22

Part of him instinctively bristled at her aggression while his brain worked furiously to figure out what the hell was going on.

What had he missed that was ‘the best’? And what about the ‘who you’re with’? Like he was an idiot.

Okay, wait, nothing had happened between them so this was about her, not him. He looked at her grim face, dark eyes burning into his. What, Jodie? He went over it again. She was hurt but lying about it, she thanked him for something he hadn’t done and she was picking a fight and telling him to leave. He looked back at the front door. The swelling on her face was the kind of injury you got from being shoved around. She’d said a husband was waiting for her. This afternoon she’d said she was single. Divorced. Had her ex turned up? And where were her friends? Had they left them to talk and it turned rough?

‘Jodie, if you’re . . .’

‘Matt, it’s over. Don’t you get it? If you had a goddamn brain, you’d figure it out.’ She dragged the last three words out as though each one was a sentence in itself. ‘You need to go. Please.’

Matt was paralysed with indecision. Should he do as she asked and leave, or stay and protect her from whoever she was frightened of? The decision was made by Jodie.

‘Get out of here, Matt,’ she yelled, backing away from him to the door.

‘Okay, okay,’ he said, hands up like stop signs. He took a couple of steps towards the edge of the deck then turned back to her. ‘Hey, Jodie. If you don’t want your husband to find out about us, make sure you pay for your damn brakes before you leave town tomorrow.’

‘You can count on it,’ she said and the urgency in her eyes softened a little before she turned around and went back inside.

Matt stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, listening for sounds from the house but it was silent. Too silent. As though she was standing right behind the door. He stomped down the stairs like she’d really cheesed him off, slammed his door, spun his tyres on the gravel as he drove off and tried to figure out what had just happened.

Whatever it was, she wanted him to play along. She’d told him to go, so he’d gone. He didn’t feel great about it but she hadn’t given him much choice.

She wanted it to look like an argument, that much he’d figured. Her eyes before she went back in the barn told him he’d been right about the lies. And when he’d thrown one right back at her, she’d caught it on the full, no hesitation. She wanted him to know she was lying. Okay, he did – but why?

He pointed his brother’s car down the hill to the road, took it slowly over the rough trail. A violent ex-husband was the obvious answer. It would also explain the wariness Jodie had about her, maybe even why she knew how to pull a punch. But why make up some bull about an affair?

Matt slowed the car further at the hump in the track. He remembered her standing there this morning, the way she’d told him she’d throw a rock at the driver’s window if he looked suspicious. It didn’t seem likely she’d take a beating from anyone. He shook his head. What was it she’d said? Not good for you, now that you’ve wound your window down. And he’d said, Then what? And she said she’d call the police.

No mobile reception out here.

There is at the bottom of the hill.

Matt sucked air in through his teeth. There was no reception at the barn. That’s why he’d driven out there this morning. But she’d just told him they’d all sat on the verandah and phoned home. It was another lie. Was she telling her ex she’d tried to call?

Okay, if her ex was still inside, she was in danger. If Matt went back, he could put her in more danger. But it didn’t have to be him. He could get someone else to go up to the barn. There were probably a couple of uniform guys still in town.

As he reached the sealed road at the bottom of the hill and turned left, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Only it wasn’t his. It was the one he’d thought was Jodie’s. Whose was it? He put it on the seat beside him, wrestled his own phone from his other pocket and hit speed dial for the pub.

‘Reg, it’s Matt.’ He slid up the cover on the other phone as he talked, pressed the ‘on’ button.

‘Yeah, mate.’

‘Are any of the uniforms still around?’

‘No, mate. Left an hour or so ago. One of the detectives was looking for you though. The short one in the fancy suit.’

Dan Carraro. Would he handle a suspected domestic thirty k’s out of town? Unlikely. He was a star detective and it was a job for a uniform. ‘Is he there?’

‘Nah. He and his offsider went for a bite at the Chinese. But he was pretty keen to talk to you. Said he needed to pick your brains about a couple of blokes.’

Matt felt anger brewing in his gut. Carraro didn’t need him to do his job. The other phone lit up and he took his eyes off the road to look at it.

‘Shit.’

‘What?’

He hung up without answering.

The phone’s screen was lit with a photo – Jodie in a three-way hug with a little boy and an older girl. The boy had both front teeth missing and the girl had the same big, dark eyes as Jodie. Her kids. Matt remembered now. She’d told him this afternoon she had two kids, a boy and a girl. I’ve got a husband and three little girls waiting for me at home. Jesus, she wasn’t lying to cover her tracks with someone inside. An ex-husband would know how many kids she had. She was lying for Matt.

