Georgie Harvey and John Franklin Collection

Chapter 25

A white Toyota utility came up the driveway as she drove down. There wasn’t enough room to pass, and the other driver didn’t pull over.

Georgie waited for him to reverse and found herself in a standoff. Two men glowered through their windscreen.

They alighted but didn’t approach. Georgie sighed and hopped out. A blue heeler barrelled up and landed heavy paws on her chest. She collapsed onto her butt. She eyeballed the dog, pinned more by his snappy jaw and freaky one-blue-one-brown-eyed glare than his weight.

‘Trigger,’ one of the men commanded. ‘Off.’

The dog snapped again, extracted his paws and retreated to his master’s side. The older man shuffled forward and stretched a hand to Georgie. He pulled her upright, squashing her fingers.

Hand still trapped, she scanned up to his face. Tight mouth. Cold stare. Weather-beaten skin, florid and veined. He had a build to match the dog, only very tall, squeezed into khaki overalls and topped with close-cut grey hair.

‘Help you?’ He belatedly released his grip.

Georgie fed him the story she’d told the Pattersons. The man’s expression transformed to a beam.

‘Thought you was from the bank.’

Georgie pictured her thongs, jeans and tank and suppressed a grin.

This guy’s not too sharp.

This guy’s not too sharp.‘Roger.’ The older guy pointed a thumb to his chest. ‘And this here’s me son, Mick.’

Abergeldie’s lessees.

They each pumped a handshake, and Georgie winced at duplicate hand-crushes then brushed off her butt. Trigger snoozed in the shade of the Spider, and the men lolled against their ute.

‘Mrs P took off las’ weekend. She told me and me boy, Mick here, that she’d be away a couple a days. Expected her back before now. Not like her to go off for more than a day or two. She likes it here.’ Roger waved a vague hand at the property.

Mick agreed, drawing Georgie’s attention to him. She noted an uncanny resemblance between the father and son, including drinker’s complexions and strong ocker accents.

‘Still, it’s up to her,’ Roger continued. ‘Not for us to say anythink. Pretty lonely for her since Mr P went.’

‘Do you know how I can contact Susan’s friend, Jack? It’s possible she’s staying with him – if she’s not with Margaret.’

‘I dunno which Jack Mrs P would be vistin’. Don’t seem proper. She’s married to Mr P.’ Roger’s eyes hardened.

Georgie suggested, ‘Perhaps he’s a relative?’

Both men shrugged. But the father continued to be the spokesman. ‘Don’t ring any bells with me.’

Great. Will my next question be a dud too?

Great. Will my next question be a dud too?‘Do you think her being away has anything to do with Roly?’

Suddenly, the men’s thick necks retracted. Dour lines replaced all trace of the farmers’ grins. She frowned, confused and intrigued.

‘What ya mean?’ Roger asked.

‘Well, Roly goes missing, and then almost to the day five years later, Susan takes off. More than coincidence, do you think?’

Roger lifted his shoulders. Mick scratched his scalp with long, jagged fingernails.

Why have they gone shifty?

Why have they gone shifty?Her writer’s instincts fired, as did her questions.

‘What do you think happened to Roly?’

‘I dunno,’ Roger muttered.

‘Do you think he’s dead?’

The man yelled, ‘I said, I dunno!’

Trigger growled. Mick put a hand on his collar.

Georgie felt a trickle of fear but persisted. ‘Why do you think Roly disappeared?’

Mick bent forward, yanking the dog, and stuck his nose close. So close that she could smell beer and bad breath. He jabbed a finger into her collarbone. Pounded at the same spot until her eyes smarted and heart thudded.

Show no fear. Don’t back down.

Show no fear. Don’t back down.‘Dad said he dunno. We can’t tell you nothin’. Stop being a nosy b***h and get out of here.’

She battled an impulse to fight back. There were times and places to take on adversaries. This wasn’t one of them. The farm was secluded, and she was outnumbered by two giants and their mongrel.

