BooksBarbecue
Back 55 Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. Acknowledgements
  59. About the author
  60. Copyright

Arthur kept walking. And walking. Chandler considered going after him. Suddenly the old man turned. He looked exhausted, his limbs barely preventing him from crashing to the ground.

Chandler brought him some water.

‘Are you okay?’

Arthur nodded but didn’t speak, swigging the water. His son took a seat beside him and did the same.

‘I think I saw something down there,’ spluttered Arthur between swigs, staring at his feet, but pointing into the distance.

Chandler followed the finger. He couldn’t see anything out there but trees and dirt. ‘Something?’

‘A piece of cloth it looks like. It might indicate—’ He turned to his son. ‘Go, check it out.’

The boy scrambled to his feet and was about to set off in the direction his dad had pointed in.

‘No. Stay here,’ ordered Chandler.

Arthur looked up at Chandler with hurt and tired eyes. ‘It was there . . . blowing in the wind.’

‘We’re all blowin’ in the wind by now,’ said Mitch, out loud and full of contempt.

‘Show some respect,’ said Chandler.

‘You show some decency and tell him the truth.’

‘What truth—?’ started Arthur but Chandler had turned on his partner.

‘The truth? The truth is that you’re a self-centred bastard, Mitch, and you better pray this never happens to you.’

‘It won’t. I’m not going to be stuck in this backwards shithole for ever. I’m heading to Perth to deal with some real crime, not arseholes too stupid to find their way back after a hike. If they even wanted to be found in the first place. Like you said yourself: we’re policemen, not grief counsellors.’

Chandler looked at Arthur. His head hung low, too tired or cowed to raise it, his fists clenched as he stared at the red earth. Chandler felt like stepping up and doing the job for him by punching Mitch in the face. But that wouldn’t negate the fact that what Mitch had said was true; he had uttered those words. But that was before. He wanted to explain himself to Arthur but words failed him.

Mitch turned and stormed off back towards camp alone, against all rules and common sense.

‘I’m clearing up and heading back,’ said Mitch without turning. ‘You can continue babysitting the fucking Taylors if you want to.’

47

Taylor. Arthur Taylor. A surname that should have been hard to forget given the circumstances but Chandler had lost it amongst the unusual names out there. Mercenaries called Chaz, Blazz, Bagboy and Yippy, deliberately obtuse. But Taylor . . . it rang a bell.

Suddenly Chandler remembered why. He had seen it recently.