Coasts of Cape York (36 page)

His unhappiness was increased when Mr Jemmerling said, “So you are on you way to retrieve one of your aircraft wrecks are you?”

Willy was aghast. He glanced at Stick and Marjorie, ready to snap at them if they answered. They looked back at him with anxious looks. When they did not reply Mr Jemmerling gave a short laugh and said, “Sorry. That wasn't a fair question. It is your secret and you must keep it.” He smiled and said, “Your ice creams are melting.”

Willy saw that Marjorie's ice cream was dripping unnoticed down her front. She squealed and shoved it hastily into her mouth. Willy and Stick both licked at theirs and Willy wracked his brains to try to think of something polite to say.

Mr Jemmerling smiled again, then glanced at his watch and said, “Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat but I must fly. I need to get this in the mail before the Post Office closes. So I will wish you all a Merry Christmas and hope we meet again.”

He sounded so obviously sincere that Willy blushed with shame and confusion. “Same to you sir, and thanks again for the flight last weekend.”

“My pleasure young Willy. Now I really must trot. Goodbye,” Mr Jemmerling replied as he set off at a brisk walk along the footpath in the direction the friends had come from.

Willy and his friends stood on the footpath and watched him hurry away, crossing the wide street at a brisk walk. “Well!” he said. “I didn't expect to run into him.”

“Do you think he is watching us?” Stick suggested.

“Spying on us you mean?” Willy answered. “I don't know. He is such a nice person and so generous that I can't decide if it all just a cunning front or not.”

By this time Mr Jemmerling had vanished into the old wooden Post Office set under mango trees over on the river side of the road. The friends continued walking, licking their ice creams and commenting on the town but to Willy it was all of no importance. All he could think about was Mr Jemmerling and why he might be in Cooktown.

They passed a second hotel and more shops, grateful for the shade from the awnings they had out over the footpath. At the far end of the block they came to yet another two-story, timber hotel. “This seems to be the end of the business district,” Willy commented. He had finished his ice cream by then and opened one of the soft drinks.

“I'm getting a bit hot and tired,” Marjorie said. “I'd like to go back to the ship.”

“Alright. Along the other footpath for variety,” Willy agreed. In the sweltering tropical heat he felt he had seen enough of Cooktown for the moment.

The friends crossed the street, being held up by the first vehicle they had seen apart from the taxi. As they started walking back along the tree-lined footpath towards the wharf Stick said sarcastically, “It's busy!”

They laughed, then laughed again when three vehicles drove past in quick succession and Willy commented that it must be the Five o'clock Rush.

As they walked along Willy kept looking for Mr Jemmerling but he saw no sign of him, not even at the Post Officer when they reached it. It was a lovely old timber building and he peeked in just as a lady began shutting doors and windows. ‘Not in there,' he noted. ‘Now where has he gone?' He hadn't seen him recross the street or get into a vehicle.

As they passed the Post Office, which was the last building on that side of the street, Willy saw that a pathway led towards the river through a belt of scrub and mangroves. ‘Maybe he went that way to get on a boat?' he thought, picturing Mr Jemmerling climbing aboard the
Pterodactyl.

That got him looking mostly in that direction. For a hundred metres he could only get glimpses of the river through the belt of mangroves but he managed to spot the flying boat, still lying to a mooring in midstream. After that the mangroves thinned out and patches of mud and small beaches appeared. Small boats lay on the shore or bobbed at anchor just out from the mangroves.

The friends came to Captain Cook's memorial and spent a few minutes looking at it and in studying the old ship's cannon. It was the genuine article and Willy was quite thrilled to see the date 1803 stamped in the end of the trunnions. ‘Andrew will like this,' he thought.

From there they had a good view out over the estuary and Willy spent a few thoughtful minutes staring back at the now distant shape of the ‘Catalina'. Then he noted that the tide had begun to make and he checked his watch. “Half past five! Come on, we had better get back.”

