The next morning Ellie and Patrick, with Sam in tow, went downtown for a celebration latte and were stopped every few metres by enthusiastic locals. The overflow of delight, curiosity for even the smallest details and the congratulations to anyone who’d been involved in
the search and rescue consumed Storm Harbour.
Patrick had taken a punt and upped the print run of the Chronicle, and the printer had worked through the night to have copies ready by mid-morning. Locals and now, it seemed, a growing stream of visitors, all wanted a souvenir copy. The photos on the front page, of Ben trudging out of the forest with little Peter clinging to him like a baby koala, the tearful, grateful mother clutching Ben’s hand, the generous Sikh volunteers and their food feast, and a drone shot of the weary searchers and rescue teams combined to tell an emotional story. Also, running over to page three was the parallel story of the other ‘lucky’ Horsham rescue and the tale of the Cooper-Duff children, with the historical photos Jon had found on Trove alongside the article.
Once they’d settled at the Riverside Café and given their coffee orders, Sam settling comfortably in the sun at their feet, Patrick smiled at Ellie.
‘So, did you celebrate with Ben at the pub till the wee hours? I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Actually, I only stayed for a while. I was exhausted. It was a huge day, but it turned out to be a happy one, didn’t it? Now, look at this, Poppy.’ Ellie took the piece of paper she’d found on her windscreen from her phone cover and handed it to Patrick.
He peered at it then looked up. ‘Where’d you find
this?’
‘It was under my windscreen wiper when I came out of the pub last night. It might be from Sally’s contact, her source in council. I’m not sure about that, of course.’
‘Are you and Sally still collaborating?’ asked Patrick.
‘We’re trying to. Although I have a feeling Sally’s not being completely forthcoming, and I haven’t had much to give her,’ said Ellie. ‘I’m keen to make contact with this person. See what they have to say.’
‘Well, yes, we should definitely find out what they have to offer. Then we’ll need to work out if their information is legit, whether it can be backed up. And we’d have to ask how they obtained it and so on,’ advised Patrick. ‘It might be useful but we’d need to check it out carefully.’
‘Noted,’ said Ellie lightly, though Patrick’s advice made her nervous.
As if he were reading her thoughts, Patrick said, ‘We are insured against defamation, but even so, we have to be cautious. It only takes one rat to make a spurious claim and then you have to defend it, and imputations are a nightmare to prove. And it all costs. A claim against the paper would send our insurance sky-high. That’s why I won’t let us publish anything until we’ve done our research and can verify all the details.’
‘That’s wise,’ Ellie said, taking a sip of her coffee, which the waiter had just brought over.
‘Now, I had a call first thing this morning from David Ward, an old mate who owns The Horsham Times,’ Patrick said, leaning back in his chair. ‘It was good to make contact again. David’s son and daughter are now running the revamped paper. So encouraging to see independent papers doing well.’
Ellie smiled at her grandfather. ‘Yes, it’s terrific. Look how people value the Chronicle’s coverage of Peter’s rescue.’
‘Thanks, love.’ Patrick laughed but looked a little embarrassed by the compliment. ‘Anyway, David told me a bit of background on young Peter’s family. Seems the Jensens are doing it tough; they’re hard workers but struggle to make ends meet. The camping trip was their big holiday for the year, and, well . . . David has hatched a plan to do a fundraiser for young Peter’s future education.’
Ellie nodded enthusiastically. ‘Great idea.’
‘Certainly is. He’s thinking of a community fun run and fundraising day. They want Storm Harbour’s hero Ben to be there, to give out prizes.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Ellie. ‘Does Ben know yet?’
‘David said he’d ring him later today to ask him.’
‘Ben will be modest and downplay his role, but perhaps Sally will make sure he goes,’ said Ellie. ‘In fact, why don’t you do a profile on Ben?’
‘Good idea, but why don’t you?’ countered Patrick with a grin. ‘You went to school with him, if only briefly. The piece you’re writing on Kathryn O’Neill seems to be coming together well. So I know you can do it.’
Ellie was thoughtful. ‘A piece on Ben would be a good way to follow up on all that’s happened. Everyone is asking about him. I’ll give it a go, if he’s willing.’
Patrick looked up as a man came and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Great paper today, Patrick! Bloody wonderful outcome.’ He nodded at Ellie and moved on.
‘You know, Ellie,’ said Patrick thoughtfully, ‘when you interview Ben, you might find out why seems so different to the rest of the O’Neill family.’
‘Mmm, you’re right. I will certainly ask him.’ Ellie finished her coffee. ‘You should relax today and enjoy the sunshine here for a while, Poppy. I might take Sam for a walk.’ She blew him a kiss and went to the counter to pay for their coffees.
As she headed down the street with Sam, Ellie rang Sally, who thought the story on Ben was a great idea.
‘If he gets funny about it, I’ll give him a push,’ said Sally. ‘He’s very modest and doesn’t think he’s done anything special.’
Ellie also mentioned the invitation for Ben to go to Horsham for the fundraiser, explaining, ‘Mr Ward is going to ring him later today.’
‘Terrific, I’ll encourage him to go.’
‘Have you heard anything more from your source at the council?’ Ellie asked.
There was no reply and Ellie started to think the line had dropped out. Finally, Sally said, ‘I can’t say anything, Ell, so please don’t ask.’
‘Oh, Sally, are you okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, but my boss has got involved and all I can say is that if I report anything more about the development rumours, it could cost me my job.’
‘That’s terrible –’
‘Listen, I have to go,’ Sally said, cutting her off. ‘I’ll talk to Ben about the interview and the fundraiser. Bye.’
Ellie stood staring at her phone, amazed at this latest development. Reading between the lines, it seemed clear that Sally was being silenced. What happened to freedom of the press? she wondered. And what did Sally mean about her boss getting ‘involved’? She’d talk to Patrick, but there was nothing more she could do about it now, so she decided to tackle Ben about the interview while everyone was on a high over the rescue. She wandered into the caravan park, looking for him, but he wasn’t at his campsite. Instead she went to ask Roly if he’d seen Ben, and found the two of them sitting outside Roly’s caravan. They waved her over.
