Crossings Read online

  She shrugged. “He didn’t say. Let me know how it goes with Gerry – I have to get going. Dave’s probably making a mess in the kitchen without me.”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  “Yes, he is.” Steph gave her a peck on the cheek. “Be careful – I’m taking the splitter home so find yourself a good axe, will you?”

  She had to laugh. “I’ll think about it.”

  Lisa walked Steph to her car and waved her off from the front step. Before she could head back indoors, the white shape of the Wildlife Centre ute pulled into her driveway. Robert hopped out. “Morning.”

  “Hi, Robert.”

  He snapped gloves on as he crossed the lawn. “He is old.”

  “I know. Must have really pushed the limits.”

  “Don’t get angry, but you know this is another job we might have given to the shire.” He held up his hands. “I don’t mind, but I’m just saying.”

  “I know – but they send enough our way, I’m just saving them a phone call.” She grinned. “And you must be getting used to me by now, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said with a smile. “Well, let’s load the old fella up.”

  Lisa helped Robert lift the kangaroo into the ute. She stroked the fur a moment, then stepped back. Robert had paused, resting his forearms on the tray. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Why did he come into town?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe I’ll mention it to Pumps.” No need to point the finger at Ben just yet – at least not with Robert. Probably better to keep him out of it.

  Robert found his keys. “He’ll be disappointed if this is his roo.”

  “True. But he’ll get over it.”

  Once Robert left, she grabbed her bag from the house before locking up and heading to her own car – a red and silver ‘87 Commodore. It wasn’t much cleaner than the ute and it was getting old too – the rubber of the steering wheel had long since started crumbling away after decades of harsh summers, but it started every time.

  She drove over to the police station with the window down. The building was a squat, square thing with a blue stripe for a roof, without an air-conditioner it would have been a hot box of trapped air. Easy to imagine it sweating rivets.

  The squad car was parked out front. She pulled in behind it and headed up the path. Gerry exited before she reached the door, hat in hand, wiping crumbs from his blue shirt. Muscles strained beneath the light blue fabric and she smiled. Why didn’t he just buy the next size up? Gerry the Gym-Junkie.

  “Hi Lisa, how are you? How’s your dad?”

  “Actually, I’m a bit worried.” She glanced at the car; Karen must have had the 4-wheel drive. “Are you on your way out?”

  “Just following-up with the Brown boy.” He rubbed his cheek, clean-shaven. “Rang through another complaint about dead sheep – two this time. What’s wrong?”

  “A couple of things, actually. Ben’s back.”

  His expression darkened. “Has he been to see you?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t let him in. He stormed off.”

  “Look, we can do the paperwork for an intervention order right now –”

  “It’s okay, he’d just ignore it, but if you could go visit him maybe? I think Ben’s at his parents’ place.”

  “Want me to send him packing again?”

  “No, just let him know you’re watching him.”

  He grinned, and she got a glimpse of the boy within the man. “It’d be my pleasure.”

  “And one more thing. I don’t know if it’s related.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I found a pile of animal entrails on my front step the other day. Heard of anything like that around town?”

  He shook his head, a frown forming. “No. Do you think Ben’s behind it?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll see how he reacts when I mention it.”

  “Thanks, Gerry.”

  “No problem. Look after yourself.”

  She gave an assurance as she climbed back into the Holden, letting Gerry head off first. Would it make a difference? With Ben, who knew. There’d been a time when he listened. In the beginning. They’d plan for the future. Go house-hunting and make an afternoon of it, eating take-away in the car. Things were actually fun. Even something simple like seeing a movie together and laughing about it on the way out of the cinema.

  He put a stop to that the first time he hit her.

  Lisa headed for the pub where it lurked on a hill, overlooking the glittering river. Beautiful as it was, it was not exactly the perfect place for drunk people to stumble home from. She turned into the gravel car park. Even safer than the Tobe River flowing behind the pub were the concrete steps leading up to its verandah. How many customers had she seen fall down them in just the last year? One poor bastard, Freddie the Butcher, lost a tooth. His grin was hilarious now, but nothing was going to change – Bruce, the owner, didn’t see the point.

  “They keep coming back, Lisa, why bother?”

  Quiet voices sifted through the frosted yellow glass in the door. She pushed it open to find Bruce and his chef, Matthew, discussing the evening menu. A thin man with midnight-black hair, Bruce’s elbows jutted from his white shirt – she’d seen him knock half a dozen clean glasses from a tray with those elbows.

  “Sorry I’m a bit late.” She dumped her bag on the bar.

  Bruce smiled. “No problems.”

  “Might start in the back.” The pub had a few rooms for tourists, not that they were rented out much. Most people went further out bush to stay in cabins, or closer to the coast. Lidelson had a reputation as a great place to stop for lunch, but few people extended it to overnight. The rooms would make an easy start after a rough night.

  “Sounds good,” Bruce said.

  Matthew nodded to her. “You had a visitor yesterday.”

  “What?”

  His round face shifted into a grimace. “Real arrogant prick. Bill? No, Ben. He asked Bruce if you still worked here and didn’t like it when you weren’t in.”

