Murderer's Thumb (26 page)

Again, the feeling of wanting to shake her welled inside him. ‘Mum, get a grip. I'll only be ten minutes. You've got Barry's number. If Dad comes back, just ring. You did it before, you can do it again.' Christ, it was like talking to a child. He slammed the door.

When Adam reached the tractor shed the big sliding panels were shut. He found the small door at the back and fumbled for the handle. The door squealed open. He stepped into the shadowy interior. It took a moment to make out the scene in front of him. The little red Massey Ferguson was covered in hay. There was a flash of movement to his left, then a cracking blow. Adam fell to the shed floor, part five of the diary slipping from his hand.

Later, when he opened his eyes, Adam was conscious of the overpowering smell of petrol. He blinked. His focus was wonky. All he knew was that he was on his side, facing something big and black, but he couldn't make it out. The image kept shifting and multiplying. Finally he realised it was the tractor's tyre and he was lying on the cool earth, inches from it. He tried to reach forward but his hands were bound. Wriggling, he found his legs were tied too. He tried to swing his torso upright, but the searing pain at the back of his head made him cry out. He flopped back onto his side.

The Brolga materialised before him, multiple pairs of legs in jeans and work boots. Images faded, strengthened, faded again. She kept walking past, carrying something. There were tearing noises and rustling papers. A single piece of torn paper fluttered in front of his face and settled in the dirt. He could make out typing. Was it words or numbers?

Adam screwed up his face to combat the pain. Shit! What had he done? He'd trusted his own judgement, believed he could confide in the Brolga and now here he was tied up on the floor of the tractor shed. Bad move! She was obviously unhinged. And the diary…where was it? He'd had it in his hand when he entered the shed…

‘What? What are you doing?' he managed to say.

‘Time I got rid of things,' she said flicking through part five of Lina's diary. Several pages drifted loose. ‘While you rested I've been reading.'

Adam struggled to sit up. ‘What? Wait! You can't just throw it away!'

‘I'm going to burn it.'

She tipped the rest of the pages onto the heap she'd made on top of the tractor. There were two boxes near the door. She dragged them over and added them to the pile. Sheets of paper slipped out. Some slid towards Adam. She waved an exercise book in front of his face. It was a child's schoolbook. ‘See the rubbish I've kept over the years.' She threw it behind her. It landed with a thwack on top of one of the boxes.

At last Adam righted himself and with intense effort, he managed to focus on the Brolga's face. It was impassive and vague as always. But now it scared him. ‘Why are you doing this?' he asked.

‘It's junk.'

‘But the evidence…about Mongrel and Loody…what they did.'

‘All lies.'

‘How can you say that? What they did to your own daughter.'

She snorted and continued to throw papers onto the heap.

‘They raped Emma,' he shouted.

‘Emma was a prostitute.'

‘She was your daughter!'

‘Luke twelve, versus forty-nine to fifty-three.'

‘What?'

‘“I have come to bring fire on the earth…From now on there will be five in one family divided against each other… mother against daughter and daughter against mother,”' she recited.

Adam had no come back. He wasn't up on scripture. Whatever she quoted, he was sure she'd misinterpreted it. ‘You can't just destroy evidence…' ‘It's all lies. She lured them, like a spider drawing them into her web.' The Brolga opened the cupboard, the one with the broken door, heaved the papers out and tossed them onto the heap.

‘So you want to protect Loody and Mongrel from the law?' he shouted.

She said nothing.

‘Can't you see you're covering for them?'

The Brolga spoke quietly, without passion. ‘She was evil.'

‘Emma?'

‘She ran séances.'

‘They were just kids!' he shouted. ‘Just mucking around.'

‘I cut her hair, her clothes. Nothing worked.'

‘
You
cut her hair? I thought Matt…' Adam closed his eyes. His suspicions were proving right. If
she
cut Emma's hair then Matt wasn't the loony people thought.

‘No one knows the truth. People always assume.' She ripped the old calendar from the cupboard door.

‘How did you cut her hair?'

‘She was asleep.'

‘But she would have woken up,' Adam said. Unless she'd been drunk, or drugged. He knew then what had happened. ‘You drugged her, didn't you? Gave her tranquillisers, made her sleep.'