They resumed walking. A few minutes later Willy's mother and father drove past in the taxi, heading for the wharf. They stopped and asked if they wanted a lift. Willy shook his head. “No thanks. It is only a few hundred metres. We will walk,” he said.

The taxi drove on and the trio continued on their way. As they rounded the curve just past the police station Willy noted a man walking quickly towards them, the first pedestrian they had met. The man wore dirty old grey overalls and a greasy cloth hat but had a camera with a very powerful telephoto lens attached to it slung around his neck.

It was the man's odd behaviour that first attracted Willy's attention. The man twice stopped and looked back, then resumed walking. It was then that Willy was struck by the incongruity of the expensive camera and the old clothes. ‘He doesn't look like a tourist,' he thought. The idea that he might be a birdwatcher or something similar crossed his mind. That thought made Willy look more carefully at the man. The man had seen them but appeared to take no notice- until they were about 25 metres from him and his eyes met Willy's.

Recognition was instant and Willy almost stopped walking as the shock hit him. ‘That is the man who burgled the Beck's!' he thought.

 

 

CHAPTER 23

 

DARK SUSPICIONS

 

Willy felt the wave of shock sweep through him as he tried to keep his face normal. He was dimly aware that he had tightened his grip on Marjorie's hand and that she had turned her head to look at him but he was focused on the approaching man. As the distance narrowed Willy's mind raced. What to do? ‘Should I confront him, or try to catch him?' he wondered. A mix of emotions added to his confusion: excitement, anxiety, even fear as he realized there would be a very strong possibility of a fight if he tried to physically restrain the man.

He watched the man's face. It wore a slightly puzzled look and what Willy imagined might be a guilty expression. What was obvious was that the man had not made the mental connection to who they were. ‘He knows he's seen me but he doesn't recognize us,' Willy thought. But he was in no doubt. Images of the fleeing burglar's face came vividly to his mind and he was sure this was the same man. ‘About thirty, brown hair, brown eyes,' he noted.

By then they were only five paces apart and the man moved to the outside of the footpath to pass them. Willy tensed ready for action and tried not to keep looking the man in the eyes. By then the man's expression had changed to one of suspicion and dislike.

He passed within arm's reach of Willy's right side, giving Willy a hostile glare as he did. Willy made himself keep walking, even though every instinct cried out to turn and keep watching lest he be set upon from behind. To keep control Willy counted to ten before glancing back over his shoulder.

As he did the man did the same and their eyes briefly locked before Willy looked hastily away. It was obvious to Willy that neither Marjorie nor Stick had recognized the man and that both were quite unaware of the tenseness of the situation. Rather than spoil the plan that was rapidly forming in his mind Willy made himself walk another 25 paces before again glancing back.

This showed the man still walking quickly on along the footpath towards town. A fractional movement of the man's head warned Willy and he flicked his own head to the front again. ‘I don't want him to become suspicious,' Willy thought. He made himself walk another fifty metres, his mind boiling with ideas and suspicions.

By then the
Wewak
and the wharf had come into sight ahead. Willy again glanced back. The man had rounded the bend and was out of sight. Stopping abruptly Willy said, “Did you see that man?”

“Yeah, so what about him?” Stick answered.

“He was the man who burgled the Beck's,” Willy replied.

Stick snorted with disbelief. “Oh bunkum!”

“He was Stick. I got very close to him when we were chasing him. It is the same man,” Willy replied forcefully. He was so sure he did not care whether Stick believed him or not.

Marjorie looked doubtful and said, “Did he recognize you?”

Willy shook his head. “I don't think so. He was puzzled but I don't think he could place where he might have seen me,” he said.

Stick was still doubtful. He said, “So what if he is? What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to follow him,” Willy said.

Marjorie looked horrified. “Not on your own,” she cried.

Willy nodded. “Yes. Marj., you are going to the
Wewak
to tell my parents. Stick, you are going to the police station to report.”

Stick looked scared and started to mutter excuses. “Oh, but we aren't sure. We don't have any proof.”

“I'm sure,” grated Willy. “And I aim to get proof. I'm going to follow that character and try to find out where he lives and who his associates are.”

