Reece Pocock
www.amazon.com/Reece-Pocock/e/B00CPUXJVU |
|
A short story by Reece Pocock:
What a Dirty Little Town
By Reece Pocock
The day they sent me to prison, the handcuffs cut into my wrist as Sergeant Bull Revel pulled my arm and dumped me on the train seat. I looked up at him to object, but the revulsion in his eyes stopped me. A crowd had gathered on the Hunter River platform. I could feel hate emanating from them as if the air carried it like a disease. One man yelled, ‘Get out of town, you bastard, and don’t come back. I hope they hang you.’
My father watched from the crowd. His bewildered face made me feel I’d betrayed him.
‘I didn’t do it, Dad,’ I yelled. Bull’s fist slamming into my head shut me up.
How did I come to be in this predicament? Three words—stupidity, booze, and sex.
I’d slipped away from the dance with my mate, Ian Flynn. We sat in the park and drank six cans of beer each. I was drunk when Tiffany Saunders sauntered up to me.
‘Hi Luke,’ she said. I clung to her as I staggered along the river to the big oak tree. I glanced back at Ian; he’d rolled over and gone to sleep.
‘Are you too drunk to do it?’ she asked.
In answer, I grabbed her and kissed her. She lay down, hooked up her dress up and removed her underwear. Tiffany straddled me. Afterwards, I felt sick. I stumbled away and vomited under another tree, and passed out. The next thing I remember, Bull Revel dragged me out and arrested me for Tiffany’s murder.
At the Remand Centre in the city, they threw me in a cell with, Clint Yaris, who was awaiting trial for assault. My trial blurred from one day to another. The prosecutor told the court about my semen in Tiffany. Bull told how I was a known womaniser, and would rape if I couldn’t have my way. More lies became facts as witnesses filed in and out. The clincher came as Clint Yaris told the court; I had confessed to him, I killed Tiffany. The result—twenty-one years, with no parole for fifteen, I wondered what it took to make Clint lie. Whatever it was, it kept him out of jail. Unfortunately, I was never able to confront him. Someone murdered him two years later.
*
The train sped through the green countryside as I stared out the window at scenes I hadn’t seen for fifteen years. Oh, how I’ve dreamed of this moment. I was going home.
My fears surfaced when I neared Hunter River town. I wanted to jump off and disappear. But, I had to confront the real killer and expose the town’s dirty secrets. No yellow ribbon around the old oak tree would welcome me home. I had hated, schemed, and planned. The real culprit would pay. Despite my misgivings, I had to be ready for whatever the cops and the townspeople threw at me.
When the train pulled into the station, my resolve had returned. I was ready to take on this whole bloody town if I had to. I jumped onto the platform, and hurried out the gate. My instructions were to report to the police station as soon as I arrived, but I needed time to think. I walked along the river bank. The sun was at its zenith. Light reflected off gum leaves on the way towards the lawns along the river. The river current dawdled as if it had no place to go. It set the mood for a slow, lazy day. I headed towards the oak tree where someone had killed Tiffany. I stared at the trunk. Maybe, some revelation would give me an insight into who murdered her.
‘Luke Griffin returns to the crime scene,’ said a voice.
I spun around and saw a cop in uniform. It took me a few moments to recognise him. He was stout and thin on top, but Ian Flynn, my best mate before I went to jail, gazed back at me. ‘Been a few changes,’ I said.
‘The prison emailed us. You were supposed to report to the station.’
‘I’m on the way. Never saw this tree after Tiff was killed. You blokes kept me locked up.’ Ian didn’t reply. ‘You’ve come up in the world,’ I said. ‘They’re sergeant’s stripes? Where’s old Bull Revel?’
‘Retired,’ answered Ian.
‘This bloody tree saw what happened. If I stare at it long enough, maybe I can figure out who killed Tiff.’
‘We know already.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘You’re still carrying on. Give it up,’ said Ian. ‘Your old man needs you on the farm not back in bloody jail.’
I glared at the man who was my best mate all those years ago. He had known my innermost secrets. I wondered how he could think I was a murderer. ‘Mate, you know I would never hurt, Tiff.’ Ian shrugged and looked away. I gave up trying to convince him I wasn’t the killer.
‘How's my old man?’
‘Still in the old place, doesn’t he write to you?’
‘Never written a letter in his life. He still hitting the booze?’
‘Comes into town and picks up his whisky and takes it back to the farm. Since they took you away, I’ve kept my eye on him and helped him a few times. Doesn’t stop him from farming, had a good crop of barley last year.’
‘Christine Fisher still around?’ I asked. Christine and I thought about marriage, until we had an argument; before someone murdered Tiffany Saunders. She and I had been together for a month, right up until Bull Revel arrested me, but she never came to see me or contacted me in jail. I figured she wanted nothing to do with me.
‘She’s Christine Flynn now. We married about a year after the trial. We have three kids,’ said Ian. I’d always thought Christine didn’t like Ian. She told me he was a dork. She must have changed her mind.
‘How is she?’
For a moment he sighed, I had the impression the marriage was in trouble, but he soon collected himself. ‘Keep away from her. I don’t want you to upset the apple cart. You were always chasing skirt.’
‘Not a chance mate, all I want is to check on my old man and find out who killed Tiff.’
*
I filled in the forms at the police station, and walked through the Hunter River town. Some people recognised me but I kept going. New buildings were mixed in among the old ones as if the town planner was drunk. The cars parked at the curb were new models I’d never seen before. Music blared from a record shop. Several shops sold computers and a new Woolworths’ supermarket sat where a huge reserve once was. The car-park was almost full.