‘She didn't realise,' the Brolga said, grabbing a jerry can from under the shelf. She unscrewed the cap and began dousing the heap with petrol.

Adam fought to free his hands but the baling twine was so tight it bit into his wrists. ‘Wait! You can't do this. You need to talk to someone. You can get help.'

‘I don't need help.'

Adam gulped. He had to stall her, keep her talking. ‘But you can't burn it yet. You haven't got it all. Loody's got the rest of it.'

She smiled at him, a lifeless empty smile, like a store-window dummy. ‘Oh no. I've got it. I took it from your room.'

Adam was frantic, trying to wrench his wrists from the twine. ‘You? But how did you know I had it?'

‘You told the boys last night.'

‘And they
told
you?' Adam shrieked.

‘I heard you all talking.'

‘Where is it now?'

‘Here,' she said, sweeping her hand to the side as if advertising a kitchen appliance. She took a cigarette lighter from her pocket.

‘Wait! Untie me! You can't do this! It's murder!' Adam strained to tear his hands free.

She jiggled the lighter in front of her eyes, checking the fluid level. ‘No. You set fire to the shed. Got caught in your own mischief.'

‘They'll know. Forensics will work out where the fire started. They're not stupid!'

‘They are,' she said matter-of-factly. ‘I've fooled them already.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Emma didn't die from a blow to the head. She suffocated.' ‘What?'

‘She was still breathing.'

‘Still breathing? When?'

‘At the pit. Very soft, very low.'

Adam was horrifled. ‘You…you saw her at the pit?'

She looked at him blankly.

‘And she was alive?'

‘There was blood on the shovel. So I started digging, covering her head.'

It took a few moments for her confession to sink in. Then it was all too hideous: the tranquillisers, the shovel, the phone call that was never made, just to put everyone off the track. Adam felt sick with fear. He battled to keep her in focus, to stay calm. ‘You did it, didn't you?'

She didn't answer.

‘You drugged her, like you did once before, didn't you?' Adam shrieked. ‘Drove her down there, bashed and buried her!'

‘I had to wait for the right time,' she said trance-like, her eyes fixed on the heap of papers on the tractor.

Adam choked back his panic. ‘You planned it all? But why then? Why that night?' He edged away from the tractor tyre.

‘She was drunk. It was easy to do.'

‘But the silage…you knew Colin would open the pit one day. And her backpack?'

‘It's here, part of the junk.' She flicked the lighter. A small flame wavered in the half-light. She put it to the base of the bonfire. It lit with a whoosh, the flame racing over the pile.

Adam rolled towards the back wall.

The Brolga opened the door and slipped through. The rush of incoming air fed the flames.

‘No!' Adam screamed at her, but the door closed.

He swung his legs wildly, jack-knifing away from the flaming tractor. Grit and sand from the floor stuck to the sweat on his face. He reached the back wall where there was a gap where he'd seen a rat scurry into, that night he'd searched for the diary. But now he couldn't see properly. There were two holes looming, his double vision fully realised. He shut his eyes, trusting his nose to find the opening. He followed a pocket of air, cold and musty, plunged his nose in and sucked what air he could. Heat glowed against his back and neck, searing his sunburn. He curled into a ball, screwed his eyes shut and listened to the thunderous roar. Then he lost consciousness again.

Adam woke outside on the ground, coughing. Every breath smelled of smoke, sharp, burning. There was a motor humming, voices talking on a two-way radio, someone gripping his shoulders. He could hear Rosemary's voice rattling on, incoherent.

‘Can you hear me, Adam? Adam?' It was Toot, insistent.

Adam opened his eyes. Two yellow helmets floated in front of him. He tried to focus on her face, on the bits he liked best: her mouth, the beauty spot. ‘The Brolga…' he spluttered. His words came out garbled. He tried to sit up.

‘Just relax, you'll be OK, the ambulance is coming.'

Adam rolled to his side and pushed himself into a sitting position.

‘I don't think you should…'

He cut her off, ‘I'm fine!' He tried to stand but doubled over coughing. He felt her arm supporting him as he hacked. Her fingers, long and tanned, clutched his shoulder. They looked ridiculously thin under the bulky yellow sleeves of the fire-fighter's coat. A few metres away, Matt lay in the grass coughing, his back to Adam.

