The Shearer's Wife Page 7

  But no matter how much he repeated those words as he walked back inside, he knew he didn’t mean them.

  Jogging back to main house, he knocked on Ross’s office door again.

  ‘Come.’

  ‘Ah, boss?’

  Ross turned around, surprise on his face. ‘Changed your mind?’

  ‘No. No, I haven’t but I wonder if you could get this to Rose somehow?’ He held out the money. ‘She’ll need it and she hasn’t got any with her.’

  Ross was still for a moment, then reached out and took the money. ‘Don’t you worry, Ian. I’ll get it to your Rose. You have my word.’

  Chapter 8

  Ian pushed open the catching-pen gate and grabbed a woolly wether around his neck. With a flick of his hands, he had him on his rump and was dragging the sheep out onto the board.

  The noise of the generator was loud—he’d been saddled with the stand right at the end of the shed, near the engine. Not his favourite spot. He could barely hear all the smart-arse chatter from the others with the background rumble. He couldn’t add his tuppence worth either.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead as he ran the handpiece and comb under the wool of the belly and tossed it out onto the board for the rousie to pick up, all the while wondering how Rose was getting on. Was she comfortable? The information Ross had given him was scant, and he craved more. He hadn’t even kissed her goodbye.

  Still, he reasoned with himself, she was pretty out of it, she won’t have known.

  A loud clattering bang sounded as Sam, the rousie, dropped the paddle he was using.

  A chorus of jeers went up from all the shearers.

  ‘You’ll be buying a round at the next pub, if you keep that up,’ Kiz yelled.

  ‘Keep the broom in yer hand,’ Muzza shouted.

  Ian grinned. Poor old mate, Sam. He was new to the job and probably didn’t realise that every time he dropped the paddle, it was his shout for the whole team. Just one of the rules of the shed.

  The sound of one of the wethers banging their hind legs on the wooden board was followed by swearing from Dougie as he readjusted his grip on the animal.

  As he finished the last blow, Ian put down his handpiece and pushed the wether down the chute and out into the bright light outside. He pushed his counter to record shearing another one, then stretched his back.

  Looking across the shed, through the open door, he saw the reflective white of the sheep in the yards. Two men wearing wide-brimmed hats had the sheep in the raceway. They were dipping a branding wand into red liquid and then painting it on the sheeps’ backs, marking them as the property of Jacksonville.

  ‘You slacking, Paddy?’ Kiz said as he finished another sheep and pushed it down the chute. He stood up and grabbed his tobacco pouch from the shelf, pulled out a piece of paper and a wad of tobacco and pushed them both into the palm of his hand. He rolled them together between his thumb and index finger until the wad was long and skinny, then licked the paper to seal it.

  Kiz held it out to Ian.

  ‘You don’t get to slack just ’cause you’re a new dad, you know.’

  Automatically, Ian shook his head. Rose hated the smell of old smoke on him when he came back. Then he remembered she wasn’t there.

  ‘Yeah, why not,’ he said above the noise of the engine, reaching out. ‘Not slacking either.’

  ‘Wool away! Wool away!’

  Ian lit the cigarette and looked to see that the rousie hadn’t picked up the fleece Dougie had finished and now the old man was holding a wether, waiting for the wool to be picked up so he could shear the next sheep.

  The rousie ran over and shuffled the fleece around, scooped it up and threw it onto the wool table for the classer to pick over. Tiny pieces floated to the floor like snowflakes.

  Ian nodded towards the young man. ‘Needs to be quicker,’ he said loudly.

  ‘All right, you fellas,’ Jacko, the classer, yelled. ‘Enough giving him a hard time. First shed and all. Give over and get back to work.’

  ‘Sheep oh, while you’re there, mate,’ Muzza called to the bloke out the back who was penning up, letting him know his catching pen was empty.

  ‘You’ve got three left, mate,’ Sam said back as he shoved another four wethers into the catching pen for Dougie, obviously gaining confidence now that Jacko had stood up for him.