‘We have muffins, courtesy of the bakery. A token of their esteem for the hero here,’ Roly said, smiling and patting Sam when the dog ran over to him.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Ben. ‘I’m not used to all this attention. It feels weird.’
‘You’ll be forever known as “the fellow who found the lost kid in the forest”. So get used to it, my friend,’ said Roly.
‘That’s true, Ben,’ said Ellie. ‘People are curious to know more about you.’
Ben stared at her in surprise. ‘Yeah? Really? Why?’
‘Because you were the one who found Peter when the search parties all missed him. In fact, I’d like to interview you for the paper. At first my grandfather had planned to talk to you about the rescue, but we’ve decided it would be great to go further. Explain to everyone who Benjamin O’Neill is . . . talk about your art, growing up here, your very special grandmother . . . whatever you want to share,’ said Ellie.
‘Damned good idea, Benjamin,’ Roly said. ‘Ellie knows you; you can count on her to write it sensitively. Not many people I’d bare my soul to, but I reckon Ellie and Patrick would be the ones to trust.’
‘Wasn’t thinking of baring my soul to anyone, actually,’ said Ben. ‘Why would I?’
Ellie smiled. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But you’re a local boy, people are proud of you. You’re one of them. I’ll do it in a way that satisfies their curiosity,’ she said.
Ben looked at her and gave a slow smile. ‘Funny, we only knew each other briefly at school and we went off to do our own things. Never really thought we’d see each other again.’
‘And here we are,’ Ellie said. ‘Please think about it.’
‘Think I’ll have another muffin, for starters,’ said Ben, breaking off a morsel for Sam.
‘We’ll walk it off on the long way home, Sam,’ said Ellie as the dog swallowed the bit of muffin and looked hopeful for more. ‘Thanks, Ben, see you two later.’
As she walked away, Ellie hoped he’d agree.
She took a short cut along a back street of recently renovated older cottages with freshly painted picket fences and new landscaping. She was deep in thought, mulling over how she’d approach Ben’s story if he agreed to be interviewed, when Sam started barking and growling. A dog in a front garden suddenly lunged at its gate.
Ellie jumped back, dragging Sam away from the snarling, snapping dog as it threw itself at the fence.
‘Take no notice, Sam. Let’s cross over to the other side of the road.’
After she’d stepped up onto the opposite footpath, Ellie glanced back at the angry dog, its hackles raised and teeth bared, and she shuddered. It was the same dog that had attacked Sam before . . . Susan’s dog.
She looked at the pretty cottage with its drawn curtains and manicured garden, thinking that Susan should at least have a Beware of the dog sign on the gate.
‘C’mon, Sam,’ she said, gently tugging on his lead. ‘We know where we’re not wanted.’
*
Early that evening Ben called and agreed to sit down for a bit of a chat the following afternoon. Ellie didn’t know if Sally had persuaded him to do the interview or he’d decided on his own, but whatever the case, she was thrilled he was willing to go ahead with it. She began work on the questions straight away.
The next day they met at the caravan park and sat at a wooden table at the edge of the river in the quiet afternoon. The wind had died down and the river was lazy and glassy before the turn of the tide.
‘What are your first memories of growing up in Storm Harbour?’ asked Ellie once she’d started the record app on her phone.
‘Good ones. Working in the garden at Craigmore with my grandmother, swimming in the river, fishing. I had my own canoe which I preferred to Dad’s big boat. Feeding a bottle to a baby lamb. Sitting close to my mother as she read to me. Occasionally going to town for treats with Grandy, especially when she took me to visit Aunt Heather. She wasn’t my real aunt, of course; she’s an artist friend of Grandy’s. I loved watching her paint. She always let me mess around with paints and brushes and gave me objects to draw like jugs and flower arrangements and things. I learned a lot from her without knowing it.
‘I thought Grandy was so special. She was very devoted to her Botanic Gardens. My father worked in the family business with my grandfather, Boyd, but I loved it when my grandparents looked after us while our parents went on their annual cruise.’
‘How come you stayed here to go to school?’ asked Ellie, knowing that Ben’s brother and sister had been sent to the best schools in Melbourne as boarders.
‘Well, I tried boarding school, but I hated being away from home, so they eventually agreed I could go to high school here in Storm Harbour. After that, Dad wanted me to do an Ag course at uni to help out at Craigmore in the family business. I was keen to work on the family property in Queensland but my brother talked Dad out of that. Ronan, being the oldest son, was expected to take over the business,’ Ben said, then added, ‘Maybe don’t print that bit. Anyway, if I couldn’t learn how to run the Queensland property, I didn’t see any point in studying Ag.’
Sensing that Ben wouldn’t be drawn much further about this, Ellie stopped herself from asking him for details about his relationship with Ronan. After all, this was meant to be an article to celebrate the local hero, not an investigation into the workings of the O’Neill family, she thought.
‘What were you interested in? What was your passion?’ Ellie asked, wondering for a minute how she would answer that question herself if someone asked her.
‘I really wanted to do art. That surprised Mum and Dad, my father in particular, and we had a bit of a battle over it. But he finally agreed to let me do what I wanted, and paid for me to go to art school in Melbourne.’
‘And your sister, what did she do?’
‘She was never keen on farming so when she left school she studied Accounting and got a job with a friend of our father’s in Melbourne.’
Ellie nodded. ‘So what did you do after art school?’
‘I travelled, did odd jobs, painted when I could. Then after a few years I went up to Queensland after all. Straight after they got married, Ronan and Cynthia were going on a flash honeymoon to Europe, so my father asked me to manage the place while they were away. Perhaps he thought it was a way to make up for not letting me be more involved in the property before then.’ Ben smiled. ‘I discovered that I’m not as fond of cattle as I am of sheep, but I love being in the open spaces.’
‘And what about your art? Did you keep up with it while you were there?’
‘One of the old fencers used to sit around and whittle wood every night. When he saw that I was interested in what he was doing, he taught me how to use a chainsaw to carve and showed me which wood to use. There was also an Indigenous stockman who taught me about trees and what was special about them. How to “read” them, as he explained it. Did you know some trees are sacred?’ he asked Ellie, then went on. ‘He showed me the way his ancestors made bark canoes and carved tools and even containers to carry food. I was totally hooked and that led me into the wood carving.’