Our farm was five kilometres out of town. When I topped the rise and stared down at it, I felt a pang of regret at how the world had treated my Dad. My Mother had shot through soon after she had me. It had always been Dad and me, or should I say Dad, me, and a bottle of booze. The townspeople reckoned when Mum left, Dad hit the bottle. Nevertheless, the run down and dilapidated farm still looked functional.
The farm gate consisted of three pieces of wire wound around steel posts. I climbed through, and headed for the house. About twenty sheep grazed in the yard. Hundreds of empty bottles made the place untidy. Paint peeled off the house, rotten timber surrounded the veranda.
I knocked. No answer. I yelled, ‘Dad, it’s Luke.’
I pushed the door, it swung open; the lock was busted. Dad was slumped on the kitchen table; an empty whisky bottle lay on the floor. The room had dirty dishes and food scraps lying around. The floor looked as if it hadn’t been washed for years. I shook him, no response. I carried him to his bed, removed his dirty clothes, and covered him.
I cleaned up the kitchen and a few rooms in the house and opened the refrigerator and understood what my absence had done to my father. Besides a carton of milk, it was filled with meat pies in plastic wrappers. My father lived on them. My stomach growled. It reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I took two pies and heated them in the oven. They were delicious, but I shuddered at the knowledge my father ate nothing else.
Nightfall came. I tidied the house and put the soiled sheets from my old bedroom in the washing machine. I heard a knock at the door.
Christine Flynn grinned at me in the open doorway. She wore a mini skirt, plus a thin shirt pressed against her breasts. She flew into my arms, and I felt dormant passions rise in me. Fifteen years is a long time without a woman’s touch.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered. ‘Why did you go away?’
I led her to the kitchen. We sat at the table. From the look on her face, I had the impression she wasn’t impressed with the messy house. ‘You never wrote or came to see me,’ I said.
She smiled and reached for my hand. ‘Not my thing, Sweetheart.’
‘Ian told me you two are married.’
‘We are, Darling.’
‘Why come here?’
‘I will always want you, darling. It doesn’t matter who I’m married to.’
She stood and pulled me to my feet. Her arms grabbed me tight and her legs encircled me. I carried her to my bed. We crashed onto it. We ripped our clothes off. I felt as if I had arisen from the dead. My excitement boiled over as I touched her body and kissed her all over. But, it finished too soon—I never wanted to stop. Sex after abstaining for fifteen years was a huge high. But, I couldn’t help feeling something was missing.
‘You were sexy. You’ve been saving yourself for me for fifteen years. I wanted to be the first. I am the first, aren’t I, darling?’
Her attitude disgusted me. It was the same stupid outlook she had before I went to jail. But, now, fifteen years older; I looked for more from a relationship than sex. Christine’s still the same silly teenager she always was.
‘Don’t you dare fuck anybody else, Darling. You can have me anytime. I don’t care about Ian.’ She jumped off the bed and dressed. ‘You screwed Tiffany and spent fifteen years in jail. You won’t go to jail if you fuck me.’
She waved and walked out the door. I heard the front door slam. A car started.
The more I thought about Christine, the more I thought what a dirty little town Hunter River was. This town had a filthy secret. Who killed Tiffany Saunders? I felt soiled. Christine didn’t care for me—the sex was to mark her territory. She was drawing me into this stinking town. But, I’ll never be a part of their murderous tricks.
*
Next morning, my father stared at me in bed.
‘How long you here?’ he asked.
‘Looks like you can use some help. The place is a pigsty.’
‘Can’t pay you much.’
‘I qualified as an accountant in jail. Might get work in town.’
‘Don’t bet on it. They hate you. The farm accounts are a mess, you can start there.’
‘Heard anything about who killed Tiffany?’
Dad sat on the bed and touched my arm. ‘The townspeople clam up when I’m around.’
I swung my legs onto the floor. Dad’s breath made me gag. ‘You’re still pissed!’ I exclaimed. ‘Booze will kill you.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll send the bottles to the salvage yard,’ I said.
‘Phone don’t work. No one to talk to. Had it cut off,’ said Dad.
‘My motor-bike still in the shed?’
‘Yeah, covered in rust. Be a miracle if it starts.’
*
It took me four hours to clean the bike and make it work. I called at the salvage yard, and they agreed to collect the bottles.
At the police station, Ian greeted me. I put the expired disk from my motor bike together with my out of date licence on the counter. ‘Can you renew these?’
‘Did you ride the bike here?’ asked Ian.
‘Dad was pissed. I couldn’t push the bloody motor-bike all the way.’
Ian shook his head in disgust, but took the expired disk and licence. He handed them to a constable. ‘Fix this up. The bike’s outside, it will have to pass a roadworthy test.’ He signalled for me to follow him to his office, and closed the door.
‘Christine told me she went to see you last night,’ said Ian.
‘Yeah, she did.’
Ian sighed. ‘I suppose she came on to you? Don't worry, I’m used to it. I stick to her for the kids. Stay away from her.’ I gazed at him in surprise. I’d fucked his wife; he seemed remarkable calm about it. Obviously he was accustomed to Christine’s behaviour.
I changed the subject. ‘Let me see the file on Tiffany’s murder.’
‘No way,’ said Ian. He crossed to a filing cabinet and brought out a large folder marked Tiffany Saunders. ‘I read it again. Old Bull didn’t like you.’
‘I didn’t like him.’
‘You liked his daughter.’
I nodded, ‘Old bull sent her away.’