  ‘Yeah, and with the useless job you’re doing, I’ll be finished those buggers before you get there.’

  ‘Piss off, Muzza.’

  Laughter rose from the shearers but Sam kept his head down and concentrated on his job.

  Ian dragged on the ciggie and felt the smoke hit the back of his throat, making him want to cough. It had been a while since he’d had one, but it tasted good. Maybe next time he went to town he’d get his own pouch of Port Royal and a packet of papers. It wasn’t like Rose was going to be there to complain.

  Rose. A baby boy and a baby girl. He wished they’d talked about names. He wanted to name the girl after his mother, Bridget; and the boy, Alroy. Good strong Irish names for good strong Irish stock. He would write to Rose tonight and ask her to call the twins just that. Bridget and Alroy.

  ‘I got another bottle of that rum in me car, if you want a sip tonight. Reckon we should wet those babies’ heads, don’t you?’ Kiz said.

  From where he was leaning against the swinging doors, with his hands hanging over them, Ian looked over at Kiz, who was grinning.

  ‘Mate, you can do whatever you want now. No one at home to tell you what to do,’ Kiz said.

  ‘I’m not bloody henpecked, you know,’ Ian answered, resentment building up in him. What did his mates think? That Rose ruled the roof? He was the man of the house—or car, as it was—and the breadwinner.

  ‘Course you were. Any bloke with a missus is henpecked.’ Kiz winked and disappeared into the pen to get another sheep. ‘That’s why I’ll never have one. Don’t want to stop what I’m doing. Be worse now you’ve got tin lids. She’ll be wanting all your money for clothes and looking after them. All downhill from here, matey.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Ian muttered, finishing the smoke and throwing the butt down the chute into the dirt. He pushed open the gates and grabbed a sheep, this time with force. ‘I was bloody not,’ he muttered.

  Angrily, he picked up the handpiece and pulled the cord. The cutter whirred to life and he opened up the belly.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll have a sip tonight,’ he called out above the noise of the shed. ‘Got to celebrate having a boy to pass my name on to, you know.’

  ‘Good-oh. After tea, then. Muz, you in?’

  Ian couldn’t hear the reply, but it must have been yes, because Kiz yelled back ‘Good-oh,’ again.

  As he finished the next wether, he looked over at Dougie who was two stands down and staring at him, a disappointed look on his face.

  Dougie shook his head and disappeared into the pen to get another wether.

  Chapter 9

  2020

  ‘Mate, what the fuck is going on with Zara? She’s turned pushy again,’ Dave said angrily to Jack as he stomped into the office.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s been out there waiting for me to come in and then hits me with all these questions she knows I can’t answer.’ Dave threw himself into his chair, frowning.

  ‘Whoa, Dave. Calm down. That’s normal for her and you know it. It’s her job.’ Jack glared at his friend.

  ‘We can’t let any of this get into the press. I don’t want people judging Essie or making her the talk of the town. It’ll ruin her, and you and I know there’s more to this than just what we’ve seen today.’ He slammed his fist down on the table and glowered at Jack.

  Jack rose and stared back at him. ‘Look, I know you’re worried about Essie and I would be too, but I can’t stop Zara from asking questions. Don’t take your shit out on me. I haven’t got any answers as to why Essie has done this.’

  They stared at each other and then Dave looked away.

  ‘You�
��re right. I’m just worried about Essie. This whole thing doesn’t make sense.’ He paused and looked up from his desk. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.’

  ‘Damn straight,’ Jack said and pulled his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘I’m going home. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be in a better mood.’

  The door slammed behind him and Dave sighed. He should have known better than to take his concern out on his partner. It had been years since he’d lost his temper like that. As a younger man he’d been fiery and reactive, but over the years he’d mellowed. These days he could usually talk his way out of a hostile situation, rather than having to use force, but clearly he still wasn’t immune to the occasional outburst.

  Maybe it was time he went home too; it was past five-thirty and Kim would have Paris at home with her. She could probably use the help, and they needed to find a way to explain what was going on with her grandmother. It was not a task he was looking forward to.