‘And you mentioned that you paint, too, when you can?’ asked Ellie.
Ben gave a shrug. ‘I’ve experimented a bit; I like doing charcoal sketches. I always keep a little art book and charcoal and pencils with me to sketch outdoors. Sometimes I set up an easel and paint with oils or do a watercolour. But the wood carving was what caught people’s attention, and I’ve been able to make a living from it. Not exactly steady, reliable work, though.’ He grinned. ‘But enough to survive on, and I get to work outside.’
‘So you feel at home in the bush. Did that help you when you were looking for Peter?’ said Ellie.
‘Yes. I feel confident in the bush. I felt like a bit of
a goose slipping down the gully, but it turned out to be a lucky fall as that’s when I heard Peter crying.’
‘I had a funny experience when I fell while we were all searching for him,’ Ellie said. ‘Like the trees were protecting me. All of a sudden I wasn’t scared, I felt safe.’
Ben gave a small smile. ‘Yep. Trees communicate, they breathe, we need them. Do you know, I can tell from their wood if they’ve been stressed or had a good life? Mind you, I don’t cut them down. I only use a tree after it’s fallen,’ he added.
‘Is that what you’re going to do now?’ asked Ellie. ‘Continue with the wood carvings?’
‘I’ll always do it when the right wood turns up. The other thing I’m interested in is creative natural buildings. I might try to do a course or some sort of training in building eco-friendly structures. I suppose it depends where I end up. Sometimes I still wish Dad had made me manager of the cattle station but, as I said, Ronan didn’t think I was up to it . . .’ His voice trailed off.
Ellie looked closely at Ben, and decided to have a go. ‘I know this is personal, but can I ask you, how do you get on with your brother? I saw you arguing with each other in the forest,’ she said carefully.
Ben glanced at her and then away. ‘Well, off the record, and only between us, I’m a bit pissed off at Ronan.’
Ellie paused the recording on her phone and nodded for Ben to keep talking.
‘He said I couldn’t go to see my gran in the hospital. Such bullshit.’
‘That’s what you and Ronan were talking about up in the national park?’ Ellie said.
‘Yeah, among other things. I wanted to let Dad know that Grandy was in hospital, but Ronan said that he didn’t want to interrupt Dad’s cruise.’
‘That was probably reasonable, in hindsight, as it turns out it wasn’t too serious. And it would be hard for him to get back home from a cruise ship,’ Ellie said.
Ben shrugged. ‘You might be right, but Ronan just doesn’t like me getting involved in anything. He’s always resented how well I get on with Grandy and done whatever he can to get in the way of that. Now that Susan’s on the scene, it’s the worst it’s ever been. She makes it so difficult to see Grandy and I can’t work out why. I’ve spoken to Dad about it but he said he didn’t want to make waves.’
Ellie nodded and was about to say something about Susan, but when she noticed that he was patting Sam, she kept quiet. She didn’t want to upset Ben even more by telling him about Susan’s dog’s vicious attack.
‘As I’m asking personal questions, can I ask about you and Sally?’ she said, changing the subject.
Ben grinned and shrugged. ‘It’s okay. I’m not sure what’ll happen there. It kind of depends on what Sally wants. She’s got her eye on a stellar career in the city, so who knows where we’ll end up? Besides, I still have an offer of a big carving job in Queensland, the one I was telling you about the other day.’
Ellie leaned forward. ‘My grandfather’s mate who runs a newspaper in Horsham wants to do a community fundraising day for the Jensens to help Peter with his education,’ she said. ‘Has he rung you yet?’
‘Yes, yesterday. Mr Ward, wasn’t it? It sounds like a great idea,’ said Ben. ‘They want me to be guest of honour.’ He laughed. ‘And Sally’s talked me into it.’
‘You’ll be treated like royalty,’ Ellie said, laughing with him.
‘Gee, I hope not!’ He smiled. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Oh, for my story! I was forgetting, it was just nice talking,’ said Ellie with a chuckle, pressing ‘record’ again on her phone. ‘Okay, last question, where would you like to settle down one day?’
Ben looked away, and Ellie noticed that he was staring at the river. ‘It’s funny, I never thought I was the settling down type. I came to do the carving for the fish co-op, then I got together with Sally, so maybe I’ll stick around for a bit after Grandy’s birthday. Both of them are pretty special women.’ Ben gave a small smile. ‘Anyway, we’ll see.’
*
When Ellie got back to the Chronicle office Maggie was just finishing a call and Ellie could hear raised voices in Patrick’s office.
‘Visitors?’ She nodded towards the cubicle door.
Maggie said quietly, ‘Susan McLean and friend.’
‘Friend?’
‘Some stooge councillor,’ said Maggie in a whisper. ‘Not my sort.’
Ellie leaned against Maggie’s desk and asked in a low voice, ‘What do you mean? Oh – don’t tell me they’re trying to get Patrick in on their talk-up-Storm-Harbour good news business scheme? He won’t like that.’
‘What’s it all about?’
Ellie shook her head. ‘Susan tried to talk me into getting involved when I was at the café the other day. I think it’s their way of, let’s say, encouraging the paper to lay off criticising the council. They want Poppy to only run “positive” stories. Which of course he will, but only when they turn up and are worth telling. I reckon what they really want are targeted stories that are just fluff pieces to promote some of the town’s businesses, especially the top-end ones.’
Maggie sighed. ‘I can’t see Patrick going along with that. And how would that help the whole town, anyway? People would see through stories like those.’
The voices in the little office rose, and Ellie and Maggie could tell Patrick was getting cranky.
‘I think I’ll intervene,’ Ellie said to Maggie.
She tapped at the door and went straight in. ‘Hi . . . Oh, hello, Susan, may I join you, Poppy?’
Ellie extended her hand to a sallow-faced man standing beside Susan.
‘This is Councillor Lowe,’ said Susan.
Grasping his limp hand, Ellie immediately disliked him. His disdainful look, small, mean eyes and the arrogant expression on his pinched face set her teeth on edge.
