8
Shack sat in his Land Rover at the end of a dirt track that overlooked the river half a mile upstream from the town. He was reading the same front page article, headlined DEAF YOUTH STILL MISSING. He looked troubled. He wound down his window and stared at the water.
The river flowed towards the town, silent and inscrutable. Its level was normal now, with no recent storms. Sheep and dairy herds grazed the pastures. Giant crack willows on the muddy banks trailed their leaves in the current. Nesting coot skimmed the surface and vanished under the overhanging branches. It was a peaceful scene, but appearances, as Shack knew, were deceptive.
He tossed the newspaper on to the passenger's seat and got out of the vehicle. He took a shotgun from the back seat and walked to the water's edge. He