  He switched off the lights and locked the doors before striding out into the cold evening air, hoping the walk home would clear his head.

  The lights from the pub cast a long light across the street. From a distance the fairground music played across the loudspeakers and he could see the blinking lights from the carnival reflecting off the clouds.

  He paused, looking at the lights, then pulled out his phone and called Kim.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘Hey yourself. Going okay?’

  ‘Sure am. Paris and I are cooking.’

  ‘I hope I’ll get to enjoy that.’

  ‘Pretty sure you will.’ She paused. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I was coming home, but I’d like to go for a wander around the showgrounds, if you don’t need me straightaway. Just for a quick look.’

  ‘We’re fine here,’ Kim said. ‘Got some questions for you, though.’

  ‘Yeah, and I don’t have a lot of answers, but I’ll fill you in when I get back. That be okay?’

  ‘Sure, sweetie. See you soon.’

  He hung up and pulled his jacket a bit closer. A car drove past and beeped at him, before pulling into the pub carpark. He gave a wave, recognising Darren Moore, a local farmer. Dave had got to know most of the locals and their cars since he’d turned up in Barker five years ago to investigate the carjacking of Kim’s niece, Milly.

  The Milly Bennett case was the first one he’d worked with Jack, who was a junior constable then. After the case, the two men decided to stay in Barker, where together they built the trust of the community. There was a line, though, that they both knew not to cross. Between them they knew most of the townsfolk—Dave played cricket and Jack, footy—but they kept to themselves. It was always hard policing country towns where the cops knew most of the residents.

  Essie’s case was a prime example.

  He walked the last few blocks to the showgrounds briskly, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘G’day, Lorraine,’ he said at the gate. ‘What’s the damage?’

  ‘You can go in for nothing, Dave,’ she answered, smiling at him.

  ‘Got to pay my way.’ His hand hovered over his wallet. ‘Got a few through the gates today?’

  ‘Oh, go on then, make it ten dollars. I haven’t heard numbers yet, but it’s felt busier than last year. Lot more farmers in today, and given the good start to the season, that’s not surprising.’

  Dave handed over a ten-dollar note. ‘Hopefully good for everyone all round,’ he said, going into the grounds. ‘Thanks, Lorraine. Catch you later.’

  He could smell donuts and hot chips, and as he looked around he saw long lines of teenagers queuing for the dodgem cars. Walking towards the bar, he saw a couple of people he knew.

  ‘Hey, Dave!’

  ‘G’day, Mick.’ Dave stopped and shook the hand of the president. ‘Going well?’

  ‘Sure is. Best show we’ve had in ten years, I reckon.’

  A group of teenagers walked by, huddled together and looking at Dave. One of them leaned into his friend and whispered something. Both boys looked over and Dave had the distinct impression they were talking about him.

  Half listening to Mick’s description of the show, Dave followed the group with his eyes as they passed. One of them looked back over their shoulder at him as they disappeared into the crowd.

  Would they be the type to buy drugs from Essie?

  ‘Anyhow, Dave, I’d best get on. Would you and Kim like to come to the president’s dinner tomorrow night?’

  ‘Very kind of you, Mick, but we’re a bit tied up at the moment.’ He paused. ‘The carnies caused any trouble since they’ve been here?’

  ‘The carnival people? Nah. Never. This lot have been coming here for years and there’s never been a skerrick of trouble.’ He laughed. ‘Never had to call you blokes. You know that!’

  ‘No drugs you know of?’ Dave persisted.

  Mick blanched. ‘Not on my grounds, there won’t be.’

  Dave smiled, hiding his frustration. ‘Excellent. Well, I’d better keep moving too. Great to see so many people here.’

  Dave held out his hand to Mick again, then walked on quickly. He wanted to get to the bar and see who was there. Whoever Essie had planned to give the drugs to would have to be close by; they wouldn’t have let the gear stay in her house for long.

  He had no idea who or what he was looking for, he just hoped that when he saw it—them—he would know. Or he would hear something.

