Wallace came and stood alongside me as one of the cars came racing back; one of its occupants picked a helmet out of the mud and the vehicle hurtled off in the wrong direction.
‘Hand-picked most of the useless bastards,’ he said with an exasperated glare. ‘They didn’t even have him properly cuffed!’
He turned his attention towards me. ‘What’s your story, Jesse? Heard you were back in Victoria. How do you know this guy? You must have only been in the district for a few days. Did you meet him last time you were down?’
‘No, just recently.’
He sniffed. ‘How recently?’
I shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Oh – quite.’
He peered at me. ‘How’d you get to know him?’
I fumbled around, looking for an explanation.
‘We met over a turtle.’
He blinked.
‘A turtle?’ he echoed. ‘I can’t even remember the last time I saw a turtle. Where was this turtle? At the zoo? A Chinese restaurant?’
‘Just out there,’ I said, nodding at the road out front. ‘It was on the road. I almost ran it over. Nash made a determined effort to save it.’
‘I see. Very Buddhist of him. And you thought you’d show your appreciation by fucking him. When was this?’
‘Er, what’s the time now?’
His brow arced as the pieces came together. ‘Jesus.’ An expression of bewilderment – rare in the Wallace world – moved through his features.
‘We just got chatting,’ I added in a pathetic attempt at explanation. ‘He gave me a cup of tea and a piece of cake. One thing led to another.’
‘I can imagine. I mean, a cup of tea and a piece of cake. What else could you do?’ He shook his head. ‘This is a side of you I haven’t seen before. Anyway, you’d better get your story sorted. It’ll come out at the trial.’
I swallowed. ‘You sure there’ll be a trial?’
‘I’m not sure the sun’s coming up tomorrow. But I’d rather be in my own shoes than Nash Rankin’s.’
So that was his name. Nash Rankin. It suited him. Wallace turned away.
‘I’m outta here,’ he said. ‘Places to go, manhunt to organise. Fuck-up to explain.’
He went into the garage and spoke to the forensic examiners, who were taking a particular interest in Nash’s vehicle. A long fellow in short overalls and blue shoes rummaged under the tonneau cover and emerged with a chainsaw.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ I called to Wallace from the porch.
‘Feed the fucking dog! In fact, keep it. And get out of the house. The techies’ll be starting in there next.’
He climbed into a car and roared off into the night. I stood there for a minute or two, brooding. Then the cold bit into my exposed skin and drove me back inside. I looked around the room, wondering what my next move should be. I closed the fire gate, put away the food, replaced a few items that had been knocked over in the ruckus.
One of them was the photo from the mantelpiece.
I took another look at it, then, acting on an impulse I didn’t understand, slipped it into my pocket.
I whistled Flinders, who fell in beside me. By the time we went outside, the rain had returned. I climbed aboard the car. The dog jumped up and sat on the seat beside me, did some serious reeking. The examiners were still at it in the garage. One of them adjusted his hood and walked towards the house.
I set out for Satellite, the sky pelting angry black missiles at the windscreen.
Half an hour later I was sitting in the car in front of my house, frowning. The power was still out. I gave my head an irritated shake. Unbelievable. Power supply down here was worse than it was back at Kulara, the Territory town I’d come from.
I dashed up the path and fumbled with the lock. The dog, accustomed to the opulent warmth of Nash’s house, sniffed at the shack disdainfully, but followed me in and sat next to the cold stove. Any port in a storm. I gave him some bread and milk, which he ate begrudgingly, then he looked up at me, big brown eyes pleading.
‘Sorry, feller, that’s it. We’ll find you something meaty in the morning. There’s a rat in the roof if you’re interested.’
I climbed into my pyjamas then into the swag.
I lay there for a minute or two, rubbing my body, trying to generate some warmth. After a while things settled down and I stared at the roof.
The move to Victoria was going well.
On the plus side, I’d had the best (well, only) fuck I’d had for a year or two, Wallace interruptus notwithstanding.
On the minus side – just about everything else. The sex had turned out to be with a crazy killer who was presumably just looking for inside information. As well as that, I’d been battered and bashed by coppers and rocks, I’d been half-drowned, snap frozen and smothered in mud. I’d been landed with a smelly hound.
And, worst of all, I’d made a fool of myself in a manner that would doubtless reach the ears of every police officer in the district. Hell, in the state. Great way to start a new job.
Things could be worse, I countered. At least I had a roof over my head.
A drop of iced water splash-landed on my nose.
I reached for my torch and looked up. The ceiling leak was spreading. There were half a dozen more that I could see.
Bugger it. I was past caring. I pulled the canvas cover over my head and closed my eyes.