Ian showed me the front page. ‘It’s restricted. You can’t see it.’ He laid the file on his desk in front of me. ‘I’d better check on your disk and licence; it could take me a while.’
Ian walked out of his office and locked the door behind him. I stared after him, and tried to figure out what was in his mind. In the end, I couldn’t. I opened the file. Sergeant Gregory Revel, everyone called him Bull because of his thick neck, investigated the murder. It must be unusual for the local sergeant to be the chief investigator. The city homicide squad handled murder cases. I wondered how Bull arranged it. His reports were neat and thorough. I read them all. Bull’s venom when he mentioned me surprised me.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Sheree, Bull’s daughter, and I had the hots for each other. No, more—I loved her, and she loved me. We talked about marriage. Bull opposed it. He sent her away to the city to live with his sister. She never spoke to him again. I went to the city to look for her. Bull’s sister told me she’d gone to Melbourne to get married and didn’t want to see me. Bull’s wife left him soon after, I guessed to join her daughter in Melbourne. Bull told me Sheree had met a good man. Not a loser like me. It was the only time he spoke to me about her. But, from the lies and half-truths he put in his reports, I could see he blamed me for the loss of his family.
The files told me nothing I didn’t know. In frustration, I grabbed up the pile of papers and dropped them on the desk. A piece of paper fluttered out. I picked up a note, written in a bold cursive script: Bull, Charlie Walker wants to see you. He reckons Luke Griffen didn’t do it. This note wasn’t supposed to be in the file. It must have been stuck between pages.
Charlie Walker, I remembered the kid. His father ran the saw-mill on the outskirts of town.
*
Charlie took me into his office and offered me a beer. ‘I thought you were a prick,’ he said. ‘You had all the chicks.’
My reputation as a womaniser embarrassed me. Someone had been spreading rumours.
‘You went to the cops about Tiff.’
‘Old Bull told me to forget it. It had no bearing on the case.’
‘What did you see?’
Charlie ran his hands through his hair and stroked his moustache. ‘I wanted Tiff to be my girlfriend. I followed her when she left the dance. I saw you two banging away. When you finished, you threw up and left her sitting under the tree.’
‘I flaked out,’ I said.
‘I watched her for a while, she was upset. Let’s be honest, you were too pissed to be the great lover. I saw a shadow in the trees; someone else watched you. I decided to approach, but stopped when the person went up to Tiff. They argued. It was Christine Fisher. You know she’s married to a cop. That’s when I left.’
I wasn’t surprised; it explained her unusual behaviour the night before. What stuck in my guts was Old Bull had known who killed Tiffany all along. He suppressed the evidence. It would have been easy for Christine to make the murder scene look like a rape. Christine could get angry. She saw us having sex and worked out how to punish us both.
Charlie agreed to travel to Adelaide and tell the cops what he had told me. I thought it would be better if Ian didn’t have to arrest his own wife.
*
I found Dad’s old rifle—a Winchester hornet—behind some tractor parts in the shed. I cleaned, oiled, tested, and test fired it.
Next morning, I woke at three AM, took the rifle with a box of ammunition, and walked to Old Bull’s house. I kept off the roads and travelled across paddocks to keep out of sight. His house was located on a one acre block a long way from other dwellings on the outskirts of town. He lived alone. I pounded on his door. The porch light came on. I lifted the rifle to my shoulder. The door opened and Bull stopped dead when he saw me.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
‘You knew I didn’t kill Tiffany. Why did you railroad me?’
‘You took Sheree away from me, you bastard. She never spoke to me again after you got through with her. I had to fix the evidence to get you in jail so you couldn’t kill anyone. It won’t do you any good. No-one will know. I’ll never tell anyone.’
‘Sheree ran away from you. Not me.’
‘You’re just a sick murderer. You’ll never change. I saw it in your eyes as soon as Sheree brought you home. You’re a killer and you’ll never change—you can’t—the evil is in you.’
‘More lies, I don’t think you know the truth anymore. I’ve served fifteen years for a murder I didn’t commit. The state owes me fifteen years. Or, it owes me a murder. When I kill you, it’s all even. If they catch me, I’ve served my time for killing you.’
‘You haven’t got the guts.’
He lunged. I squeezed the trigger. He staggered and hit the ground. The second shot made his head jump as the bullet entered his brain.
I collected the spent shells and lifted Bull’s body into the back of his utility. A few specs of blood had spilt on the path. I cleaned them.
I buried old Bull in the pine forest.
I drove Bull’s utility into Hunter River and left it parked at the railway station and walked back to Dad’s farm. I put the rifle barrel in the vice and bent it. I figured it would make it difficult to test fire if the police found it. I went back to bed.
*
Next day, the news broke about Caroline’s arrest and Bull’s role in framing me. Ian came to see me. He walked into the kitchen and flopped into a chair. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘I should have believed you. The homicide boys are crawling over the station.’
‘Did you have any idea?’
‘No, although I had a feeling, especially after you came back.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘She admitted it to the homicide boys. She was proud she paid you back because you were unfaithful to her. And, she said, that bitch Tiffany would never fuck any of her boyfriends again. It was sad. Oh! She was difficult to live with. But, I had no idea what she’d done.’
‘How did she persuade Bull to go along with it?’ I asked.
‘Sex! Bull’s wife had left him. She said it went on until she figured out Bull had as much to lose as she did. She found out Bull wanted you in jail because Sheree ran away.’
‘Have they arrested Bull yet?’ I asked.
‘He shot through. We found his ute at the railway station. We reckon he figured we’d be after him. He didn’t buy a ticket, but it doesn’t mean much. He could have jumped on the train and hid. Don’t worry, we’ll get him.’
