With the licence number and description of the 1990 Commodore out across all states along with Ian Kinch’s photo and alias, Emmaline and her team tried to narrow down his ultimate location.
Oily had put forward the option of a city, north to Darwin, east to Brisbane, or the long haul south to Sydney; but with their names and descriptions now on the daily news cycle it was a risk. The openness of the country was considered more likely, but didn’t narrow down the options for investigation.
A break came. From a gas station north of Alice, about an hour up the Stuart Highway. The owner reported serving someone who looked a lot like Ian Kinch. Over a week ago.
Emmaline, Oily and Cooper made it out there in half an hour. It was a station that looked as if it was barely holding together, never mind barely scraping by. It consisted of two pumps that looked like relics from an old movie, a concourse where the white lines had been slowly scoured away by the sandpaper wind, and a main building that looked serviceable if unlovable.
The owner waved them inside, the air con whirring and the fridges fully stocked with everything a traveller would need.
The large man stuck out his equally large hand, his face open and friendly; a wide, beaming smile peeking from behind his dark lips. It was a smile that reminded Emmaline of her father, engaging and loving. She warmed to him immediately.
‘Mr Atijabawal?’ asked Emmaline.
‘Call me Orad,’ he said, as they convened at the counter. ‘You want anything to drink? Coke? Orange? Grog?’
Given her dry throat, it was a tempting offer, but she put her hand up to decline. The others did the same.
‘You said you thought Mr Kinch was here.’
‘Or a boy that looked a lot like him anyway,’ said Orad, in good cheer.
‘More than a week ago,’ said Cooper.
‘Second of January.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
Orad pointed to the small monitor behind the counter. ‘CCTV. Just got it in. Lot of petrol thefts around here. People coming into the shop and distracting me while another yahoo fills up their ute and leaves. Then they chuck a U-ey up the road, come back and collect their partner. The police were doing nothing about it, so I did.’
Emmaline nodded. ‘Has it helped?’
‘Only been one try in the last week.’
‘Ian Kinch?’ said Oily, with a questioning glance.
Orad shook his head. ‘Nah, mate, he paid. Another guy, sent his girl in but she clocked the CCTV, turned on her heels and left.’
He loaded up the footage. 2 January. A blurry image resembling Ian Kinch could be seen on the monitor filling a boxy Commodore at the pumps.
‘Do you see anyone in the car?’ asked Emmaline, the image dark on the screen.
‘No,’ said Cooper and Oily.
‘That’s the best shot I have,’ said Orad. ‘If it helps I didn’t see anyone in the car. But they could have been lying down in the back seat.’
Because they were injured, thought Emmaline. Or dead.
After filling the car, CCTV captured him entering the store and approaching the counter. Even in black and white the dark stain on his shirt was visible.
‘Was there blood on his shirt?’
Orad looked at the screen and nodded. ‘A bit.’
‘You didn’t ask him about it?’
‘Years of experience have told me that it’s best not to. Could have hit a roo, a camel, anything.’
The self-preservation of the outback store owner, thought Emmaline.
‘Did you see which way they went after?’
‘Not from here,’ said Orad, shaking his head. ‘Can’t see much out of these,’ he said, pointing to the dusty windows. It was like peering through a sepia-tinted lens.
Without confirmation of the ute’s onward direction she had to speculate on the options. Ian might have been headed north to Darwin but just up the road was a turnoff for Route 12 and then the 76 heading east, thought Emmaline as she watched Ian Kinch paying at the till. And grabbing something from beside it. Emmaline looked to her left. It was a display of insect repellent.
‘Did he buy one of these?’
Orad looked at the small yellow and green cans, face twisted in thought. ‘Yeah, he asked if it was good against mozzies. I told him it was so he bought five or six. Stuffed them in his pockets.’
‘Thanks,’ said Emmaline. ‘You’ve been a great help, Orad.’
She bounded out of the petrol station. She now had an idea of where Ian Kinch was headed. And what had happened to Naiyana and Dylan Maguire.
They were back in the car before she revealed the importance of the repellent. She had Cooper bring up a map of the area on a tablet.
‘We’re here,’ she said, pointing at the dot on the map. It was surrounded by a blanket of grey, one lonely line of yellow trickling up the middle. ‘Up ahead are turnoffs that head towards Queensland. Now we know both Naiyana and Dylan Maguire were born and bred in Perth and what do we not get much of in Perth?’
There was a moment’s pause.
‘Mosquitoes,’ said Oily.
Emmaline nodded. ‘Ian Kinch though is from Cairns and so knows how bad they can get. Maybe he gets bitten himself, maybe he is taking them as a precaution for Naiyana and Dylan. What it means is that’s where they were headed.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Cooper.
‘It’s what he knows. It’s where he has family.’
‘It’s also where he would expect we’d look,’ said Oily.
‘So, let’s look.’
‘We did,’ said Cooper. ‘We’ve tried his family and friends. They aren’t talking.’
‘Maybe they don’t know,’ said Emmaline. ‘He’s become proficient at staying under the radar.’