Dark Confluence (11 page)

“But not his retribution,” Jen replied firmly, although what he said caused the hairs to rise on the back of her neck.

“If you believe it, perhaps it may be so,” he said quietly. “However, I know that I wouldn’t mind having such a lowlife in my gun-sights...” his voice sank to a low whisper. He looked at her in some embarrassment and cleared his throat, “Thanks for letting me know, Miss. I’ll let Bob know about his cow when I’m done here.”

She stared at the carcass, “Was it dogs?”

He shook his head, “Nope, I’ve seen dog attacks, it’s different. It’s like whatever killed it set out to be deliberately cruel.”

Jen watched him trudge back to his tractor and decided that her morning walk had taken her far enough. Summoning her willpower, she dismissed the unsettling events of the morning from her mind, pushing even the memory of the fairy-man to the back of her memory. It was high time that she was home and away from this place.

*

Chapter 9

Jen had just finished her lunch when she heard a car drive up her gravel driveway and park next to the house. Curious as to whom her visitor might be, she opened the door to see the heavy-set police Senior Constable from her accident three weeks earlier.

“Miss McDonald,” he quaffed his hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

Jen nodded.

“Nice to see you recovered,” he said. “I’m Senior Constable Sanderson from Emerald Hills Police Station,” he flashed his badge at her.

“I remember you, officer, come inside,” she offered.

“Obliged,” he said, “It’s a mongrel hot day today.”

“Let me get you a glass of cold water,” Jen offered, getting up and heading to the fridge.

“Ta,” he said. “This is just a follow up visit to let you know that Dave O’Donnell has admitted that he was tailgating you and that the accident is his responsibility. His insurer will come to the party.” He looked out the window, “That rental car would be setting you back.”

“The insurer told me they will reimburse the hire costs when my claim goes through.”

“Good and the head injury? No long-term damage?” he asked.

“None, a little stiffness from time to time, but even that is fading.”

He nodded, “I have one other bit of business.” He took the offered glass of water with a smile and downed it in one swallow. “You’ve heard about that little boy going missing?”

“Yes, still no word then?”

He shook his head mournfully. “No leads, nothing at all, it’s a complete mystery.” His brawny hand clutched the glass so hard that Jen feared it would crack in his hand. Gently, she took it from him and placed it on the coffee table. He looked up at her, “I’m a family man, Miss McDonald. I have three of my own.” He took his wallet from his back pocket and flicked it open showing her a small photo of three small children running heedlessly around under a sprinkler in the garden.” He stared at the photo, “I’m tempted to move them off the Hinterlands for a while and let them stay with their grandparents in Gympie.”

“I heard this morning that there was another child missing” Jen said gently.

He nodded imperceptibly, “It’s not general knowledge yet, but it will get out soon enough and we’ll have the media up here in packs.” He glanced at her, “I’m just a country copper, this...” and his face grimaced, “sort of thing sickens me. I thought we’d be immune from it here away from the city.” He closed his wallet and pushed it back in his pocket, “Anyway, we’re asking residents to not speak with the media. We’re hoping we can put them off, whilst we continue our investigations unhindered.”

“I’ll not speak of it” Jen assured him. “I mean, I only know what others have been telling me, which to tell the truth isn’t much,” she admitted.

“Believe me, Miss McDonald, there are some nasty types out there. It makes my blood boil to think that there might be a pervert in the area abducting children.” He shook his head in disbelief, “We just can’t work out how he’s doing it. No tracks, no fingerprints, no DNA, no one is coming up on our database. The boy and girl simply seem to have vanished into thin air.”

Jen’s mouth went dry at that and the shuddering unease she felt earlier that morning returned in full force.

The Senior Constable shook his head, “We’ve got officers up from Brisbane, and federal officers on the way too. We’ll catch the bastard who is doing this, don’t you worry about that.”

Jen could only stare at him, remembering what he said about the children vanishing.

“Anyway, I’d best be on my way...” he stood and put his hat back on. “Thanks again for the water, Miss McDonald, and I’m glad you are recovered from your accident.”

“My pleasure, officer,” she replied, quickly collecting herself. “I hope you find those children.”

“We all do,” he said, and then with a brief wave of his hand he was outside and within a few moments was driving away and onto the main road.

Jen turned away from the window, her thoughts jumbled. Everyone seemed to believe that a criminal was responsible, yet a thought nagged at her. The only way she could dispel the nagging worry was to go onto the internet and do some research of her own. She walked into the office and turned the computer on.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, typing words into search engines, reading some sites, dismissing others. As the day wore on it seemed to be that evidence for fairy abduction was wholly due to legends passed on through story telling. However, oral evidence did persist and Jen had a growing suspicion that the recent events might be linked to what she had experienced herself. She immediately dismissed Fionn from the equation. His desires seemed to be focused entirely upon her, which made her wonder just who or what was removing children from their families. Further searches on the internet brought up a veritable zoo of beasts and creatures that could be responsible and Jen’s blood chilled when she read some of the descriptions. Jen had always been a practical, prosaic sort of woman, so she felt both embarrassed at herself, and unnerved by the fact that she was actually considering all this in a rational way.

