When the ambos arrive and take Elaine away, I somehow have the presence of mind to collect my bag from the corner of the room. I put it in my ute, and just then the police arrive: the same police, at the same house, with the same result. The police interview me — their suspicion has graduated to a sort of official boredom. And then Murray says, ‘Can we have a look at your bag?’

I give the calmest version of ‘uncomprehending’ that I can, under the circumstances.

She sighs. ‘We saw you put a bag in your ute.’

We walk to the ute, and Murray’s offsider roughly rips open my bag. The rifle amongst my clothes looks a hell of a lot like a murder weapon.

Murray’s offsider pulls on some plastic gloves, and takes the rifle out of the bag.

‘You’ve got a licence?’

I would be an unusual farmer if I didn’t. ‘Yes.’

‘I think we’ll hang onto this gun and your bag for a while.’

I consider asking about my pyjamas, but instead I just shrug and nod.

8

8

A week of insanity, and it’s over. Nobody asks me about the cash I’ve put in the bank; the police don’t bother me about race fixing or Elaine’s assaults; no one robs me or tries to bash me; no boxes arrive, with or without money. After I find her, Elaine goes to hospital for several days, and then remains for a few more under observation. The wrist is broken, but her teeth are intact. The doctor says she was hit hard several times in the face and thrown around a fair bit. They have no leads. I tell them about Buzzcut and his mates, but it doesn’t help.

I visit her every day. We don’t talk much. Her body begins to recover, but her confidence has leaked like the colour from her face. She tells me that the men had come back for the crockery she didn’t have, and then bashed her in their anger. She doesn’t know why they were so upset, and why anyone would care about plates and cups so much.

Then she goes to stay with her mother.

It’s as if a violent storm has hit, done its damage, and then cleared to a blue sky. The boxes stay in the laundry, and I stay away from them. In the mornings, I drive around the farm, not doing anything, just driving. It rains again, and the grass stays green, even though it usually grows less and less as the weather gets colder. The phone rings a lot, but I hardly ever answer it. Occasionally I drink myself into a stupor, and stay that way for days. Then I spend several days feeling sick and remorseful, recovering. In this way, several weeks pass.

9

9