Ian leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. He avoided eye contact with me. The events of the last few hours had defeated him. I wondered how he would cope. He had three kids to think about.
‘The homicide boys reckon Christine was mentally unbalanced,’ said Ian. He stood as if he was lifting the world on his shoulders, and pushed the chair back under the table. He looked older. ‘They’re going to get her checked by a physiatrist. Jesus, what a bloody mess,’ said Ian.
I patted him on the back, ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘We’ve lives to put back together. It’s time to put the past behind. We have to cope.’
*
The Government had declared an amnesty on all unregistered weapons.
I walked into the Poe Hill Police Station with the rifle. It was a big station close to the capital. I laid the weapon on the counter. A female officer approached.
‘It’s been on the farm for years. The thing won’t work, the barrels bent,’ I said.
She smiled at me and pushed a form towards me. ‘Fill this form in.’ I filled it in, and she took the rifle and put in on a table with about ten weapons with tags on them. She tore off a receipt and handed it to me.
‘That’s it. Thank you.’
Outside, I kicked my motor-bike into life and smiled. Was there a better place to hide a murder weapon than with the cops, I thought. I understood they put them in a furnace and melted them down.
*
Over the next few months a lawyer negotiated with the Government on my behalf for compensation for my wrongful imprisonment. I opened an accountant’s office in Hunter River. The townspeople used me and business was good. I think they felt sorry for how they treated me. Dad and I whipped the farm into shape.
I sat at my desk and looked up when the shop door opened; I still didn’t have enough business to have a receptionist. Sheree stared at me from inside the door. A boy of about sixteen and girl of about eleven were with her.
She smiled, ‘Hello Luke. Read about you in the papers.’
I wanted her all over again. Nothing had changed; she was the girl for me. I jumped up from my desk and found chairs for them. She had changed, more mature, but beautiful. I think some women in their thirties are more beautiful than when they are in their twenties. They have a look of experience, a capability, and an inner beauty.
‘I’ve moved back to Hunter River,’ she said.
At first I was elated at the thought of being with Sheree again, but my thoughts went to a grave in a pine forest. The bloated body took on a greenish discolouration over time. The skin marbled and autolysis advanced. The body fed on itself. Soon, the putrefaction stage occurred when the cadaver’s own bacteria made the corpse break down. Maybe tree roots had invaded what was left of Old Bull.
‘You’ve been in my thoughts,’ she continued.
I focused on her. ‘Sorry about your father,’ I said.
She blushed, ‘I have to tell you something. This is Albert and Victoria. I already had Albert when I met my ex husband.’
I desperately wanted to know if she had married again, but I was too frightened to ask.
‘Albert is your son,’ Sheree said. She turned to the boy who gazed at me, as if he’d waited all his life for this moment. ‘This is your father, darling. He’s the one I told you about.’
‘Mum’s been crying since she found out Grandpa framed you,’ said Albert.
The world paused, or at least something skipped a beat in the next few moments as I stared at my son. Questions bounced around in my brain. I was elated. But, I was angry too at being denied the knowledge I had a son. Suddenly, I realised Bull must have known I’d made Sheree pregnant. He’d sent me to jail for fifteen years as payback. I think my eyes must be staring because they all gawked at me. My emotions kicked in and I rushed forward and took Albert, Victoria, and Sheree in my arms. We cried.
We broke up, and I had no idea what to do. Sheree came to the rescue.
‘Mum died, and now Dad has disappeared, I’m now a single mum. If I can get a job, it would be cheaper if I moved back to Hunter River and lived in Dad’s house.’
‘I need a receptionist,’ I blurted out, even though I knew I couldn’t afford it.
‘Would you give me a job?’
‘Off course.’
*
Two months later we were married. Sheree and the kids joined me at Dad’s farm. He slowed his drinking and relished his role as an instant grandfather.
The grave in the forest still haunted me. The body would swell and break open like an overripe tomato. Bacterial species in the intestines decayed first, the liver followed, lungs, brain, and then the kidneys. I wondered how long it took before everything of Bull disappeared, leaving only his bones.
I was terrified the woman I loved would discover I had murdered her father. Maybe it had to happen to be a part of this town with its dirty little secrets. I’d joined them, but I had a dirty big secret.
*
I worked on the hole in the fence where six sheep had escaped onto the road. The sun shone as the police car pulled up and Sergeant Ian Flynn approached.
‘G’day, Luke. I’ve figured it out,’ he said. He leaned on a post and stared at me.
‘Old Bull didn’t disappear. You killed him.’
I hung the wire cutters on the fence and stared back at him. ‘You must have killed him the night you found out he framed you, there’s been no trace of him anywhere. He’s dead isn’t he? You must have buried him somewhere. It’s the only explanation.’
‘You’re talking out of your arse,’ I said.
‘I sent his ute down to forensics. They found his blood in the back. I reckon you killed him and put his body in there.’
‘His blood could have dropped onto the tray of his ute at anytime.’
‘You don’t get it, Luke. You came back here and went after my wife like some avenging angel. She’s thrown into prison. I have to bring up three kids. She was a terrible wife but a good mother. You killed old Bull, now you’ve settled down with his daughter. Everything’s rosy. But, now you could lose the lot. I’m after you. I’ll prove you killed Bull. What would your sweet little wifey think about that?’
He turned on his heel, returned to his car, and sped off down the road. I watched the police car disappear in the distance. Ian was right—I had too much to lose. Sheree must never discover I killed her father. It’s time for another body to be buried in the forest. This one will be more difficult, but I’ll figure it out.
