I tore out of the petrol station and sped along the bitumen, my tyres squealing, the telephone poles flashing by, while Vern gripped the passenger seat with a white-knuckled hand. I darted a look in my rear-view mirror. No speeding cars behind, just the hit man standing on the servo’s concrete pad, arms folded, watching.
Fifteen minutes and a lot of darty glances later, I figured it was safe to pull into a roadside rest stop. I phoned Paula and gave her an update. ‘His name’s Troy Forrester.’ I read out the phone number Gav had handed me.
‘Good work, Cass. I’ll pass it on to Homicide.’
I put down my phone, caught my breath and glanced over at Vern. He was slumped in the passenger seat, clutching his chest. His face had a nasty sheen. A pending-heart-attack kind of sheen.
‘You right there, Vern?’
He nodded.
‘Got chest pains? Dizzy?’
‘Nah. Just feel like shit. Prob’ly a reaction to me world falling apart. What’s this bloke want with Jo? What do any of them want with her?’
Boofa wriggled in through the gap between the seats, clambered into Vern’s lap and licked his hand.
‘I don’t know, Vern.’ I paused. ‘Listen, I have to get back. But Paula’s on the case.’
‘Hardly. You heard what she said.’ His voice was wobbly. ‘Busy on the Ice Team. Anyone can see that finding Joanne’s not a police priority. And if they do manage to find her, they’ll just lock her up. Jo’s counting on us, I tell you. We gotta find her, before anyone else does.’
All very well, but where to look?
‘The hit man mentioned a name.’ I spent a moment trying to remember it. ‘Andy Devlin. Could he be the rat dropper?’
‘Dunno.’
‘She didn’t mention him?’
Vern shook his head.
‘Vern, what happened in Mildura, at Jo’s old job? And why did she move to Sheep Dip?’
He shrugged.
‘I can’t believe you know so little about someone you consider to be the love of your life. Don’t you know anything about Joanne’s past? One single thing?’
‘Come on. It’s early days in the relationship. You don’t ask the woman a million pointless questions. Especially when she’s going through a fragile phase. So she quit her job and pissed off. So what? She needs space, not an interrogation.’
‘What do you mean, she quit? Bron told me they terminated her employment.’
A grunt.
‘You are telling me everything you know, Vern Casey?’
‘Course.’
‘What about her family? Friends? Maybe they have some idea where she is.’
‘You mean her brother?’
‘Brother? For God’s sake, you could have mentioned him thirty abandoned farmhouses ago.’
‘Don’t reckon she’d’ve headed to him.’
‘Why not?’
‘They don’t get on.’
‘Well, it’s a start. Name? Address?’
‘Shane Smith.’
‘Where’s he live?’ I wasn’t phoning every Shane Smith in Australia.
‘Brisbane, I think she said.’
Well, there couldn’t be that many Shane Smiths in Brisbane, surely.
Two hundred and seventeen S. Smiths in Brisbane and it was unclear how many of them were called Shane. I settled into a long evening on the phone. I’ll admit I was finding it hard to let this go. A bloke once told me people shouldn’t underestimate my tenacity, which I’m pretty sure he meant as a compliment. It’s hard to be entirely certain, since the next thing he did was try to kill me.
Eighty-three S. Smiths and twelve Shanes later, I hit paydirt.
‘Hi, I’m Cass, a friend of Joanne Smith’s. Any chance you know where she is?’ I said.
‘What do you want with Jo?’
Aha. ‘We…were going to have a cuppa together in Sheep Dip a few days ago. But she’s disappeared. I’m a bit worried about her.’
‘That makes two of us.’
He sounded concerned enough. Why had Vern said Jo wouldn’t contact him?
‘Has Jo been in touch?’ I said.
‘I’ve already told the police all this. And that private detective. Anyway, I can’t help you. I haven’t heard from Jo in months.’
‘Any idea where she might have gone? A friend? Kids? An ex? Your parents?’
‘Our parents are dead.’ His voice was flat.
I doodled on my pad. Realised I’d drawn a bloodied knife. I scribbled it out quickly. ‘Is there anyone that would want to…give Joanne grief, do you think?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Just trying to think of every possibility.’ I paused. ‘Anyone in Mildura, for example?’
‘That Bentley woman. Good bloody thing she’s dead.’
‘Right. They…didn’t get along?’
‘Jo didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘No, no, course not. Why didn’t they get on?’
‘Well, I didn’t know the woman personally. But Jo had everything going for her here. She moved to Mildura to take that job—Vivian fucking Bentley talked her into it—and, well, look what happened.’
‘What did happen?’
‘Bentley sacked her. Jo wouldn’t tell me any more than that.’
‘What did Joanne do there exactly?’
‘Environmental consultant. Joanne’s always been into all that nature guff.’
‘So…seems a bit of a change to leave and run a bookshop. Or was it always a dream of hers?’
He snorted. ‘Yeah, I’m sure she’d always dreamed of setting up a useless shop in the middle of a desperate salt plain.’
I tried not to bristle. ‘I wouldn’t go assuming the entire area is desperate. I’ve heard quite good things about this town called…what was it? Rusty Bore.’ Focus, Cass. ‘Did Jo mention anything about phone calls?’
‘Phone calls?’
‘Someone’s been bothering her. Nuisance calls.’
‘No.’ A pause. ‘Jesus, why didn’t she tell me?’
‘Does the name Andy Devlin mean anything to you?’
He snorted. ‘Arsehole.’
‘Could he be the one who’s been making the calls?’
‘Anything’s possible with him.’
‘Why would he bother Joanne?’
‘Look, you’ll have to ask at Mallee Environmental. She worked with him there. All I know is Jo tried to lend him a hand, but he’s not the type to recognise help when it’s offered. Anyway, I have to go. Sorry I can’t be more use.’
‘No, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you. Just one last thing—I ran into someone else who’s looking for Jo. Tall bloke, tattoo on his neck, name of Troy. Has he been in touch?’
‘Who’s he?’ Shane’s voice was sharp.
I considered the pros and cons of telling him his sister had hired a hit man. The cons triumphed.
‘Not sure. Think he might have said he’s…a publishing consultant?’
‘Never heard of him.’ He hung up.