‘Adam!' Rosemary sobbed, racing to him, her arms outstretched, her face red and swollen.

‘Get off!' he said, embarrassed. Why would she throw herself at him now? When Toot was here, with her arm around him.

Rosemary knelt in front of him and tried to pull him close. ‘Thank God you're all right. He will be OK, won't he?' she directed her gaze at Toot.

‘He'll be fine in a few minutes,' she said. ‘Thanks to you.'

Adam was stunned. ‘What? Mum?'

‘Yeah, she saw the smoke and Mrs T coming from the shed. She rang Barry and he paged us,' Toot said.

‘No, it was him,' Rosemary said, nodding to where Matt lay. ‘I saw him jogging past…I panicked, stopped him…he rushed in. I was so scared.' Her eyes searched Adam's face urgently, as if she couldn't really believe he was all there in front of her. Her mouth quivered, about to break out in a crescendo of sobs. ‘So scared,' she whispered.

Adam drew her hands together in his. ‘Nah, Mum. You were really brave.'

Toot gave Adam's shoulder a squeeze.

Rosemary didn't miss the gesture. Her jaw clenched and she sniffed back tears, trying to smile. ‘So who's this? I don't think we've met before, have we?'

‘This is Toot, Mum.'

Rosemary looked uncomfortable. ‘Hi Toot. I'll leave you alone for a bit, shall I?' She clambered to her feet and retreated to the side of the fire truck.

A police car drove past slowly, from the direction of the Thackerays' house. Barry was driving. Adam saw a figure in the back seat, head down. It was the Brolga.

‘Got her,' Adam said. ‘You know she killed Emma too. Admitted to me just before she lit the fire.' He forced the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. When he dragged them from his face Toot was looking at him, her expression hard to read. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head slightly, then pulled Adam closer and nuzzled into his neck.

Adam spent the next day at home sleeping off his massive headache. The police had been and taken a statement. At five to four he was getting ready to go over to milk when Snake and Toot arrived.

‘I can't stop and talk, you guys. I have to do the milking,' he said. ‘I don't know who else is around to milk the poor girls.'

‘Colin's bringing them up,' Snake said.

‘And Matt's in the shed already,' Toot said. ‘We saw him go in. You owe a lot to him, doing the hero thing. Drop, crawl stuff. He's a good man.'

‘I know,' Adam sighed. ‘I still can't believe it happened. I thought I was dead. I thought there was no way a fire truck would come. Your mum said you were out at a fire.'

Toot nodded. ‘It was a hoax. They've traced it back to Mrs T.'

‘I know,' Adam said. ‘I never thought I'd ever be grateful for Mum always looking out the window wondering where I am.'

‘Just as well, eh?' Snake said.

Adam pulled on his borrowed gumboots. ‘The Brolga must be some screwed up woman. She was just waiting for the right time. I reckon she invented that phone call Emma supposedly answered, to put them off her scent. Barry never checked it out, so it never went any further.'

‘Just goes to show you can't trust anyone, mate,' Snake said.

Adam smiled. ‘Didn't think I'd ever convince you of that one.'

‘You haven't. I was just having you on.'

‘Feels good to know we solved it though, don't you reckon?' Adam said.

‘Nearly got yourself fucken killed, you idiot.'

Adam thought about his grandfather Witold who'd been murdered in Germany. Was he trying to solve a crime when he died? Adam knew now how desperate a murderer could be. What had happened all those years ago to make someone want to kill Witold? There was so much he didn't know. That would be Adam's next project. He had to find out what happened to Witold.

He walked over to the shed with Snake and Toot. He wanted to hold her hand but not in front of Snake. They stopped at the milking room door and looked awkwardly at one another.

‘Got the message,' Snake said. ‘See ya tomorrow.' He started to walk down the driveway.

‘Tomorrow then,' Toot said tilting her jaw at him.

Adam smiled. ‘Yeah.' He couldn't stop staring at her.

‘Well come on, kiss me,' she said.

He leant down so eagerly that they clunked teeth. This time her kisses tasted like chewing gum and her hands on his face smelled faintly of grease. How ever did he find this girl who had so much more confidence than he would ever have?