“How do you know he has associates?” Stick challenged.

Willy was now in a fever of anxiety lest he lose the man so he just snapped, “Because he was picked up by a man on a motorcycle when we chased him. Now get going both of you.”

Marjorie did not want to leave them but she bit her lip and hurried on towards the wharf. Willy thought she would be safe. It was only a couple of hundred metres and the
Wewak
was just visible at the bend. Stick hesitated but then turned and came with Willy as he set off walking quickly back towards town. They had to go together anyway as the police station was a hundred metres in that direction.

Now that he had decided Willy walked as quickly as he could, anxious not to lose the man. Stick hurried along beside him, still muttering that it was silly and that they should both go to the police station.

It took a minute's fast walking to reach the slight bend in the road. As he walked Willy kept looking ahead for the first glimpse of the man. Movement on the footpath about 200 metres away caught his eye and he immediately halted, using his arm to stop Stick. It was the man and he was still walking towards the town. At that moment he was passing the Captain Cook memorial.

“There he is. Now, we need to wait a bit longer,” Willy said. The street from there on was straight and offered little cover. The only other option was for them to try to make their way forward along the beach and through the fringe of the mangroves. Willy rejected this idea but was worried. He and Stick were the only other pedestrians and would be very noticeable if the man looked back.

The man went into the shadows of the line of mango trees lining the footpath. ‘We will still be visible, but if we leave it much longer he might go into a building or something and we won't know which one,' Willy thought. He decided to take the risk and resumed walking.

Another minute's walk had them opposite the police station. “Off you go Stick,” he ordered.

“What do I do after I have told them?” Stick queried.

“Go back to the ship,” Willy replied.

Still Stick hesitated. “What if there is no-one there?” he asked.

“Then go back to the ship. Now go!” Willy snapped.

Stick looked unhappy but did as he was told, angling across the road. Willy kept on walking. To his dismay he saw the man turn right and vanish from view between the trees. ‘Did he go into the Post Office?' Willy wondered. It was the nearest building but he didn't think the man had reached it. He hurried on, sweating heavily from the exertion.

He became so worried that he might lose the man that he began to jog. As he did he kept his eyes fixed on the place where the man had gone from view, ready to jump under cover if he re-appeared.  It took him two minutes to cover the distance, relieved to have the trunks of large mango trees to give some cover. As he reached the place Willy slowed and looked out to his right.

“There he is!” Willy muttered thankfully. He came to a stop behind the trunk of a large mango tree and watched. Through a fringe of small mangroves he saw that the man was working on a dinghy that was hauled up on a small beach. The man did something to the motor, then pushed the dinghy into the water and sprang aboard. As it slid backwards on the tiny ripples of waves the man lowered the outboard motor and started it.

“Damn! I can't follow him now. I wonder where he is going?” Willy muttered. He wiped sweat clear of his eyes and squinted into the reflected sparkles of sunlight to look out into the estuary. Anchored at varying distances from 50 metres to a hundred were five small vessels: two sail yachts and three motor launches. ‘Is it to one of them?' he wondered.

The man turned the dinghy to face the river and increased the revolutions. The dinghy surged out into the river, heading straight for a dirty brown looking motor launch. Then, to Willy's dismay, the dinghy turned to port and headed upriver, vanishing from view behind the mangroves to his left.

Willy swore and started running towards the Post Office. As he ran he kept looking to his right but he found no gap in the belt of mangroves. These became thicker and wider and he realized he would not get a clear view of the river that way. All he got were a couple of glimpses of a sail boat's mast and, away in the distance, the tail fin of the
Pterodactyl.

“I should have gone the other way, back to Captain Cook's memorial,” he told himself. He turned and sprinted back that way, ignoring the curious stare of a man who drove past in an old blue utility. Willy was healthy but he was no athlete. Within another hundred paces he was puffing badly and had the beginnings of a stitch. Ignoring the growing pain he pushed himself to keep running. His breath started to come in hot gasps and he could feel his heart hammering but he kept on.