Maybe I should offer to look after his kids after I kill him.
What a Dirty Little Town
By Reece Pocock
The day they sent me to prison, the handcuffs cut into my wrist as Sergeant Bull Revel pulled my arm and dumped me on the train seat. I looked up at him to object, but the revulsion in his eyes stopped me. A crowd had gathered on the Hunter River platform. I could feel hate emanating from them as if the air carried it like a disease. One man yelled, ‘Get out of town, you bastard, and don’t come back. I hope they hang you.’
My father watched from the crowd. His bewildered face made me feel I’d betrayed him.
‘I didn’t do it, Dad,’ I yelled. Bull’s fist slamming into my head shut me up.
How did I come to be in this predicament? Three words—stupidity, booze, and sex.
I’d slipped away from the dance with my mate, Ian Flynn. We sat in the park and drank six cans of beer each. I was drunk when Tiffany Saunders sauntered up to me.
‘Hi Luke,’ she said. I clung to her as I staggered along the river to the big oak tree. I glanced back at Ian; he’d rolled over and gone to sleep.
‘Are you too drunk to do it?’ she asked.
In answer, I grabbed her and kissed her. She lay down, hooked up her dress up and removed her underwear. Tiffany straddled me. Afterwards, I felt sick. I stumbled away and vomited under another tree, and passed out. The next thing I remember, Bull Revel dragged me out and arrested me for Tiffany’s murder.
At the Remand Centre in the city, they threw me in a cell with, Clint Yaris, who was awaiting trial for assault. My trial blurred from one day to another. The prosecutor told the court about my semen in Tiffany. Bull told how I was a known womaniser, and would rape if I couldn’t have my way. More lies became facts as witnesses filed in and out. The clincher came as Clint Yaris told the court; I had confessed to him, I killed Tiffany. The result—twenty-one years, with no parole for fifteen, I wondered what it took to make Clint lie. Whatever it was, it kept him out of jail. Unfortunately, I was never able to confront him. Someone murdered him two years later.
*
The train sped through the green countryside as I stared out the window at scenes I hadn’t seen for fifteen years. Oh, how I’ve dreamed of this moment. I was going home.
My fears surfaced when I neared Hunter River town. I wanted to jump off and disappear. But, I had to confront the real killer and expose the town’s dirty secrets. No yellow ribbon around the old oak tree would welcome me home. I had hated, schemed, and planned. The real culprit would pay. Despite my misgivings, I had to be ready for whatever the cops and the townspeople threw at me.
When the train pulled into the station, my resolve had returned. I was ready to take on this whole bloody town if I had to. I jumped onto the platform, and hurried out the gate. My instructions were to report to the police station as soon as I arrived, but I needed time to think. I walked along the river bank. The sun was at its zenith. Light reflected off gum leaves on the way towards the lawns along the river. The river current dawdled as if it had no place to go. It set the mood for a slow, lazy day. I headed towards the oak tree where someone had killed Tiffany. I stared at the trunk. Maybe, some revelation would give me an insight into who murdered her.
‘Luke Griffin returns to the crime scene,’ said a voice.
I spun around and saw a cop in uniform. It took me a few moments to recognise him. He was stout and thin on top, but Ian Flynn, my best mate before I went to jail, gazed back at me. ‘Been a few changes,’ I said.
‘The prison emailed us. You were supposed to report to the station.’
‘I’m on the way. Never saw this tree after Tiff was killed. You blokes kept me locked up.’ Ian didn’t reply. ‘You’ve come up in the world,’ I said. ‘They’re sergeant’s stripes? Where’s old Bull Revel?’
‘Retired,’ answered Ian.
‘This bloody tree saw what happened. If I stare at it long enough, maybe I can figure out who killed Tiff.’
‘We know already.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘You’re still carrying on. Give it up,’ said Ian. ‘Your old man needs you on the farm not back in bloody jail.’
I glared at the man who was my best mate all those years ago. He had known my innermost secrets. I wondered how he could think I was a murderer. ‘Mate, you know I would never hurt, Tiff.’ Ian shrugged and looked away. I gave up trying to convince him I wasn’t the killer.
‘How's my old man?’
‘Still in the old place, doesn’t he write to you?’
‘Never written a letter in his life. He still hitting the booze?’
‘Comes into town and picks up his whisky and takes it back to the farm. Since they took you away, I’ve kept my eye on him and helped him a few times. Doesn’t stop him from farming, had a good crop of barley last year.’
‘Christine Fisher still around?’ I asked. Christine and I thought about marriage, until we had an argument; before someone murdered Tiffany Saunders. She and I had been together for a month, right up until Bull Revel arrested me, but she never came to see me or contacted me in jail. I figured she wanted nothing to do with me.
‘She’s Christine Flynn now. We married about a year after the trial. We have three kids,’ said Ian. I’d always thought Christine didn’t like Ian. She told me he was a dork. She must have changed her mind.
‘How is she?’
For a moment he sighed, I had the impression the marriage was in trouble, but he soon collected himself. ‘Keep away from her. I don’t want you to upset the apple cart. You were always chasing skirt.’
‘Not a chance mate, all I want is to check on my old man and find out who killed Tiff.’
*
I filled in the forms at the police station, and walked through the Hunter River town. Some people recognised me but I kept going. New buildings were mixed in among the old ones as if the town planner was drunk. The cars parked at the curb were new models I’d never seen before. Music blared from a record shop. Several shops sold computers and a new Woolworths’ supermarket sat where a huge reserve once was. The car-park was almost full.
