The pain was swift. Without saying goodbye? He’d thought they’d found some common ground last night when they were sharing pizza on the pew.
‘She was heading out to Corley Station, left at dawn, but then some drama in Brisbane came up. She turned up again here a couple of hours ago and is now on her way back to Longreach to catch the flight home.’
‘Back soon, though, right?’
Maggie sighed. ‘Oh, Hux.’
That wasn’t an answer, and he would have pressed her, but as much as he didn’t want to push Jo out of his head, he had to. ‘Tell me more about this journalist. Nigel Frawley, he told me.’
‘Yes. Channel Six, he does roving news reports for regional Queensland. I recognised him as soon as he walked in. I suggested when he’s done raking up trouble he can come back and cover the Yakka for us.’
‘You’re an operator, Maggie. What else did you get out of him?’
She chuckled. ‘Well, as it happens, we did chat for a while, so I’m giving you the relevant bits. Here’s the most relevant bit: he’s keen to get a quote from our acting senior constable, and next time the library’s open, he’s going to go through the archives of the oldYindi Creek Herald. Wants some “town colour”.’
Town colour. Jesus. ‘I’ve never heard of theYindi Creek Herald.’
‘That’d be because it’s been defunct since before you started shaving. Went from a daily to a weekly to a never soon after the small pastoralists all sold out to the bigger stations and the town population shrank. You wouldn’t remember the drought then, but ninety-four and ninety-five were dry years out here. Some towns didn’t see rain forfiveyears. I’m digressing—where was I? Oh, yes: Nigel is over there on his phone trying to track down Bernice.’
The Guinness pie, which had tasted like heaven going down, was now sitting in Hux’s gut like an old anvil. Bernice the librarian was his mother’s vintage and had been the librarian at the tiny library since he was a kid in love with May Gibbs stories about gumnuts and with Oodgeroo Noonuccal poems about carpet snakes. Bernice wouldn’t need to lift the lid on an archive box, or a microfiche box, or however it was that old issues of theHeraldwere stored, she’d remember everything that had ever happened in this town.
‘This day just keeps getting better and better,’ he said.
‘Yes. You’ve gone pale, pet. Have a coffee.’
‘Thanks.’ Although coffee wasn’t going to solve this mess. Nothing was, that he could see.
Maggie poured him a cup from the jug of percolated muck she kept behind the counter for staff to help themselves to and he took a bitter sip.
‘I think it’s time to roll the sheep onto its back,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘Metaphorically speaking. You do know what a metaphor is, right?’
‘You know, Maggie, I get enough of this shit from the Numbers. You’re giving me life advice using a sheep-shearing metaphor, I take it. Carry on.’
‘It’s only going to take Nigel, or any other journalist or blogger who decides to flesh out their article with some old missing persons stories in this region about three clicks to stumble upon Jess.’
‘I know that. We all know that.’
‘Add Charlie’s connection to both and the story is only going to get bigger. Add your helicopter being wrapped up in crime scene tape? Well, that’s going to make some news editor down in Brisbane or Sydney or Canberra a good-looking photograph for a big splashy story.’
He could imagine it only too easily. COINCIDENCE ORCRIME? LOCALPILOTCHARLIECOCKERQUESTIONEDABOUTMISSINGMANALSOQUESTIONEDABOUTMISSINGGIRL24 YEARSAGO.
‘So,’ Maggie said, putting her wiry, bird-boned hand on his. ‘Yougrab the sheep first, Hux.Youtell the story.’
‘To Nigel? You think I should go over there and give him the town colour he wants by dishing up our most private hurt for him to bash out on his keyboard?’
‘You’re angry, pet, I know. Angry and worried, and it’s getting in the way of that fine analytical brain you’ve got. Forget Nigel. No. I think you should tell thewholestory. To the biggest newspaper in the country you can find. The story about the pain you are all feeling and your personal interest in finding out the truth of the missing man. Your distress that Charlie has been questioned. Your personal interest—and Gavin Gunn’s personal interest.’
Christ. The big reveal? It’d be a circus. ‘You know I don’t really give a shit about some missing drug runner, other than for Charlie’s sake.’
‘Really? You ever asked yourself why you’ve devoted your career to solving crimes, Hux?’
TYSON: [scratches stubble on manly jawbone] Well, damn. She’s got you there, mate.
Yeah, okay.