‘I’m Ellie Conlan. Patrick’s granddaughter.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ he replied.
‘They’re here to ask us about doing stories that make the council look good,’ said Patrick bluntly.
‘Now, Patrick, that’s not quite true. Surely we’re all on the same team here,’ said Susan with a tight smile. ‘We all want to promote the town, and make sure everyone knows this is a feel-good place with great opportunities.’
‘We have an impressive online presentation to attract families and businesspeople here to make this a place to visit, to retire to, to invest in. We want people to see that this is the perfect town to move to, somewhere they can raise a young family and start a business,’ said the councillor briskly.
Patrick continued to look unimpressed. ‘Before I’d encourage people to move here, Councillor, there are a few pieces of infrastructure that need fixing. The coast road is the pits – literally – and the internet’s dodgy. Maybe council should cool it with some of their more expensive projects that direct money away from what the community wants and needs,’ he said impatiently.
‘What do you see as a priority for the town?’ Ellie asked the councillor, trying to be conciliatory.
Lowe straightened slightly and launched in, as if reciting a rehearsed spiel. ‘Every community has to grow and flourish, be viable, and in order to expand we need to promote the good news about our town . . .’ But then, seeing Patrick roll his eyes, Lowe changed tack, saying briskly, ‘We want to attract people here, yes. But the right kind of people.’
Patrick snorted. ‘And who might the “right kind of people” be, Councillor? Cut to the chase. What’s this really about? Why should the paper do a tap dance about people and businesses, many of whom are already doing rather nicely, thank you very much? And how much money are you asking people to put up to be featured in this campaign?’
‘Mr Addison, Patrick, the council has great respect for the Chronicle, but you do have a tendency to point out negative issues and that is not always helpful –’ began Councillor Lowe.
‘Rubbish! Look at the front page; a little lost boy is rescued, how good is that?’ snapped Patrick.
Ellie could tell he was fast losing patience now. ‘Just what would you like the Chronicle to do?’ she asked as Patrick shot a frown her way.
‘Support the council,’ said Councillor Lowe, sounding annoyed. ‘It’s bad enough that our mayor finds it difficult to support her own team –’
Susan quickly interjected. ‘It’s your decision what goes in the Chronicle, of course, but it is a newspaper for the community. The council would like to be able to count on your support for its new ideas and projects,’ she said.
‘Excuse me, Susan, I’m a little confused,’ said Ellie. ‘I thought you worked for the O’Neills. Why are you lobbying for the council?’
Susan frowned. ‘That’s not what I’m doing at all. The O’Neill family are stalwarts of this town!’
Ellie thought this an odd answer to her question, but she let it go.
‘So what’s it going to cost these businesses to support your idea?’ asked Patrick. ‘Is everyone paying the same? Are the small businesspeople being asked to throw in the same amount as the big guys? And what do they get for it?’
‘It’s promotion for everyone!’ cried Lowe. ‘The town. And council will match this campaign, dollar for dollar. That includes your newspaper. So we hope you will commit to selling the good news too. Forget attacking the council, as it could work against you and the paper.’
Patrick’s voice rose as he glared at Lowe. ‘Are you threatening me? This feels very much like a case of bullying, obfuscating, shuffling cards. You’d get a lot more from the town if you were upfront about things.’
Lowe’s face reddened. ‘I’ve had it. You’re stubborn and no help to this town –’
‘Enough!’ bellowed Patrick. ‘I run this paper. Council runs the town. Let’s stick to what we do, whether or not we agree on the ways in which we do it. I don’t try to run the council, so don’t you try to tell me how to run my newspaper,’ he thundered.
Susan scrambled to her feet. ‘Well, thank you for meeting us, even if we don’t always see eye to eye.’ She glared at Councillor Lowe. ‘I think it’s time to go. We’re wasting everyone’s time.’
She turned on her heel and walked to the door, followed by the scowling councillor.
Ellie signalled to her grandfather to calm down and stay put, then followed them out to the main office.
Susan was yanking at the Chronicle’s front door as Ellie caught up with them.
‘While you’re here, Councillor Lowe, I wonder if you know anything about a proposed development on the site of the caravan park?’ Ellie asked.
‘We came here to discuss a potential campaign, not to indulge your idle questions,’ said Susan. She looked furious. ‘And what business is it of yours, anyway? You don’t even live in Storm Harbour.’
‘I work for the Chronicle, and what happens in this town is certainly the Chronicle’s business,’ Ellie replied coldly, before turning back to Councillor Lowe. ‘So if you do have any comment to make, Councillor, we’ll be sure to include it in the paper’s published investigation into the situation.’
Councillor Lowe was stony-faced. ‘As Susan said,
we came here to discuss what could have been a
mutually beneficial collaboration. That conversation is evidently over.’
This time it was Ellie who lost her temper. ‘Well next time, tell us what you’re really after,’ she said, unable to mask the angry tone in her voice.
‘Won’t be a next time. You’ve had your chance.’ Lowe shepherded a glaring Susan out the door, slamming it behind him.
‘What was all that about?’ asked a bemused Maggie.
‘A whole lot of hot air and none of it good,’ said Patrick, walking out of his office. ‘The way Lowe was threatening makes me think we might lose some council advertising. Not good for our bottom line.’
‘It was as we thought, Maggie. They’re trying to persuade us to write only good news stories about the council and the town,’ explained Ellie. ‘They don’t want us criticising them.’
‘The mayor supports us so we must be doing something bloody right,’ muttered Patrick, grabbing his fedora. ‘I’m going over to see Roly. I promised I’d join him for a game of chess.’
Ellie sat at her desk in the back office and played the recording of her interview with Ben. She had enough to make an outline of the story, she decided. She’d call him with any follow-up questions that came to mind as she fleshed out the article. You’re still learning this business, she reminded herself. And, she had to admit, she was enjoying the process.
Two hours later, she had a draft outline, and several more questions for Ben. She also made a note to ask him if it was all right if Jon took some photos of his wood carvings to go with the story, as well as including those of him at the rescue of Peter Jensen.
