of his nose. ‘No comment.’
‘She’ll keep quiet, mate,’ Jeremiah says. ‘Are we all done here?’
Nate pockets his notebook. ‘Real sorry to keep you out in the cold, Prim.’
I’ve climbed onto my seat when Nate, leaving Jeremiah behind, puts his foot on the sidestep of my four-wheel drive. ‘Just wanted to confirm.’ Another charming smile. ‘Besides Pascal, do you know anyone associated with Farquhar? Anyone I should keep an eye on?’
‘I believe you have … someone in mind.’
‘You Cartwrights weren’t born yesterday, were you?’
‘Who, Nate?’
‘Douglas Farquhar and Blake Sinclair go back a couple of years. You’ve got your horses at the Coach House, right? You work with Sinclair at the zoo. What do you think of him?’
I don’t think of him, I think about him. Way too much. ‘Why don’t you talk to him yourself?’
‘You trust him?’
He’s smart and honest. He’s had a lot of girlfriends, but he doesn’t do one-night stands. He doesn’t do one-night stands with me. It would be easier not to trust him, but …
‘He … wouldn’t have anything to do with criminal activity or criminals. He’s nothing like Farquhar.’
Nate’s cheeks puff up and he blows out a breath. ‘Thanks for keeping this to yourself.’