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The police station, like most buildings in Cooktown, hadn’t changed. The height of the palm trees lining the path was the only indication of the passing of twenty years.
The drive into town sparked memories she had spent the past two decades trying to suppress, but then there were some that made her smile. Like her first time sneaking into the RSL for a beer with friends. Swimming in the river and praying a croc wasn’t on the hunt. The first time sailing a dinghy in the bay.
But the few happy reminders weren’t enough to wipe out everything else. Shaking her head, she forced the turmoil in her stomach to still, before pushing the station door open.
A man in his late fifties waited at the front counter. His eyes warm, his smile unforced.
‘Dawn. You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘You’re a good liar Sergeant Martin.’
‘Call me Ross. You’re not a kid anymore.’
‘You were always Constable Martin. Sergeant now. When did that happen?’
‘Not long after you left town. Detective, hey?’
His eyebrows lifted.
‘Life throws this stuff at you.’
He nodded.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made Dawn turn. Standing with his back against the foyer wall, Akubra held to his chest, was a park ranger whose dark brown eyes studied her.
Sun-bleached blond and red streaks mottled his curly mop of hair and seemed out of place against his dark complexion.
‘Michael. This is Dawn Grave. Dawn, this is the ranger I told you about.’
He stepped forward, hand extended, eyes drilling hers, expression unmoving.
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Lisa’s sister?’
‘The very same.’ Dawn shook his hand firmly.
‘You ready to head out?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. Dawn watched his retreating back, turned to Sergeant Martin and shrugged.
‘I’ll be back later. I want to meet you out at the house. Something’s not quite right.’
‘See what you find out at Archer first, hey?’
Dawn nodded, then turned to leave. Michael waited by the door, holding it, foot tapping impatiently.
‘You’re in a rush for a local.’
She couldn’t help noticing Ranger Michael didn’t seem to have the usual local Indigenous casual approach to life.
‘I’ve got work to do.’
Another anomaly.
She said nothing as he let the door go after she passed through and quickly overtook her on the way to his vehicle.
A white Toyota troop carrier with a turquoise logo on the door featuring a dugong and the words Yuku Baja Muliku Ranger wrapped around it, made her stop a moment.
‘You’re not with National Parks?’
‘We contract in the homelands.’
He pressed unlock on the keys, lights flashed, and he opened the driver’s side door without another word.
Dawn suppressed all the questions running around her mind as she pulled herself up into the passenger’s side. It seemed some things were different about Cooktown after all.
‘Where exactly was the car when you found it?’
‘Parked under the trees at First Beach.’
Michael started the car and backed out, as he pushed the vehicle into first, his eyes scanned Dawn’s face.
He was expecting her to ask more questions, but her mind was racing. They’d visited Archer Point a lot as teens. Fishing, swimming, sunbathing, but as far as she knew, neither of them had been back since ...
She sighed deeply.
‘Everything okay?’ Michael watched her from the corner of his eye.
‘My sister is missing. How can everything be okay?’
‘Sorry. I meant, are you okay?’
Now he decides to make small talk.
‘I’ll tell you when I see the car.’
The Archer Point Road lived up to the warning. Her campervan would have shaken to pieces on the corrugated, rutted road. The two creek crossings, despite the usually drier time of year, were still too deep to get anything but a four-wheel drive through.
A police vehicle came into view as they turned into the First Beach parking area. A large commercial bin framed the cyclone-wire fenced entrance. Trees hung low over the area, creating shade, but making parking difficult.
A No Camping sign caught her attention.
‘Since when has camping not been permitted?’
‘Since white fellas decided to piss and shit and leave their rubbish in the bush en masse.’
‘Understandable then.’
A tall, lean constable in police blues strolled towards the vehicle as Dawn opened the door. Another wave of humidity brought instant perspiration from every pore. She noted the constable’s wet armpits and decided her deodorant was going to get a pounding on this trip.
‘Ms Grave. I’m Constable Jamison.’
‘Call me Dawn.’
She accepted his outstretched hand and shook it firmly.
‘This her car?’
She didn’t wait for an answer. The mustard-coloured Isuzu was the only vehicle in sight.
‘Ah.’ The constable followed her. ‘I don’t think you should touch anything.’
‘No! Really?’
She didn’t hide her sarcasm. Then thought better of it. Maybe the constable didn’t know she worked with the police.
‘Sorry. Is there any sign of foul play? A struggle? Was the vehicle broken into?’
The constable frowned.
‘I’m with SAPOL. Detective Sergeant Grave.’
‘Oh.’
He stood up straighter. Dawn craned her neck to maintain eye contact.
‘I only got here twenty minutes before you. I’ve called the State Emergency Services, so the SES volunteers will help us check the area. The Yuku rangers are getting a boat in the water.’
‘You think she went for a swim—out here—alone?’
Dawn circled around her sister’s vehicle, eyes scanning as she made sure not to disturb any evidence.
‘We don’t know. It’s not croc or stinger season, but there’s a local fella about three and half metres long. Lives in the next beach around, at the creek entrance.’
‘My sister has lived here all her life, Jamison. There is no way she would have gone swimming out here alone, anytime of the year. Besides, we’ve got history here. I don’t understand why she came out to this place at all.’
‘History?’
Michael’s question made her jump. She’d forgotten he was still there.
‘Long story.’
Michael waited. His dark bushy eyebrows knitted together. She waved her hand dismissively and turned her attention back to the vehicle.
‘Something sinister has happened here Constable, and it’s not a swim session gone wrong. My sister left her house in a hurry. Check her phone records. Check CCTV footage. She’s been taken from here. Believe me.’
Jamison scuffed his feet in the dirt. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Grave.’
‘Call the sergeant and stop messing with my crime scene.’
‘There’s no reception out here.’
‘Damn. I forgot.’
In truth, she hadn’t known, but it was obvious in hindsight. Last time she was out here, only a handful of people she knew even owned a mobile, and reception in Cooktown was sketchy even on the front veranda of the pub, let alone all the way out here.
If they’d owned a phone last time they were here, they wouldn’t have had to drive all the way back to town, shaken and frightened. They wouldn’t have needed to describe what they’d seen lying broken and battered on the rocks.
They wouldn’t have been prime suspects in a murder investigation, and her brother would still be alive.