She turned off the computer and slowly lowered the lid on the laptop. What a quandary! She had to do something about the situation, but no one, save Tom and his family, would believe her. To be ridiculed and mocked would be the height of embarrassment, but Jen knew that would happen if she presented herself to the local police with an absurd story of fairies stealing children. She resolved to call Tom to ask his advice, although she suspected that even he could achieve little. Fionn rose in her memory again and she blushed furiously as to how she had acted around him. She reprimanded herself, but she suspected that if he presented himself again she would submit to his desires. It was so damned unfair, why did the first man to grab her heart since Robert all those years ago, have to be neither man nor trustworthy. Tom had been wise in his words to ignore the fairy race. However, it was far easier said than done. Jen suspected that her dealings with the fairy people were a long way from being over.

*

Chapter 10

A week had passed since the last child disappearance and although the media had descended en masse upon the town, there were little new leads to sustain their interest. Within a few days, the journalists had returned to whence they came, keeping only one of two ‘cub’ reporters in the area to keep an eye on things and to investigate new developments. The only people who regretted their departure were shop owners and the local motel and bed and breakfast operators. The rest of the town had been thankful. Most of the residents had chosen Emerald Hills for the serenity and isolation from the big cities, the last thing they needed was big city problems plaguing their little slice of heaven.

Still, Emerald Hills did not now seem to be the haven residents had once desired. The town was now an eyesore of footpaths ripped up by diggers and contractors, since the determined push for underground power had gone ahead in Council and Government. The steady din of jackhammers and mechanical diggers drowned out the gentle sounds of birdsong and the bubbling creek. The effort to crack and split concrete and to lay the harshly smelling freshly laid bitumen drove many residents either indoors, or to neighbouring Cromhart to do their shopping. The Council predicted many more weeks of disruption as the alternate power route was constructed.

However, Alan Turner, owner and proprietor of ‘The Royal Hotel’ was ecstatic. Business was booming, residents stayed longer at the bar to escape the noise and dust in the town, and the imported tradesmen from Brisbane and the Sunshine Coast were now regular visitors. He thought it was a pity that the media had left the town. They had been good customers, hanging about all hours drinking and chatting amongst themselves. He took the keys from his pocket and opened the door to the public bar, switching on the lights as he did so. The lights shimmered, dimmed slightly, and then ever so slowly brightened. He frowned and sniffed, there was some foul residue odour, like stale beer mixed with something else...what was it, ozone? Imperceptibly, the small hairs on the back of his neck and forearms rose and he shuddered. Alan went to go into the room when suddenly he sensed, rather than saw movement at the far end of the bar. Then there was a crash as several bottles hit the ground.

“What the f...” he growled, turning and taking up a pool cue by the rack near the door. He stalked the length of the bar, noting many more overturned bottles, all spilling expensive spirits onto the tiled floor. Whoever did this was going to pay, he thought his mind turning to which of the local hooligans might have broken in. He swung the cue menacingly in his hands as out of the corner of his eye he saw a small shadow dart away into the greater darkness where the light did not reach.

“Damn, it must be possums?” he said amazed. “Surely not, must be idiot kids. Just wait ‘till I catch ‘em”

Then another bottle smashed behind him where he had been only moments ago.

“Come out of there,” he bellowed, spinning around. “Show me your face otherwise you’ll have this cue around your ears.”

Whoever, whatever it was, paid no heed, because Alan heard another rustle, this time at the far side of the bar. As he turned, he heard the sound of quick and light footsteps racing down a dead-end corridor to his small wine and beer cellar. Firming his grasp on the pool cue, Alan angrily marched in afterwards. He stopped puzzled at the door to the cellar. It remained firmly locked and bolted from the night before. He shook his head. Surely, the young offender must have doubled back behind him. Alan again heard a noise, this time definitely coming from the cellar. He took out his bundle of keys, selected one and grunting, turned the key in the heavy lock and opened the door. Although darkness enveloped the cellar, Alan could immediately smell the distinctive aroma of spilled alcohol. Dimly, he could hear a strange low and earthy chuckling, followed by a vague splashing, as if the water mains had burst. Seriously alarmed, Alan reached out and flicked on a switch, bathing the entire stairs and cellar in the flickering but fierce light of a naked bulb.

“Bloody ‘ell!” Alan shouted as he uncomprehendingly saw his cellar awash with what seemed to be the entire contents of all his wine casks and beer barrels. Even to a hardened publican, the stench took his breath away, and his eyes watered painfully. The scale of the vandalism was incalculable, from what he could see every barrel, every bottle, every cask had been broken and the contents left to drain onto the floor.

Why, he raved to himself. He had no enemies, no feuds. He got on well with all the drinkers. It was beyond understanding. Someone had to pay! Then he heard the chuckle again this time to his right, and more splashing. It seemed that whoever was responsible was still there seemingly bathing in the booze.