To Georgie’s relief, Mick stepped back. She moved to the Spider with faux calm. Roger reversed the ute until she had room to pass.

Grateful to leave Abergeldie behind, she wiped damp palms on her jeans and turned onto Howlong Road. When the tyres gripped tarmac, she accelerated and tried to persuade herself that she’d imagined the farmers’ violent response.

She failed.

And grew even more convinced that Roly’s demise drove Susan’s actions.

Franklin zipped past the cop shop hoping none of his workmates spotted him. He parked the bike on the low side of Camp Street and well off the road, next to a vintage Suzuki GT750. Each time he saw the glossy teal duco offset by masses of chrome it almost tempted him to trade the Ninja for an old classic.

But he’d never do it.

‘Pastor?’ Franklin stepped through the arched entrance and into the foyer of the former Baptist Church.

Music, together with the clatter of crockery, drew him through to the kitchen. A funky song about Jesus played loudly. The pastor sang along even louder and washed coffee cups. Franklin called out again rather than spring a surprise.

‘Frankie!’ Pastor Danni pivoted to face him. Her cheeks popped out with her broad smile, making the million freckles on her face more prominent. She looked about Kat’s age but actually fell closer to his own.

She gave him a hug that squeezed the air from his lungs and brought on an attack of guilt. He and Danni could be good friends if he made an effort. They had plenty in common—from motorbikes to their football team—and didn’t have to worry about that traditional male-female impossibility of a platonic friendship.

Danni wasn’t just one of the very few female church clergy in the country. She and the other lesbian pastors could probably be counted on one hand.

‘Coffee, Frankie?’

‘Can I pick your brain too?’

She tilted her head and punched his arm lightly. Then the pastor brightened his day with another hundred-watt smile.

‘Afternoon. Can I get you a cuppa?’

Georgie surveyed Lewis Davis across the desk. Dressed in a cheap suit, he could have passed for a farmer on church day. His manner was effusive and assessing, yet amiable too. The real estate manager possessed an X Factor beyond Pam Stewart’s character reference and the fact that he was one of Roly Pentecoste’s best mates.

Georgie accepted and rested elbows on the desk while she waited. Her head felt heavy with sudden fatigue.

So much driving. So much thinking. My brain hurts. Is it all a waste of time?

So much driving. So much thinking. My brain hurts. Is it all a waste of time?She watched Davis weave through the overcrowded office, two mugs hooked on one hand, packet of biscuits in the other, amazed by the large man’s graceful gait.

‘Interest you in a bickie?’

He proffered a packet of Tim Tams. Georgie shook her head, appetite depleted by the biscuits from Susan’s kitchen and the croissant Pam Stewart had pressed on her as she recapped the morning.

‘So you’re a friend of Pam’s?’ Davis asked. Crumbs fell from the side of his mouth and sprinkled his suit with cookie dandruff.

‘Kind of. Yes.’

She explained how they’d met and the purpose of her visit now.

Davis’s smile stretched his face but no longer reached his eyes. They became dead fish eyes. ‘You said yourself that Susan made arrangements with her neighbours and told Mick and Roger she was going away. And that there’s every chance she’s with her niece.’

‘Well, yes.’

‘So, what are you really doing here?’

really He sounded tired. She didn’t know what to say.

‘What do you hope to gain by dredging up the past?’ His voice took a harsh edge that made his smile creepy.

‘I just thought –’

‘No,’ he said, leaning forward. The façade of a smile dropped. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t think you’ve thought about this at all.’

‘Aren’t you worried about Susan?’ Georgie asked incredulously.

‘Not from what you’ve told me, no. But if you’re going to set things off again and she’s going to come back to, well, the whole Roly thing all over again, then yes. And I’ll hold you personally responsible.’

Davis stood and snatched her half-full mug. He stalked into the back office.

Georgie felt the curious gaze of the receptionist as she left.

‘I’m after some scuttlebutt.’

‘Well, I knew you weren’t here for Bible studies.’

They sipped coffee, chewed biscuits and shared a smile.