  God-damn it. “Yeah, he’s my ex. He can get kinda angry though, so leave him alone if he comes back.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  “He’s got more than one,” she said, grabbing her bag and heading through to the back. In the hall closet she wrestled the vacuum cleaner from its nest of handles and dragged it into the first bedroom – still number ‘4’ since Bruce hadn’t bothered to change it after gutting the first three rooms to make space for the pool tables.

  She rammed the plug into the power point. Ben was going to be a problem. He had shit for brains if he thought he could come home and win her back. Maybe Gerry would be able to give him the hint, but the old Ben was stubborn. Was the new Ben any different? Not fucking likely. There was no new Ben. She knelt and shoved the vacuum’s head beneath the bed. Each time it hit the skirting board the ‘clack’ gave her a scrap of satisfaction. If only it was his head.

  By the time she’d done the floors, changed the sheets and given the bathroom a once over, sweat had begun to slide down her back. In the next room she put the air-con on while she worked and the rhythm of the job melted the morning away. By lunch she’d already moved on to her next client – Jacinta Ascot, who’d thankfully remembered to leave the key in her letterbox this time.

  Jacinta’s house was messy but not dirty. Kids’ toys, newspapers, a TV guide spilling out like a red tongue from a papery spider, and clothes draped across chairs and beds; nothing that Lisa couldn’t fix up in short order. She mopped the kitchen tiles then vacuumed to finish, pausing in the study. Peter, Jacinta’s husband, had a stuffed fox in his study. It stood snarling at the computer desk – so he’d have his back to it while he worked.

  Why did he want such a thing?

  She tapped the power button with her toe and took his jack
et from the back of the computer chair, draping it over the fox. “Have a rest, buddy.” His frozen expression of rage – which Lisa always imagined was directed at Peter – must have been tiring. What a pose to be stuck with for eternity...or until she came again next Wednesday and covered him up for a few minutes.

  Once Lisa finished, and had replaced the jacket, she packed up the vacuum cleaner and paused in the kitchen. What if... She opened the pantry and flicked the light. There – salt and pepper. She took a pinch of salt and returned to the study and sprinkled it over the fox. “Watch over him.”

  Chapter 5.

  No visits from Ben overnight and a cold breakfast instead of eggs the next morning. She’d dreamt of Pete’s fox stealing chickens from one of the farms out of town and woke with another frown and a crick in her neck.

  She flicked on the radio – scratchings for race five. “Are you getting these, Dad?” She wondered as she placed a tea bag in her cup then rubbed at her neck while it cooled. She’d have to check on him before work. There wouldn’t be much time later, not while she was on call with Robert. She swiped her phone screen and hit the weather app. Thirty-five. Hot one. Should probably water the garden before it got bad. Imagine the minuscule screams the agapanthus would make if they were left to fry without a decent drink.

  Lisa slipped her thongs on and slapped down the back step. At the coiled hose she stopped to gape at the yard.

  Two kangaroos lay beneath the empty clothesline.

  “What the hell?” She ran over and knelt, the grass scratching at her bare knees. The absolute stillness of death radiated from the bodies. Lying beside each other, their limbs and tails appeared arranged. Two more eastern greys, both male, though neither were old.

  But one was missing its forepaws.

  No other visible wounds on the bodies. No fur loss, no discolouration of the eyes, no discharge from the nose. She peeled open one of their mouths. No blood in the teeth either. No obvious signs of disease – not that she could be sure.

  “What’s happening?” She looked around, as if someone could tell her.

  How had they died? Why cut off the paws? Who killed them? And, just as importantly, why here? Was it really Ben? She didn’t have any other suspects.

  Unless it was a joke – a really shitty, sick joke.

  And would Ben really do something like that? Years ago, it would have been too much effort for him. He used to hunt but she agreed with Steph, psychological torture wasn’t his thing. He preferred to use his knuckles.

  Lisa ran back inside, washed her hands then grabbed her phone to call the centre.

  “Lidelson Wildlife Rescue, Sally speaking.”

  “Sal, it’s Lisa – I need a pick up.”

  “Lisa, hi. I didn’t think you were on until later.”

  “I’m at home, actually.”

  “Yeah, heard about that – Robert told me yesterday. You don’t have another one do you?”

  “Two.”

  “Jesus, what’s going on over there?”

  “I wish I knew,” she said.

  “Well, give the next one to the council, will you? They’ll start to feel left out,” Sally said.

  “I’ll try.”

  “All right then. Don’t let them go anywhere.”

  Lisa snorted as she went to the kitchen table and emptied some salt into her palm. Last rites again. How often she’d had to perform them lately.

  Sally soon arrived, backing the ute down the driveway and climbing out with a shake of her head. She tugged off her wildlife centre jacket. Fading tattoos crawled up her arms – one was a skull wrapped in a rose. “It’s already too hot,” she said.

  Lisa nodded as she led Sally to the bodies. “Look at the paws on that one. Any ideas?”

  Sally exhaled, examining each kangaroo. “Not another mark on them. It doesn’t make much sense. Roos don’t exactly look for backyards to die in.”

  “Exactly. And now three of them here.” She frowned. “It’s getting weird.”