The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. His breath turned hard and fast and his heart felt like it was lodged in his throat. No, Jodie. Don’t count on him. Not Matt Fuck-up Wiseman. ‘Goddamn it!’ She was asking for his help. She didn’t know his speciality was getting innocent victims killed. Dread churned in his gut. Whatever the hell was going on up there, he’d probably made it worse by turning up on the doorstep. Which made him responsible, at least in part.

He heard the gunshots in his head. Loud, abrupt reports. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t go there, Matt. Don’t think about it. Think about the barn. Think about Jodie.

She needed help. She needed a cop.

He slowed to make the turn at the intersection to Tom and Monica’s road, dialling the pub again as he did. ‘Reg, did he leave a mobile number?’

‘Got cut off before, huh?’

‘Yeah. Did he leave a number?’

‘Who?’

‘The detective.’

‘Not that I know of. I could ask Marg. She only left about ten minutes ago.’

Matt slammed a hand against the steering wheel. He could talk Carraro into going up there. Make a deal with him – give up what he knew about the locals for the John Kruger investigation in return for Carraro checking out the barn. Tonight. Now. ‘You got a number for the Chinese restaurant, Reg?’

‘Somewhere here.’ Matt could hear him shuffling through paper. ‘Last time I looked at the local business board it was here.’ He chuckled. ‘Got three numbers for plumbers, if you’re interested. Shit, that guy died two years ago.’

Matt gritted his teeth, forced himself to breathe slower. Focus on Carraro. He could handle a tight situation. He could handle the Kruger investigation, too. He didn’t need Matt’s help, for Christ’s sake. Anger flared as he thought how Carraro had badgered him at the service station. What’s Kruger’s story? he’d said. Matt frowned suddenly. Carraro had said something else. At the time, he’d been trying not to listen. What was it? He forced his mind back. What’s Kruger’s story? Then, What’s the go with the builders?

The old, familiar buzz started up in his head. More snippets of conversation jumped out at him. Jodie had said there’d been a car on the hill during the night. And she’d asked him about poachers.

‘Reg?’

‘Still looking for the number, mate.’

‘Reg, listen. Do you know who was doing the building work at John Kruger’s house?’

‘Pretty sure Warren Puller had that, put the Anderson brothers on to help with the heavy stuff. He asked . . .’

Reg was still talking as Matt hung up. He pulled over to the side of the road, yanked on the handbrake and sat very still. His hands gripped the steering wheel and his heart beat hard.

Instinct was telling him something. About the barn. About Carraro. The Andersons. He didn’t trust his instinct, he wanted to tell it to get stuffed – but Jodie’s voice rang in his ears.

Don’t you get it? If you had a goddamn brain, you’d figure it out.

So figure it out.

If Jodie was lying for his benefit, what else was she telling him?

He focused on the dark road ahead, the gum trees looming in on either side like a murky tunnel, letting his thoughts get into a familiar rhythm – listing facts, sorting and sifting them. He kept coming back to the few moments she’d done most of the talking, when she’d been ranting at him.

You can’t just turn up like this.

It’s over. We’re finished.

What about who you’re with?

Not Jodie, that was for sure.

What happened last night was great, the best.

What had happened last night?

He’d gone out to their crash site. He took two of her friends into town. He went back for Jodie and the other one. Took them to the pub. Got rid of a letch. Lent her his jacket. Saw them off in the loan car. Wait. Back up.

The letch. Kane Anderson.

His stomach tightened. Christ, would he . . . ?

Matt remembered the Old Barn back then, the Andersons’ filthy squat. It was just him and Kane there that afternoon. Seven years ago – three weeks after the teenage girl had gone missing, two weeks since the search team had left. They’d scoured the entire hill, found nothing. All they’d had was the girl seen bumming a cigarette off Kane Anderson. She was here. I know she was, Matt had roared. Kane had grinned over the forearm Matt pressed against his throat, blood from the cut lip staining his teeth red, and said, You’ll never find her. Matt had a black eye for a week but not enough to charge the bastard with murder. Knowing and proving were two different things and the detectives had let Kane go.

What about who you’re with?

In the bakery this afternoon, Rhona had said he was a cop. You’re with the police? Jodie had said afterwards. Not with the police. I’m on leave, he’d said.

Who are you with, Matt?

The cops.