  There hadn’t been any whispering about drug rings around town or even in the surrounding areas. Dave would have known. A worried parent would have reported a change of behaviour in their child, or there would have been break-ins to fund drug habits. None of these were happening, so whoever was blackmailing Essie—and that was what was happening, he was sure—would have to be from out of town. A stranger.

  Jack pulled another beer from the fridge, ripping the top off with more force than was needed, and stared moodily at the TV. He was supposed to be meeting Zara, Courtney and Tye at the showground bar tonight, but Zara hadn’t texted him to organise a time yet—which told him she was following her nose somewhere. He hoped it wasn’t Essie, but suspected it was. No point in heading down to the show if she wasn’t going to be there.

  Zara was still grieving her brother, he knew, and sometimes that made her a bit forgetful. And sad. In the months after Will’s death, Jack had known her to lock herself up in her house for a day and not come out. Zara had always cited deadlines, which made sense, but had that really been why? Some of her behaviour lately worried him, but there was nothing he could put his finger on. He just tried his best to be there for her, hoping that time would heal what was going on inside her.

  He adored Zara, her quirkiness and fun, the way her drive and passion filtered from her work to every part of her life. She’d captivated him from the moment he’d met her in Barker twelve months ago. In the beginning he’d kept his distance, but it hadn’t been long before he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself anymore.

  His fingers hovered over his phone, as he contemplated texting her. No. The plan had been she would let him know when she had finished work. They didn’t crowd each other.

  But that was before she knew about the AFP, he argued with himself.

  ‘Bugger it,’ he said, frowning. Jack scrolled through his call log until he found Zara’s number and touched the screen. He didn’t want her to think he was checking on her, or that he was concerned, but he needed to know she was okay. If there was anyone who was stubborn and independent, it was Zara.

  ‘Hey, how are you going?’ he asked when she answered.

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Fine, until your boss gave me an earful,’ she answered tightly.

  In the background, Jack could hear music.

  ‘Yeah, I heard about that. Sorry. He gave me one too. He’s not himself at the moment.’

  ‘What have you got to be sorry for? You didn’t give me a spray.’ She paused
and he heard her adjust the phone. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jack answered. He couldn’t tell her that this case was personal for Dave; he didn’t need the barrage of questions that would follow.

  ‘Well, he was pretty horrible.’

  There would be no winners in this conversation, Jack could tell. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At the show. I saw them take her, you know. I know it’s Essie Carter.’

  ‘You’re at the show? How come you haven’t called?’

  ‘I haven’t got around to it yet, I’m still working.’

  The music grew louder as he imagined her walking around the grounds.

  ‘I know it’s Essie,’ she repeated.

  ‘Zara,’ Jack said, much more calmly than he felt, ‘you know I can’t talk about it.’

  ‘Yeah, I know you can’t, and I haven’t asked you to, if you’ve noticed. All I’ve said is I know who was arrested. Anyway, nothing gives Dave the right to be an arse to me when I ask questions. Can I have a white wine, please?’

  It took Jack a second to realise she’d spoken this last question to someone else, and that she was in the beer tent—where they were supposed to be together. What was going on with her? His gut started to churn, but with what exactly he wasn’t sure.

  ‘It’s a tricky case,’ he said, working to keep his voice neutral. ‘Personal for Dave and that’s all I’m going to say, Zara. Have you had dinner? How about I come down and we can get a burger? We’re supposed to be catching up with Court and Tye, aren’t we?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I text you? I must’ve forgotten. Tye’s been called in to work at the hospital.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ Jack took a sip of his beer and walked to the window to look out into the darkness. ‘Bugger. Why don’t you come back here, then?’

  ‘I’m looking for …’ There was shuffling in the background and he heard Zara say, ‘Oh, hi, Jesse. I was hoping to run into you. Give me five, would you? Then we can finish that interview.’ Back into the phone she said, ‘I’ve found Jesse Barnett, the shearer I’ve been wanting to interview. I’ll catch you tomorrow.’