  “Have you talked to your neighbours?”

  “Not yet.”

  “See what they say, I guess.” Sally pulled on a pair of gloves taken from her belt. “Well, let’s load them up. And give me a call if you figure this out – I might actually talk to the shire about it after I take them by Anthony’s. Someone might be baiting them.”

  “Good idea.”

  Lisa helped load the roos into the tray then sent Sally off to the vet. Maybe Anthony would find something.

  Next door, Mr Graeme was out and on the other side Mrs Anderson hadn’t seen a thing.

  “Sorry dear, nothing like that.” She removed her glasses and gave them a wipe with the hem of her floral dress. “But I’ll be looking from now on, you can count on me.”

  “Thank you.” Lisa went back inside and switched her thongs for socks and shoes, despite the heat, and headed for Ronald Street, Dad and its rows of Banksia. Green now, they’d be red come autumn – his favourite season.

  She pulled up and squeaked over the verandah, the wind chimes silent, and slipped inside. He was pacing the lounge room in dress shoes, slacks and shirt, suit jacket over his arm. He looked up when she opened the door, smiling as he spread his arms.

  “This is a surprise.”

  She hugged him. The familiar scent of English Leather; he’d obviously shaved earlier. “Hi, Dad. Where are you off to?”

  “Been out already, actually. I went to the post office. Had to send a letter to your Aunt Olivia. She’s got that operation coming up, remember?”

  Good, only the post office. Thank God he no longer drove. “I remember. Hip replacement.” She’d have to call Olivia and warn her – the operation was years ago. “So what else have you got planned?”

  “Just a quiet one. They’re playing Lawrence of Arabia on TV later.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “How’s work? With the animals, I mean. I’m sure cleaning is just as fun as it always was.”

  She laughed. “It’s definitely more stimulating.”

  He squeezed her hand. “So, why don’t you do something about it? Go back to school. You’ve got the brains. You’d be a wonderful vet.”

  “I can’t afford it, Dad.”

  “Find a way, love.”

  “Maybe. If I can save enough by the end of the year.” She shrugged. “Can I get a drink?”

  “Help yourself.” He sat, bending to untie his shoes. “And think about it,” he called.

  “I am.”

  In the kitchen she took a glass from a cupboard – the brown, fake-wood grain veneer was curling up a little at the corner – and held it under the water. Maybe now was the time to ask about getting help; be it medication or...something else. Aside from the letter, he was very much in the present, even if she’d been having the same discussion about becoming a vet since before his slide.

  She had to bring it up at the right time. Her grip tightened on the glass. Maybe ‘right times’ were going to become rare before too long?

  Footsteps squeaked outside and a knock followed.

  “Mr Thomas? Are you home?”

  Wait, that voice –

  “Just a minute.” Dad groaned as he pulled himself up from the couch. She waved to him from the kitchen, keeping out of sight of the front window where it sliced its way down the wall beside the door.

  She put a finger against her lips. “Dad, I don’t want to talk to this guy, all right?”

  He frowned. “Do you know him?”

  “He’s an ex.”

  “Which one?”

  “Doesn’t matter – can you get rid of him?”

  He patted her hand. “Don’t worry.”

  She bit her lip as he shuffled to the front door. What if Ben didn’t believe him? What if he turned violent? She inched a kitchen drawer open.

 
“Hello?”

  “Mr Thomas?”

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  Ben’s voice grew confused. “It’s me, Ben. I used to date your daughter. I saw her car here.”

  “Sorry, lad. She’s not in.”

  Lisa lifted the mallet, not just a wooden one, but an old, heavy steel beast with triangular peaks used for beating meat.

  “Oh. So that’s not her car?”

  “It’s her car but she’s using my truck today.” Her father’s voice hardened. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Ben Drummond. Can you tell her I called round, Mr Thomas?”

  “I can.” A pause. “Need something else?”

  She peered around the edge of the wall, using the hall plant for a screen. Ben stood in the doorway, obscured by her father’s arm, which barred entry to the old house. He was the same: blond hair cut close, stubble, confident – a nice smile too. Bastard. But a pink scar ran down his cheek – that was new. Who’d he pick a fight with for that one?

  “No, could you just tell her that I’m staying with my parents. I haven’t got her new number.”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you, Mr Thomas.”

  Ben left and Dad closed the door. He beamed at her. “How’s that?”

  Chapter 6.

  Sunday morning revealed an overcast sky but, blessedly, no fresh kangaroo corpses. She had time to kill so she drove out to Pumps’ farm to show him the picture of the roo. Halfway there she slowed as a log truck pulled out from a side road up ahead, momentarily blocking both lanes. She waved to the driver, who lifted a forefinger from the steering wheel as he passed.

  Pumps met her by the same stretch of fencing on the edge of his yard. Light slipped between the curtains of the farmhouse and smoke smeared the sky above the chimney. Another man was making his goodbyes, climbing into a car as he did so. It looked like Frank, a neighbouring farmer. She controlled a shiver when he passed with a nod, wrinkling her nose at the stink of exhaust – or was it at Frank? The man was an amateur taxidermist. A cruel hobby.

  Pumps shook his head when he saw the phone screen.