There was a crackle as Celeste’s voice came over Jed’s radio.‘Jed, tell Stone the Stock Squad are here.’
Seven
Amara clambered out of the back seat of the Stock Squad’s large four-wheel drive, dragging out her backpack and her ever-handy tablet.‘I’ve never done a case about crocodiles before.Does the stock squad need to be involved, sir?’
‘They do come under the category of livestock, constable.’Finn adjusted his big stockman’s hat, pushing the driver’s door shut.‘You would’ve dealt with the odd saltie in your time on the stations, Craig?’
Sauntering around from the passenger side, the blond-haired rodeo champion hitched his belt higher, highlighting that shiny belt buckle, while his blue eyes were shaded by his well-worn stockman’s hat.‘I’ve wrestled a few in my time, moving them away from cattle.You?’
Finn’s mouth hinted at a grin as he gave a curt nod.Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, and his long-sleeved shirt was rolled up at the cuffs, exposing heavily tatted forearms.At least he looked more like a cattleman these days, than the leader of a drug cartel.
Then Amara slid on a wide-brimmed hat.
‘Wrong hat, Duchess.’Stone shook his head, waiting for them in the car park.‘Have we not taught you anything about wearing Territory clobber?’At least she’d stopped wearing her South Australia Police uniform, but her long-sleeved work shirt was as stiff and starched as her jeans.
‘What’s wrong with my hat?You’re all wearing a hat.’
‘That is a sheep farmer’s Sunday hat.Big difference, Duchess.’It wasn’t a stockman’s hat, that’s for sure.‘You’ll melt your brain wearing that out here.’
‘I said the same thing,’ said Craig.‘Not the brain bit, but it’ll get hot in the summer wearing that style of hat up here.I’ve seen plenty of southerners who don’t even last a day into the muster, before they’re cutting big vents into their hat’s crown to let the air out.’
‘Fine, it might need some ventilation holes, but I don’t see what’s the big deal with the style.It’s a hat.’Amara tugged her hat lower at the brim.
‘It’s a sheep farmer’s hat and there are no sheep this far north.’
‘What the cowboy said.’Stone grinned at Craig as they gripped hands, bumped shoulders, and patted each other on the back like brothers.
‘And what about you?’Amara arched her eyebrows at him as she gave Stone’s mud-splattered jeans, dirty shirt and boots a once-over.‘We do have a dress standard, Stone.You’re representing—'
‘Are you going to iron my shirts for me, Duchess?’Stone wasn’t wearing a suit and tie for anyone.‘Excuse the clobber, Bossman, but I’ve been out bush all morning.I came out here to deliver some eggs I collected earlier.Good thing too, because Malcolm wasn’t going to make the call and report the theft, so he may not be open to this.But his son, Jed, hit me up as soon as I arrived.I’m glad he did.This way…’ Stone led them through a series of heavy metal doors to the skinny corridor.‘Clean your boots, children.And we use our indoor voices until we’re past the juvie section.’
‘Juvie?As in a juvenile prison?’Amara dipped her highly polished sheep farmer’s elastic-sided boots into the solution.
‘No, it’s a daycare centre for cute and cuddly little man-eaters.’Stone grinned at Amara, who rolled her eyes at him.
‘Hmm, should’ve bought the boot polish out for this.’Craig dipped his scuffed cowboy boots, with their chunky Cuban heels, into the solution.
‘This place has some heavy security.Lights, sensors, cameras, coded doors.’Finn didn’t miss a beat, while dipping his steel-capped boots into the boot wash.‘That screams big money to me.’
‘It is a multimillion-dollar business, Bossman.’
‘How much of a turnover?’Finn asked, as Amara lit up her tablet to start taking notes as their team’s paperwork queen.
‘Well, hell, for the last financial year the local crocodile farming industry was valued at over a hundred million dollars.This place, Saltscale,’ replied Stone, sliding his hands onto his hips and peering at the complex, ‘has an average annual revenue of around 25 million on a land mass that is half the size of a single cattle station’s holding paddock.’
Amara stopped writing as her eyes widened over her tablet.‘I understand crocodiles produce a luxury leather, but for that sum?’
‘Well, they do sell direct to the French fashion houses, Duchess.No middleman.’
‘No way…’ Amara swivelled around as if to re-inspect her surroundings.
‘So why were they hesitating to call us if their stock got stolen?’Craig asked.‘Malcolm Rowntree has never been shy about screaming loud at any injustice.’
‘Malcolm’s moods are legendary.’Stone pushed through another door, leading the team.‘Being such a small, specialised field, this theft is more of a reputational blow to the family business.There are only a few crocodile farms around, and they haggle fiercely for business.They don’t want their leather buyers to know there was a breach, or that their stock is at risk.’
‘So did they have stock stolen?’Finn tilted his head to scrutinise the keypad Stone used to let them through.
‘They did.They just don’t know how.’Stone led them to the elevated gangway that stretched over the top of an enormous network of crocodile pens.Their boots clomped heavily over the mesh walkway that was suspended over the centre like a thin spine, hovering just high enough above the chaotic enclosures, giving them an unobstructed view of hundreds of young crocodiles.