Ellie knew there was another story to be told – about Ben’s difficult relationship with Ronan – but he obviously didn’t want to talk about it. The little he had said, he’d asked her to keep off the record. She’d respect this request, of course, although it didn’t stop her from wondering what Ben’s life must have been like, growing up in the shadow of his confident and perhaps bullying older brother.
Reading over the draft again, Ellie thought Ben came across as a modest, quiet local boy hiding his light under a bushel. Storm Harbour was lucky to have someone with his talents. The fact that he was part of the most influential family in town was of passing interest.
Feeling quite pleased with her draft, she emailed it to Patrick for his ‘blue pencil treatment’. Then with a wave to Maggie, Ellie made her way outside to head home. She was getting into her car when her phone rang. She smiled when she saw who the caller was.
‘Hi, Mike. How’re you?’
‘I’m okay. I have interesting news.’
‘Oh, do tell, I can hear the excitement in your voice.’
‘Your nemesis, Sophia, has been fired!’
‘No way!’ Ellie sat in the car and pulled the door closed. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m not smiling! Please spill the beans!’
‘I’m an outsider so I don’t know all the details. But it was hot gossip at the bar last night. Evidently the whole thing totally unravelled. Sophia put up a good front, but she also put her team off, your old team, that is. The company let her drive the bus and it crashed.’
‘Sounds like it fell apart at a bad time. They should be ready to launch by now,’ said Ellie.
‘I have the feeling she was in over her head. See, you made it all look too easy!’
‘Oh, Mike. Well, I’m not surprised. She was so full of herself. Thought she knew it all. Doesn’t make me feel any better about losing my job, though.’
‘I think you have every right to feel smug.’
Ellie laughed. ‘Maybe. But I am sorry for the team that had to work with her.’
‘From what I heard, they didn’t race to her rescue,’ Mike said.
‘Knowing Sophia, she wouldn’t have listened to them even if they’d tried.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Mike, suddenly sounding distracted. ‘Listen, gotta go. Couldn’t wait to let you know, though. I’ll pass on anything else I hear.’
‘Thanks, Mike.’ Ellie hung up feeling like she was a million miles away from inner-city Melbourne. As she went to put her phone in her bag, she saw the note tucked inside the cover. No time like the present, she thought. She pulled it out and dialled the number written on it.
‘Hello?’ It was a man’s voice.
‘Hi. This is Ellie Conlan. You left a note on my windscreen.’
‘Ah, yes. When your car was outside the hotel. Can we meet?’ The man had a pleasant voice.
‘Can you tell me what you want, what this is about exactly?’
‘Not over the phone. I’m no conspiracy theorist but I don’t trust my phone completely. I’m close to town. You know the rocky path that goes out to the lighthouse island? There’s a seat and a bench at the seawall. Can you meet me there, early tomorrow morning? Say six o’clock?’
‘I guess so.’ Ellie knew the little park from her walks with Sam.
‘I don’t want to sound paranoid, but it’s best we’re not seen together so I don’t want to meet in town. Your paper should know what’s going on in council. See you there.’ He hung up.
The man seemed reasonable and Ellie was sure she’d be safe, but she thought it would be sensible to ask someone to keep an eye on her from a distance when she met him. The caravan park wasn’t far away, so she decided she’d ask Steve or Cassie.
As Ellie was about to turn on the ignition, a van pulled into the carspot next her. She realised it was Jon behind the wheel. She took the key out again and climbed out of the car to speak to him.
‘Hey, how’s your investigation going? Finding anything of any interest?’ asked Ellie as Jon transferred to his wheelchair and came towards her.
‘Could be,’ he said. ‘Are you just arriving or leaving?’
‘I was just going out, but I’ll come in and hear your news.’
Inside, Jon wheeled his chair to his desk and Ellie sat opposite him.
‘I’ve just been poking around, talking to people. I went down to see the gang at the caravan park,’ he began.
‘Has anyone heard anything?’
‘No one that I spoke to. But I saw a guy there. He seemed to be working, making some notes, which seemed like an odd thing to do by the river, especially as he was wearing a suit. Well, no tie, but it was an expensive suit.’
‘So probably not a local,’ said Ellie. ‘Did you talk to him?’
‘I did. He wasn’t very friendly. Or forthcoming. Definitely an out-of-towner. Said he was “making some notes about the place”. Just getting some ideas. He slammed his notebook shut but not before I noticed he’d drawn some diagrams and plans.’
‘So he’s no artist,’ said Ellie.
‘He said he might be coming up here for a couple of weeks, so he asked where he should stay. He gave me his card. He’s from Melbourne. Seems he’s a surveyor.’
‘Did he say what he was doing or who he was working for?’ asked Ellie.
‘The more I asked, the more tight-lipped he was. Oh, and I forgot to mention that before meeting this bloke, I went to the pub for a counter lunch and started talking to a couple of tradies. They were saying there should be a lot of work coming up soon. When I asked them about it, they clammed up,’ Jon said. ‘Anyway, I took a few photos at the caravan park because the light was so good and I noticed that when the guy was leaving, he put something in his car boot. I thought it was a tripod, and that he’d been taking photos too, but now when I think about it, it could have been a theodolite, you know, that surveyors use.’
Ellie nodded. ‘I don’t know what, but there’s something happening,’ she said.
‘If anyone knows anything, then they’re not saying. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. I tried to ask council if a permit to develop any land along the river had been lodged but they wouldn’t give me that sort of information. Just said to keep checking the council website.’
‘We’ll definitely do that, and more,’ said Ellie. She thought about asking Jon to keep an eye on the meeting but knew that he usually went swimming at dawn with a few mates and she didn’t want to upset his routine. Instead, she said goodbye to him, got back into her car, and pulled out her phone to call Cassie.
After talking to Cassie for a minute or so, Ellie told her about the meeting.
‘Six am at the lighthouse. This guy has some information for the paper. I think it might be a leak from council. I just wondered if you or Steve would be able to hang about and keep an eye on me, in case I’m grabbed and thrown in a car and driven away . . .?’
