22

THE SOLE guest in the Woolburn pub’s dining room, I contemplated the cornflakes. They were the only cereal option. A girl came bursting through the swinging kitchen doors and topped up the milk jug.

‘Sorry, not much choice,’ she said. ‘We found weevils in the Weet-Bix this morning. What about some eggs after?’

She took my order and left. After close inspection, the cornflakes seemed okay. I took the bowl to a table and checked to see if my phone worked. It was unlike Brophy to take so long to respond. It appeared to be working. I ate some cereal speculating about when Brash would show up. It was a good five-hour drive, and I figured he’d be along in the afternoon. I needed to have something solid to give him.

I pulled out Joe Phelan’s phone to listen to the recording one more time. A sudden loud noise startled me, and I fumbled the phone and dropped it. As I bent to pick it up, my bag fell and spilled its contents, including the taser, on the floor. I quickly threw it in my bag and answered my still-ringing phone.

Phuong. ‘That car you said the man drove? It’s registered to a Shanelle Dawe, Ballarat address.’

I pushed my cornflakes away. ‘Stolen?’

‘Not reported as such. But I trusted your judgement and contacted Ms Dawe. She was very cooperative. Gave me a complete rundown of the car’s movement’s that night. She was with friends on Union Road, parked the car near your building, and walked down.’

‘No, she’s lying.’

‘Or maybe you were mistaken. It was dark; you were looking from a third-floor window.’

‘I saw him. Anyway, her story doesn’t make sense.’

‘It’s about a hundred metres from your place to the corner. That’s nothing. You’re wrong and you can’t admit it. It’s not his car.’

‘Okay, maybe the car isn’t in his name, but he drove it. He’s using it.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘You should take it in, compare the tyre tread, get fingerprints.’

‘Stella.’ A loud exhale. ‘Tell me what you know.’

I thought for a moment. ‘The hospital said he was tasered. Innocent people don’t get tasered by random strangers. He must have a history, a past. He’s probably dodgy.’

‘How you could know that unless you’re involved? Stella, I’m worried you’re in danger.’

I forced air into my lungs and let it out. Phuong’s friendship was a life-sustaining thing of joy for me. I owed her everything. Not like Brash, a sleazy gangster who’d probably kill me even if I somehow found Joe Phelan’s killer. If I told Phuong everything, she’d have some concerns, legal and moral, but she’d back me. Just like she had when she’d given me a hint about the hair. It was time for the truth … not today necessarily … but pretty soon. Later.

‘No danger at all,’ I said. ‘But who is this Shanelle Dawe? What does she do for a living?’

Phuong sighed. ‘I have to go.’ She ended the call.

I tapped on Joe’s phone and played Pugh’s stupid posh voice to the room.

The girl came out of the kitchen. ‘Bloody yolks broke, both of them.’

I quickly turned the recording off and took the plate. Two fried eggs cooked to a brown crisp sat on toasted white bread, garnished with parsley, on an oval plate.

‘Thanks,’ I said to her. ‘Looks delicious.’

‘What’s that tape you were playing?’ The girl asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘About a bull, isn’t it?’

I looked at her. She turned away. There was something slightly unfamiliar about her neutral expression. Nothing major. And her unusual frankness about weevils. I wondered.

‘Yes. I think he’s talking about a bull,’ I said.

‘Bids over the three hundred, he reckons.’

‘Yep.’

‘That’s a huge price. Probably near the record.’

I scraped some egg on a segment of toast and ate it. ‘Really?’

She started filling the salt shakers. ‘Season’s good. Stock prices are up. But three hundred? That’s the highest I heard of.’

I sipped some tea to wash down the eggs. The pub offered no wi-fi, and Woolburn’s network coverage was hopelessly dodgy. My phone registered a thin mark of connection. Perhaps there wasn’t much competition for coverage on a quiet Friday morning. I tapped in a search for ‘record price’ and ‘bull’ and ‘auction’. The results took a while and I sipped some more tea. And then … there it was. My young friend was right. The record holder of most expensive bull sold at auction was held by a beast with the unlikely name of Van Go Daddy.

Van Go Daddy. Vincent Van Go Daddy, to his friends.

A write-up praised his moderate frame, his muscle, and the phenotype that buyers were looking for. A more recent article said he was purchased by Roy and Leonie Kennedy from the Bostock stud in Meandarra, in the Western Downs Region of south-west Queensland. A smiling Roy and Leonie were pictured with glasses of champagne. The next article, dated two weeks ago, had an image of Leonie, her face in shadow under her battered Akubra, with the caption, I just want him back.

Leonie Kennedy, of Meandarra, is using social media to try to locate her bull. Van Go Daddy, purchased at auction last month by Ms Kennedy for a record three hundred and forty-five thousand dollars, was last seen on last Wednesday morning. The following day the bull was missing from the property. Detective Sergeant Jason Costa of the Stock and Rural Crime Investigation Squad (SARCIS) said it was unusual for such a high-profile bull to be stolen. ‘Probably a prank. He’ll turn up,’ he said. ‘Leonie’s got the Facebook crowd on it.’

‘My post was shared over five hundred times in three states,’ Ms Kennedy said. ‘If you know something, get in touch. No questions asked.’

The roar of a motor shook me out of my bull cogitation. It sounded like a Harley Davidson was revving in the dining room. A woman in a floral dress was thrusting an upright vacuum cleaner over the carpet. It appeared to have been manufactured when my late grandmother was a young woman. She registered my presence and shut the thing down.

‘Sorry, love. She didn’t tell me you were still here.’

‘No problem,’ I said, getting up.

‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘I’ll come back later.’

‘I’m finished.’ I headed for the stairs.

‘She bothering you? Likes to talk, our girl.’

‘Not at all. She’s amazing.’

If it wasn’t for her, I’d never have discovered that Van Go Daddy had been stolen. It was the breakthrough I’d been hoping for.