Our farm was five kilometres out of town. When I topped the rise and stared down at it, I felt a pang of regret at how the world had treated my Dad. My Mother had shot through soon after she had me. It had always been Dad and me, or should I say Dad, me, and a bottle of booze. The townspeople reckoned when Mum left, Dad hit the bottle. Nevertheless, the run down and dilapidated farm still looked functional.
The farm gate consisted of three pieces of wire wound around steel posts. I climbed through, and headed for the house. About twenty sheep grazed in the yard. Hundreds of empty bottles made the place untidy. Paint peeled off the house, rotten timber surrounded the veranda.
I knocked. No answer. I yelled, ‘Dad, it’s Luke.’
I pushed the door, it swung open; the lock was busted. Dad was slumped on the kitchen table; an empty whisky bottle lay on the floor. The room had dirty dishes and food scraps lying around. The floor looked as if it hadn’t been washed for years. I shook him, no response. I carried him to his bed, removed his dirty clothes, and covered him.
I cleaned up the kitchen and a few rooms in the house and opened the refrigerator and understood what my absence had done to my father. Besides a carton of milk, it was filled with meat pies in plastic wrappers. My father lived on them. My stomach growled. It reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I took two pies and heated them in the oven. They were delicious, but I shuddered at the knowledge my father ate nothing else.
Nightfall came. I tidied the house and put the soiled sheets from my old bedroom in the washing machine. I heard a knock at the door.
Christine Flynn grinned at me in the open doorway. She wore a mini skirt, plus a thin shirt pressed against her breasts. She flew into my arms, and I felt dormant passions rise in me. Fifteen years is a long time without a woman’s touch.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered. ‘Why did you go away?’
I led her to the kitchen. We sat at the table. From the look on her face, I had the impression she wasn’t impressed with the messy house. ‘You never wrote or came to see me,’ I said.
She smiled and reached for my hand. ‘Not my thing, Sweetheart.’
‘Ian told me you two are married.’
‘We are, Darling.’
‘Why come here?’
‘I will always want you, darling. It doesn’t matter who I’m married to.’
She stood and pulled me to my feet. Her arms grabbed me tight and her legs encircled me. I carried her to my bed. We crashed onto it. We ripped our clothes off. I felt as if I had arisen from the dead. My excitement boiled over as I touched her body and kissed her all over. But, it finished too soon—I never wanted to stop. Sex after abstaining for fifteen years was a huge high. But, I couldn’t help feeling something was missing.
‘You were sexy. You’ve been saving yourself for me for fifteen years. I wanted to be the first. I am the first, aren’t I, darling?’
Her attitude disgusted me. It was the same stupid outlook she had before I went to jail. But, now, fifteen years older; I looked for more from a relationship than sex. Christine’s still the same silly teenager she always was.
‘Don’t you dare fuck anybody else, Darling. You can have me anytime. I don’t care about Ian.’ She jumped off the bed and dressed. ‘You screwed Tiffany and spent fifteen years in jail. You won’t go to jail if you fuck me.’
She waved and walked out the door. I heard the front door slam. A car started.
The more I thought about Christine, the more I thought what a dirty little town Hunter River was. This town had a filthy secret. Who killed Tiffany Saunders? I felt soiled. Christine didn’t care for me—the sex was to mark her territory. She was drawing me into this stinking town. But, I’ll never be a part of their murderous tricks.
*
Next morning, my father stared at me in bed.
‘How long you here?’ he asked.
‘Looks like you can use some help. The place is a pigsty.’
‘Can’t pay you much.’
‘I qualified as an accountant in jail. Might get work in town.’
‘Don’t bet on it. They hate you. The farm accounts are a mess, you can start there.’
‘Heard anything about who killed Tiffany?’
Dad sat on the bed and touched my arm. ‘The townspeople clam up when I’m around.’
I swung my legs onto the floor. Dad’s breath made me gag. ‘You’re still pissed!’ I exclaimed. ‘Booze will kill you.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll send the bottles to the salvage yard,’ I said.
‘Phone don’t work. No one to talk to. Had it cut off,’ said Dad.
‘My motor-bike still in the shed?’
‘Yeah, covered in rust. Be a miracle if it starts.’
*
It took me four hours to clean the bike and make it work. I called at the salvage yard, and they agreed to collect the bottles.
At the police station, Ian greeted me. I put the expired disk from my motor bike together with my out of date licence on the counter. ‘Can you renew these?’
‘Did you ride the bike here?’ asked Ian.
‘Dad was pissed. I couldn’t push the bloody motor-bike all the way.’
Ian shook his head in disgust, but took the expired disk and licence. He handed them to a constable. ‘Fix this up. The bike’s outside, it will have to pass a roadworthy test.’ He signalled for me to follow him to his office, and closed the door.
‘Christine told me she went to see you last night,’ said Ian.
‘Yeah, she did.’
Ian sighed. ‘I suppose she came on to you? Don't worry, I’m used to it. I stick to her for the kids. Stay away from her.’ I gazed at him in surprise. I’d fucked his wife; he seemed remarkable calm about it. Obviously he was accustomed to Christine’s behaviour.
I changed the subject. ‘Let me see the file on Tiffany’s murder.’
‘No way,’ said Ian. He crossed to a filing cabinet and brought out a large folder marked Tiffany Saunders. ‘I read it again. Old Bull didn’t like you.’
‘I didn’t like him.’
‘You liked his daughter.’
I nodded, ‘Old bull sent her away.’
Ian showed me the front page. ‘It’s restricted. You can’t see it.’ He laid the file on his desk in front of me. ‘I’d better check on your disk and licence; it could take me a while.’