‘Oh, Ellie, stop. That’s not funny!’ exclaimed Cassie. ‘Of course. I’ll ask Steve to go and watch out for you. He’ll love pretending he’s James Bond,’ she said, and Ellie could hear the smile in her voice.
‘It’s not a trenchcoat job! Perhaps he could take his rod and pretend he’s going fishing on the other side of the island.’
‘Absolutely. He’ll be there. Might catch something for breakfast. Do you want him to snap a photo or something?’
‘Definitely not. Now, it’s at the end of the little park, just after you cross over to the island,’ said Ellie.
‘Where that table and bench is, I know the place. He’ll be there, Ellie. It all sounds very cloak and dagger.’
‘Not really. Just council stuff!’
They both laughed.
‘Well, I hope whoever it is has something useful,’ said Cassie. ‘We’re still on tenterhooks about the rumours that council or developers are planning something for the caravan park.’
‘I’ll let you know any news, if I can,’ said Ellie.
No sooner had she hung up than her phone rang again.
‘Hi, Meredith, how are you?’
‘Hello, Ellie,’ said Meredith. ‘I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a few minutes to talk?’
‘Of course,’ said Ellie, concerned at hearing the stressed tone in the mayor’s voice. ‘What’s up?’
‘I think things might be coming to a head. Councillor Lowe is being very cocky, pushy, arrogant . . .’
‘More so than usual?’ commented Ellie. ‘I only met him today but he was all of those things.’
‘Yes, if that’s possible. Smug is more his usual demeanour, so I know he’s up to something. He pushes things through for mates and he’s devious enough about it that I haven’t been able to catch him out.’ She paused then asked, ‘How did you come to meet him today?’
‘My grandfather had a visit from Councillor Lowe and Susan McLean,’ said Ellie and she proceeded to fill in the mayor on all the details.
‘I’m not sure if they’re stupid enough to believe such a spurious effort at heavying the Chronicle would work,’ Meredith said. ‘To think they can control what goes in the paper! “Good news only.” What crap. ’Scuse me. There’s no good news coming out of council at the moment. It’s disappointing that the decent people in there are so easily intimidated by the likes of Lowe.’
‘But why would they pressure us to lay off criticising them in the paper?’ asked Ellie. ‘Surely that would be enough to make us want to find out what’s going on.’
‘As I see it, their method is to dilute the scrutiny. Divert attention from something they want to slip through unnoticed. Try to make you investigate one thing while they work on another.’
‘Surely that can’t happen?’ said Ellie, then quickly added, ‘I suppose that’s naive of me, given there’ve been so many instances all over the country of corruption in some councils in the past.’
‘Sadly, that’s true,’ Meredith said, then went on, ‘Ellie, I’m ringing because I’m under attack again. Trolling on the council social media now and nasty notes in my letterbox. It’s unnerving. I was wondering if you’ve deleted any more posts like the one you told me about before?’
‘Just one or two,’ Ellie said. ‘Almost exactly the same as the first one I told you about. They seem to have stopped, though. Maybe whoever wrote them realised that I’ll just delete them immediately, so they’ve started contacting you directly instead. What do the notes say? Is someone trying to frighten you off something? Shut you up?’
‘Yes, someone is definitely trying to intimidate me, but I’m confused about their motives. Whatever they want, it’s obviously in their interests to unsettle me and make me think that they can get to me. As the mayor I have to expect criticism and there’s very little I can do about it,’ said Meredith.
‘This sounds like more than criticism,’ said Ellie.
‘Exactly, and I feel it’s starting to escalate,’ Meredith
said.
‘Listen, Meredith, tomorrow I’m meeting someone.’ She paused, not sure she should say too much, even to Meredith. After all, the man was cautious about being seen talking to Ellie. ‘Um, it might be the person who gave Sally her info for the radio broadcast. Did you know that Sally has been heavied by her boss? My guess is he didn’t like her saying anything against the council,’ Ellie said. ‘She more or less said she’s been told not to pursue the development story anymore.’
‘I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised. The station is privately owned, so you know what that can mean – the integrity of its objectivity and reportage depends entirely on the mindset of the owners. So it’s all too easy for freedom of the press to go out the window. It’s particularly murky in this case as that station gets council funding as a “community” resource,’ Meredith said.
‘Which the Chronicle doesn’t get,’ said Ellie. ‘Our funding comes from advertising, and Poppy told me once that even if businesses have the money, he won’t always let them advertise in the paper. If he thinks the business is doing the wrong thing by their workers or for the environment, for instance.’
Meredith laughed. ‘We need more people with your grandfather’s commitment and integrity.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘So are you going to share what this person tells you?’
‘Meredith, you know a journalist can’t always disclose their source,’ Ellie said lightly, trying to sound more relaxed than she felt.
‘Of course, I just want to help. The pressure is starting to get to me.’
‘I’m sorry about that, Meredith.’
‘Keep doing what you’re doing. The town so needs Patrick and that paper. And you. You’ve revved the old boy up no end.’ She paused. ‘And how are you doing, Ellie?’
Ellie knew the gentle enquiry referred to her meltdown and panic attack when Ronan joined her lunch with Dave.
‘I’m doing well, thank you. Really well. I’m feeling stronger about things. It’s been good being here.’
‘You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘No, no plans just yet.’
‘Ellie, you’ve become part of the town, a local.’
‘I feel that way too. So I’m here for the moment.’
‘Good on you, Ellie. That’s the spirit,’ Meredith said warmly. ‘Well, I just hope this information proves useful for you and the paper. Keep me updated if you can.’
‘Thank you, Meredith. You hang in there too.’
Over dinner, Ellie told Patrick she was meeting the mysterious source at six the next morning.
‘That’s early. I guess there’ll be a few early morning bods about,’ he said.
‘I called Cassie. Steve is going to go fishing around near where we’re meeting so he will be close enough to shout to if needed,’ said Ellie.
‘Well, if you’re sure. Plus it’s close enough to people if you shout bloody blue murder,’ said Patrick.
‘I think this is someone who wants to see us, me, rather than the other way around,’ said Ellie. ‘Why do whistleblowers and people leak information, Poppy?’