Franklin said, ‘I’m working a case with a religious element in a series of poison-pen letters – threats, really. The language is old-fashioned and sounds like it’s out of a Bible.’

‘Maybe you need Bible studies after all?’

He tipped forward on his chair. ‘No, what I need is any inside knowledge on religious nutters in our area.’

‘You’ve thought of old Art Hammer, of course?’

‘Yep. He’s a definite possibility, but I can’t track him down.’

‘I haven’t seen him in a while either…but I was away for that clerical conference in Sydney last month—remember?—and just this week had a course on in Melbourne.’ Pastor Danni scratched the side of her mouth. ‘Are you going to eat that last bickie?’

‘And here I was thinking you were about to break my case.’

‘Chocolate helps me think.’

He passed the plate. ‘Confidentially, the letters are nut jobs against unmarried mums. I reckon an old bloke’s behind them. Someone deeply religious who thinks women should be kept in their place. It’s real old-school stuff, so maybe you’ve had trouble with him too.’

‘Because I’m female, lesbian or a pastor of the Community Church?’

‘All three?’ Franklin admitted. ‘Our fellow’s a traditionalist, and I can’t see him here.’ He waved at the coffee urn but broadly meant the progressive religion and Danni’s congregation. ‘But he might have let you know he doesn’t like the way your church does things.’

The pastor nodded. ‘I see what you mean.’ She stood. The leather of her biker boots creaked. ‘And I may be able to help.’

It had been a f****d day, so far. No joy with the niece. A bunch of reading material on Victoria’s underworld. A whole lot of aggro from Mick and Roger. And now Georgie had upset one of Roly’s best mates.

What if he was right? What if Susan returned from a sojourn with her niece to find the whole Roly thing, as Davis put it, back on the agenda, along with her own life under scrutiny?

the whole Roly thingGeorgie knocked a cigarette from the packet. She leaned against the shop window and smoked two in succession, but it was mechanical rather than enjoyable. She took the last drag and crushed the butt with her heel. Throughout, she’d focused on a two-storey Tudor-style red-brick building opposite The Springs Real Estate.

I’m right. There’s plenty to be worried about.

I’m right. There’s plenty to be worried about.The banking chamber held one customer and three staff members in air-hostess uniforms. The customer and teller joked and chatted. The other two bank officers spoke in hushed tones under the swinging Information sign. Georgie approached and waited.

Goosebumps pricked her skin. The temperature and an ambient odour reminded her of the inside of a fridge.

The staff still ignored her. She cleared her throat and the younger woman glanced over.

‘Oh, hello? Sorry, we didn’t see you there. How can I help?’

‘Douglas Macdougall, please.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’ the woman asked, rising.

‘No, I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, I’m sure the manager will see you. Back in a tick.’

It wasn’t easy to kill time in a bank. Unlike in a doctor’s surgery, there weren’t even back-issue magazines to flick through. The hairs on Georgie’s arms stood to attention from the cold now and she spent a minute in contemplation of those fine strands before she sought other distractions.

She was spinning a brochure carousel when a telephone buzzed.

‘Welcome to ANZ Bank, this is Carol,’ the woman who had thus far ignored Georgie said. ‘Oh, it’s you! Hang on, I’ll ask. Excuse me, miss. Can I have your name?’

‘Georgie Harvey.’

Carol repeated it into the receiver and paused. ‘Oh. Yeah.’ She hung up.

Georgie arched a brow, but the banker ducked her head.

The other officer returned and regarded Georgie awkwardly. She jiggled on the spot and said, ‘I’m sorry, Ms Harvey. Mr Macdougall isn’t in the office.’

Bullshit.

Bullshit.Georgie frowned.

‘If you leave your number, I’m sure he’ll give you a call. When, um, when he comes in.’

On the steps outside the building, Georgie decided that Macdougall wouldn’t call. She contemplated his avoidance and could only think that his good mate Lewis Davis had seen her head for the bank and warned him.

Why?

Why?What are they hiding?

What are they hiding?