Ian walked out of his office and locked the door behind him. I stared after him, and tried to figure out what was in his mind. In the end, I couldn’t. I opened the file. Sergeant Gregory Revel, everyone called him Bull because of his thick neck, investigated the murder. It must be unusual for the local sergeant to be the chief investigator. The city homicide squad handled murder cases. I wondered how Bull arranged it. His reports were neat and thorough. I read them all. Bull’s venom when he mentioned me surprised me.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Sheree, Bull’s daughter, and I had the hots for each other. No, more—I loved her, and she loved me. We talked about marriage. Bull opposed it. He sent her away to the city to live with his sister. She never spoke to him again. I went to the city to look for her. Bull’s sister told me she’d gone to Melbourne to get married and didn’t want to see me. Bull’s wife left him soon after, I guessed to join her daughter in Melbourne. Bull told me Sheree had met a good man. Not a loser like me. It was the only time he spoke to me about her. But, from the lies and half-truths he put in his reports, I could see he blamed me for the loss of his family.
The files told me nothing I didn’t know. In frustration, I grabbed up the pile of papers and dropped them on the desk. A piece of paper fluttered out. I picked up a note, written in a bold cursive script: Bull, Charlie Walker wants to see you. He reckons Luke Griffen didn’t do it. This note wasn’t supposed to be in the file. It must have been stuck between pages.
Charlie Walker, I remembered the kid. His father ran the saw-mill on the outskirts of town.
*
Charlie took me into his office and offered me a beer. ‘I thought you were a prick,’ he said. ‘You had all the chicks.’
My reputation as a womaniser embarrassed me. Someone had been spreading rumours.
‘You went to the cops about Tiff.’
‘Old Bull told me to forget it. It had no bearing on the case.’
‘What did you see?’
Charlie ran his hands through his hair and stroked his moustache. ‘I wanted Tiff to be my girlfriend. I followed her when she left the dance. I saw you two banging away. When you finished, you threw up and left her sitting under the tree.’
‘I flaked out,’ I said.
‘I watched her for a while, she was upset. Let’s be honest, you were too pissed to be the great lover. I saw a shadow in the trees; someone else watched you. I decided to approach, but stopped when the person went up to Tiff. They argued. It was Christine Fisher. You know she’s married to a cop. That’s when I left.’
I wasn’t surprised; it explained her unusual behaviour the night before. What stuck in my guts was Old Bull had known who killed Tiffany all along. He suppressed the evidence. It would have been easy for Christine to make the murder scene look like a rape. Christine could get angry. She saw us having sex and worked out how to punish us both.
Charlie agreed to travel to Adelaide and tell the cops what he had told me. I thought it would be better if Ian didn’t have to arrest his own wife.
*
I found Dad’s old rifle—a Winchester hornet—behind some tractor parts in the shed. I cleaned, oiled, tested, and test fired it.
Next morning, I woke at three AM, took the rifle with a box of ammunition, and walked to Old Bull’s house. I kept off the roads and travelled across paddocks to keep out of sight. His house was located on a one acre block a long way from other dwellings on the outskirts of town. He lived alone. I pounded on his door. The porch light came on. I lifted the rifle to my shoulder. The door opened and Bull stopped dead when he saw me.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
‘You knew I didn’t kill Tiffany. Why did you railroad me?’
‘You took Sheree away from me, you bastard. She never spoke to me again after you got through with her. I had to fix the evidence to get you in jail so you couldn’t kill anyone. It won’t do you any good. No-one will know. I’ll never tell anyone.’
‘Sheree ran away from you. Not me.’
‘You’re just a sick murderer. You’ll never change. I saw it in your eyes as soon as Sheree brought you home. You’re a killer and you’ll never change—you can’t—the evil is in you.’
‘More lies, I don’t think you know the truth anymore. I’ve served fifteen years for a murder I didn’t commit. The state owes me fifteen years. Or, it owes me a murder. When I kill you, it’s all even. If they catch me, I’ve served my time for killing you.’
‘You haven’t got the guts.’
He lunged. I squeezed the trigger. He staggered and hit the ground. The second shot made his head jump as the bullet entered his brain.
I collected the spent shells and lifted Bull’s body into the back of his utility. A few specs of blood had spilt on the path. I cleaned them.
I buried old Bull in the pine forest.
I drove Bull’s utility into Hunter River and left it parked at the railway station and walked back to Dad’s farm. I put the rifle barrel in the vice and bent it. I figured it would make it difficult to test fire if the police found it. I went back to bed.
*
Next day, the news broke about Caroline’s arrest and Bull’s role in framing me. Ian came to see me. He walked into the kitchen and flopped into a chair. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘I should have believed you. The homicide boys are crawling over the station.’
‘Did you have any idea?’
‘No, although I had a feeling, especially after you came back.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘She admitted it to the homicide boys. She was proud she paid you back because you were unfaithful to her. And, she said, that bitch Tiffany would never fuck any of her boyfriends again. It was sad. Oh! She was difficult to live with. But, I had no idea what she’d done.’
‘How did she persuade Bull to go along with it?’ I asked.
‘Sex! Bull’s wife had left him. She said it went on until she figured out Bull had as much to lose as she did. She found out Bull wanted you in jail because Sheree ran away.’
‘Have they arrested Bull yet?’ I asked.
‘He shot through. We found his ute at the railway station. We reckon he figured we’d be after him. He didn’t buy a ticket, but it doesn’t mean much. He could have jumped on the train and hid. Don’t worry, we’ll get him.’