‘Mostly it’s not to be mischievous but to set off alarm bells,’ said Patrick. ‘They wouldn’t take the risk otherwise.’
*
Early the next morning, Ellie drove to town along the quiet back street where Susan lived with her angry dog. As she cruised past Susan’s cottage and drove on further, Ellie glanced at a car parked beneath the overhang of one of the magnificent old Norfolk Island pines lining the street and saw a woman sitting in the driver’s seat, motionless, clutching the steering wheel and staring at Susan’s front door. It seemed odd to Ellie, especially so early in the day. She hoped the woman was okay. She looked at her from her rear-view mirror and she seemed fine, so Ellie kept going.
Thankfully the wind had died down by the time Ellie parked her car. She walked over the causeway to the island and the lighthouse at its southern rim, facing the ocean. The lighthouse was unstaffed now, but there was a picnic table near some trees and it was a popular place for walkers and daytrippers. Steve was already there, setting out his fishing rods, preparing to wander off and fish.
Ellie sat down and put her phone on the table alongside a notebook and pen. Her contact probably wouldn’t want to be recorded so she might need to make notes. She looked at Steve, who happened to glance around at the same time, and they exchanged a quick smile. She was so grateful he was there. This all felt very odd.
Ellie opened her phone to check her messages and suddenly there was movement as a figure sat opposite her. She jumped and looked up.
The man was a pleasant-looking fellow in his late forties, maybe early fifties.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Russ.’
She shook his hand; he had a firm grip. ‘I’m Ellie.’
‘Thanks for meeting me.’
‘Thank you for wanting to help the community . . . if that is why you’re here,’ Ellie said, smiling.
‘Yes. I work at the council. I’m staff, a backroom boy, really. But I often deal with sensitive information.’
‘I think you’re being modest. First off, do you mind if I record our conversation?’
‘I guessed you’d ask that so I’ve given it some thought,’ Russ said. ‘Perhaps at this stage you can just take some notes.’ He reached over and tapped her notebook. ‘This information is particularly sensitive, you understand.’
‘Of course,’ said Ellie, picking up her pen. ‘Okay, let’s get started. Why are you doing this?’
‘Same reason you’re here meeting me. There’s something happening at council that doesn’t smell right. More so than usual, I mean. Normally when things don’t run smoothly, or there’s a hiccup, or a bit of fudging over documents and figures and such, it gets tidied away, covered up or buried, without any drama in the community.’
‘Because no one knows?’
‘Correct. But this is more than fudging the budget figures or pushing through a mate’s development.’
‘Why, what’s happening?’
He hesitated. ‘It’s more a matter of what’s not happening, and the results could be extremely serious for the majority of the town.’
‘Is this to do with the caravan park?’
‘Yes.’
‘So there is a plan to develop the park?’ asked Ellie. ‘For what? I heard there were rumours of townhouses.’
‘Possibly. There’s no doubt certain people will be ready to jump in with plans and a proposal should the lease not be renewed.’
Ellie looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. Are you able to fill me in? There’re some conflicting assumptions. The current managers of the caravan park have a lease with council, which leases the land from the O’Neills, is that right?’ asked Ellie slowly.
When Russ nodded she went on, ‘As I understand it, the land always belonged to Boyd O’Neill so presumably his wife owns it now. He allowed her to use a section of it, which she turned into the Botanic Gardens for the use of the town. She told me they had originally planned to develop the whole parcel as public gardens but didn’t get around to doing the other section.’
Ellie stopped talking and looked at Russ, who nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said and paused, so Ellie kept talking.
‘As people were discovering the area back in the fifties and sixties and camping there, Boyd was okay with that. Until council stepped in and wanted him to care for it, put in a few amenities. But Boyd didn’t want to be bothered with all that according to Kathryn, so he leased the caravan park site back to the council.’
‘Correct. You’re well informed. But that parcel on which the caravan park sits is only on a fifty-year lease. The Botanic Gardens are on a ninety-nine-year lease.’
‘Ah,’ said Ellie. ‘Mrs O’Neill didn’t mention that. I wonder if she even knows. Though she came across as being very sharp, still fully across these matters.’
‘Well, that’s possible. I deal with leases and documents and development permits. I notify owners when leases are coming up for renewal and such,’ said Russ.
‘So how could this land be targeted for development unless the O’Neills take back ownership and undertake the development themselves, or put it up for sale? Which, from my understanding, it’s unlikely Seamus and Kathryn would allow. Ultimately, they control what happens to it, don’t they?’ said Ellie.
‘For the moment. But the fifty-year lease runs out very soon. If a new lease is not negotiated in time, the council will own the land. And that means the council will be able to do whatever they want with it. For the past few months I’ve been waiting to hear about the lease from Seamus O’Neill and haven’t received an answer.’
‘I guess you didn’t know that Mr O’Neill is away on a cruise,’ said Ellie. ‘Can’t it wait till he comes back?’
‘I just have a hunch that something’s not quite right. Seamus O’Neill is usually very prompt in all his dealings and correspondence with the council. It’s strange that we haven’t heard from him at all.’
‘Hang on, did you say you sent the first letter months ago?’ Ellie asked, thinking back.
‘That’s right. How long has Mr O’Neill been away?’
‘I don’t know, maybe a few weeks, but I don’t think it’s been any longer than that.’
Russ shook his head. ‘Well, someone must have received them.’
‘And when does the lease expire, exactly?’ Ellie asked.
‘I don’t want to provide too many details,’ Russ said, looking alarmed. ‘I can’t have anything traced back to me. I don’t want to lose my job!’
‘Of course,’ Ellie said soothingly, worried for a moment that she’d lost him. ‘The Chronicle always protects its sources.’
Russ took a few deep breaths. When Ellie thought he seemed calmer, she asked, ‘So, why have you contacted me?’
‘I was hoping the paper might do some investigating.’
‘I’ll try to help,’ said Ellie. ‘Russ, I’m not sure if you want to answer this, but have you given any information to the local radio station?’
‘Me? No, that wasn’t me. The reason I thought I’d talk to you people is I had similar information and I reckon it’s my duty to share it.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘I can’t answer too many questions. There’s a limit to what I can say – you understand?’