Ian leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. He avoided eye contact with me. The events of the last few hours had defeated him. I wondered how he would cope. He had three kids to think about.
‘The homicide boys reckon Christine was mentally unbalanced,’ said Ian. He stood as if he was lifting the world on his shoulders, and pushed the chair back under the table. He looked older. ‘They’re going to get her checked by a physiatrist. Jesus, what a bloody mess,’ said Ian.
I patted him on the back, ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘We’ve lives to put back together. It’s time to put the past behind. We have to cope.’
*
The Government had declared an amnesty on all unregistered weapons.
I walked into the Poe Hill Police Station with the rifle. It was a big station close to the capital. I laid the weapon on the counter. A female officer approached.
‘It’s been on the farm for years. The thing won’t work, the barrels bent,’ I said.
She smiled at me and pushed a form towards me. ‘Fill this form in.’ I filled it in, and she took the rifle and put in on a table with about ten weapons with tags on them. She tore off a receipt and handed it to me.
‘That’s it. Thank you.’
Outside, I kicked my motor-bike into life and smiled. Was there a better place to hide a murder weapon than with the cops, I thought. I understood they put them in a furnace and melted them down.
*
Over the next few months a lawyer negotiated with the Government on my behalf for compensation for my wrongful imprisonment. I opened an accountant’s office in Hunter River. The townspeople used me and business was good. I think they felt sorry for how they treated me. Dad and I whipped the farm into shape.
I sat at my desk and looked up when the shop door opened; I still didn’t have enough business to have a receptionist. Sheree stared at me from inside the door. A boy of about sixteen and girl of about eleven were with her.
She smiled, ‘Hello Luke. Read about you in the papers.’
I wanted her all over again. Nothing had changed; she was the girl for me. I jumped up from my desk and found chairs for them. She had changed, more mature, but beautiful. I think some women in their thirties are more beautiful than when they are in their twenties. They have a look of experience, a capability, and an inner beauty.
‘I’ve moved back to Hunter River,’ she said.
At first I was elated at the thought of being with Sheree again, but my thoughts went to a grave in a pine forest. The bloated body took on a greenish discolouration over time. The skin marbled and autolysis advanced. The body fed on itself. Soon, the putrefaction stage occurred when the cadaver’s own bacteria made the corpse break down. Maybe tree roots had invaded what was left of Old Bull.
‘You’ve been in my thoughts,’ she continued.
I focused on her. ‘Sorry about your father,’ I said.
She blushed, ‘I have to tell you something. This is Albert and Victoria. I already had Albert when I met my ex husband.’
I desperately wanted to know if she had married again, but I was too frightened to ask.
‘Albert is your son,’ Sheree said. She turned to the boy who gazed at me, as if he’d waited all his life for this moment. ‘This is your father, darling. He’s the one I told you about.’
‘Mum’s been crying since she found out Grandpa framed you,’ said Albert.
The world paused, or at least something skipped a beat in the next few moments as I stared at my son. Questions bounced around in my brain. I was elated. But, I was angry too at being denied the knowledge I had a son. Suddenly, I realised Bull must have known I’d made Sheree pregnant. He’d sent me to jail for fifteen years as payback. I think my eyes must be staring because they all gawked at me. My emotions kicked in and I rushed forward and took Albert, Victoria, and Sheree in my arms. We cried.
We broke up, and I had no idea what to do. Sheree came to the rescue.
‘Mum died, and now Dad has disappeared, I’m now a single mum. If I can get a job, it would be cheaper if I moved back to Hunter River and lived in Dad’s house.’
‘I need a receptionist,’ I blurted out, even though I knew I couldn’t afford it.
‘Would you give me a job?’
‘Off course.’
*
Two months later we were married. Sheree and the kids joined me at Dad’s farm. He slowed his drinking and relished his role as an instant grandfather.
The grave in the forest still haunted me. The body would swell and break open like an overripe tomato. Bacterial species in the intestines decayed first, the liver followed, lungs, brain, and then the kidneys. I wondered how long it took before everything of Bull disappeared, leaving only his bones.
I was terrified the woman I loved would discover I had murdered her father. Maybe it had to happen to be a part of this town with its dirty little secrets. I’d joined them, but I had a dirty big secret.
*
I worked on the hole in the fence where six sheep had escaped onto the road. The sun shone as the police car pulled up and Sergeant Ian Flynn approached.
‘G’day, Luke. I’ve figured it out,’ he said. He leaned on a post and stared at me.
‘Old Bull didn’t disappear. You killed him.’
I hung the wire cutters on the fence and stared back at him. ‘You must have killed him the night you found out he framed you, there’s been no trace of him anywhere. He’s dead isn’t he? You must have buried him somewhere. It’s the only explanation.’
‘You’re talking out of your arse,’ I said.
‘I sent his ute down to forensics. They found his blood in the back. I reckon you killed him and put his body in there.’
‘His blood could have dropped onto the tray of his ute at anytime.’
‘You don’t get it, Luke. You came back here and went after my wife like some avenging angel. She’s thrown into prison. I have to bring up three kids. She was a terrible wife but a good mother. You killed old Bull, now you’ve settled down with his daughter. Everything’s rosy. But, now you could lose the lot. I’m after you. I’ll prove you killed Bull. What would your sweet little wifey think about that?’
He turned on his heel, returned to his car, and sped off down the road. I watched the police car disappear in the distance. Ian was right—I had too much to lose. Sheree must never discover I killed her father. It’s time for another body to be buried in the forest. This one will be more difficult, but I’ll figure it out.
Maybe I should offer to look after his kids after I kill him.