‘Of course,’ Ellie said, then quickly moved on. ‘We know there has been a Melbourne surveyor looking around the caravan park.’
Russ frowned. ‘They must be feeling confident.’ He stared up at the lighthouse and finally said, ‘I would hate to see the riverside and the caravan park disappear under buildings. It’s such a pretty setting. If the community knew for certain of any such plans there’d be an uproar. Which is why I’m hoping you can help.’
Ellie nodded. ‘Thank you for alerting us,’ she said.
‘Please keep me out of this. As you can imagine, I’d be fired immediately if anyone discovered I’d alerted you to these details.’
Russ stood, thanked her and walked quickly away, passing the first of the early morning walkers and Steve, reeling in his catch.
*
Patrick was munching on a piece of toast as Ellie came into the kitchen.
‘How’d it go? Useful?’
Ellie nodded. ‘Very interesting. The contact seemed genuine. But it’s raised more questions than answers, though.’ Quickly she filled Patrick in, and he scratched his head.
‘Hmm, all very perplexing. Surely the O’Neills wouldn’t be willing to let that land go. But if that is the case, then it’s no wonder the developer vultures are hovering. Something very odd is definitely going on in council. I can’t imagine that Seamus or Kathryn would let the lease on that land expire and the land go into council hands permanently.’
‘When I asked Kathryn about the rumours she dismissed them out of hand,’ said Ellie. ‘And Seamus seems to be uncontactable. What do you think, Poppy? Should we do a story on this now?’
‘I know it’s frustrating, Ellie, but we still don’t have anything concrete to publish. It’s all very interesting, but neither we nor the O’Neills want to have bands of lawyers coming down on us like a ton of bricks because of what could end up being just some confusion over paperwork in council.’
‘So we say nothing?’
‘That’s right. At least for the time being. Let’s keep digging and listening first.’
Ellie nodded. ‘I promised Russ I would keep our meeting confidential.’
‘We’ll keep this just between ourselves and do our own investigations as well,’ Patrick said. ‘Until we come up with something definite, we can’t print a word, unfortunately.’
It was frustrating, but Ellie could see the sense in Patrick’s words. She made herself a coffee and went into the old sewing room, now her study and workplace.
Ellie checked the paper’s website even though she knew Maggie would too, as the lovely responses to the rescue of Peter Jensen were still coming in. But then she froze. She blinked, leaning forward as the harsh and cruel words emphasised in capitals leaped out at her. She was being attacked.
BITCH, LIAR, CHEAT. THAT CONLAN WOMAN CAN’T BE TRUSTED. NO ONE KNOWS THE TRUTH ABOUT HER. DON’T BE CONNED. SHE THINKS SHE’S CLEVER BUT SHE’S A BITCH TRYING TO TAKE OVER.
With tears springing to her eyes and anger almost choking her, Ellie slammed the cover of her laptop shut.
The cruel and vile attack stunned her. Who would write such a thing, and why? And so viciously? She felt vulnerable and exposed, as if her skin had been peeled back. It was so unfair. Untrue.
Swiftly she re-opened her laptop and deleted the painful words. How many people had seen the post? Ellie wanted to throw something. This was horrible. She wanted to run and hide. How could she walk through town? Who would even think such things about her?
Suddenly she thought of Meredith. No wonder the tough and strong mayor had been so upset at being trolled. The trolls were such cowards. Why didn’t they call her out in person instead of hiding behind an anonymous post on social media?
Because none of it is true, a voice answered her.
The only person Ellie could think of who would do such a thing was Sophia, to get back at Ellie for losing her job. Thank goodness Ellie’s Melbourne friends probably wouldn’t see this. Mike, and perhaps her parents, were the only ones who checked the website regularly, and the post hadn’t been up for long.
Ellie headed into the Chronicle office and the minute Maggie saw her she leaped up and wrapped her arms around her.
‘I’ve seen them, it’s awful. Take no notice,’ said Maggie comfortingly.
Ellie stopped short. ‘What do you mean by “them”? I deleted the post. Oh no, don’t tell me . . .’
‘I took them down, don’t worry.’
Jon looked over his shoulder from his desk. ‘Sorry, Ellie . . . there’s another one.’
The belittling and nasty comments kept rolling in all day. She, Jon and Maggie took turns monitoring and deleting them.
By the afternoon Ellie was convinced the only person who would do this was Sophia, but she had no proof and didn’t know what to do about it. Eventually, Maggie gently pushed her out the door. ‘Go home. We’ll monitor the page from now on and get rid of them. Whoever is doing this will get tired of it eventually.’
*
The sky was darkening as Ellie drove up to the house. She felt completely rattled; it was as if she’d been punctured by a barrage of arrows. And because they’d been monitoring the posts all day, she’d got hardly anything else done.
She opened the front door and called Sam, who came bouncing down the hall, though there was no sign of her grandfather. She let Sam out and watched as he began sniffing, then raced across the garden, his nose to the ground. Ellie stepped onto the verandah and saw him snuffling and pawing at something near the fence.
‘Sam! Leave it!’ Ellie shouted, surprising herself at the tone of her bellow. A warning instinct had kicked in. Sam had his head down and looked as if he were trying to eat something.
‘Leave it,’ screamed Ellie.
She stumbled down the steps, shoving Sam to one side as she looked at the bloody lump of meat. ‘Inside, inside now,’ she shouted, chasing the bewildered dog up the steps. As she fumbled to unlatch the door, Sam turned back down the steps and Ellie screamed at him to stop.
Sam froze, looking back at her, confused at the loud and firm command. There was a note in her voice that he obeyed instantly. Taking him gently by the collar, she put him in the house and closed the door behind them. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bag and the little shovel from beside the fireplace, then raced outside again and scooped the smelly lump of meat out of the grass and into the bag.
She washed her hands and went back to Sam, who was lying with his nose on his paws, watching her warily. She crouched down, opening his mouth to look at his gums, and sniffed his breath. His gums were pink and there were no traces of the smell of the putrid meat.
Shaking, Ellie sat back on her heels, stroking the dog.
Then she rang the vet.