Chapters (58)
- COVER PAGE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- DEDICATION
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- Forty-seven
- Forty-eight
- Forty-nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-one
- Fifty-two
- Fifty-three
- Acknowledgements
This time Elijah stood up. ‘You’re a great worker, and we got on so well together. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am.’
Sterling’s heart ached for causing this lovely guy pain. Despite being undercover and playing a role, it still hurt deeply having Elijah think badly of her. But she had to accept that it was all over now. She couldn’t stay undercover if she lost her job.
‘Elijah, listen to me. My real name is Nerida Sterling. I’m a detective with the Sydney Homicide Squad, currently undercover in Khancoban investigating the murder of Scruffy Freidman and Arthur Lorrimer.’
Elijah’s mouth fell open and he stared at her in amazement. Then he walked over to the door and yanked it open. ‘Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?’
Thirty-eight
Ryder and Flowers had time to kill after parking the car at White Winter Station. The Lorrimer brothers were still on their way home; they’d stayed in Cooma to talk to Thomas following the meeting that morning.
‘Kristin’s at home,’ Dan had told Flowers. ‘I’ll call her and tell her to expect you.’
‘Would you mind if we had a look around the grounds?’ Flowers had asked.
‘You can look at anything you want, Detective, just don’t let our cattle out.’
Now, as Flowers and Ryder walked towards the high hedges surrounding the cemetery, they could see Kristin standing at the top of the verandah steps. Flowers raised a hand in greeting. She gave a half-hearted wave before turning and going back inside the house.
When they rounded the end of the hedge, the cemetery opened up in front of them, the air cooler in the shade cast by the old jacarandas.
‘Wow,’ said Flowers, heading for the white angel headstone which was the centrepiece of the graveyard. ‘This is bigger than I thought it would be.’
‘Herbert Charles Buchanan, born 1842, died 1907, sixty-five years,’ read Ryder.
Flowers nodded. ‘Yes, that’s Wendy Buchanan’s great-great-grandfather. He discovered gold in Kiandra and bought this land,’ said Flowers, looking at the intricately carved angel’s wings.
‘There’s his wife’s grave.’ Ryder pointed to a smaller, more conventional arch-shaped headstone. ‘There’s an infant child’s beside hers. It’s the same date of death. She obviously died in childbirth.’
Flowers moved on to a pedestal-shaped headstone made of sandstone. ‘James Buchanan,’ said Flowers. ‘He’s Herbert’s son. Cate told me he added to the landholdings here.’
‘This one looks more modern, it’s made of terrazzo,’ said Ryder, pointing to a box-shaped headstone with a chunky cross on the top.
‘That’s Henry Buchanan.’ Flowers moved to stand beside Ryder. ‘He’s Wendy’s father and Cate and Lewis’ grandfather.’ This time Flowers read out the words engraved on the headstone. ‘Henry Buchanan, born 1917, died 1954, thirty-seven years.’
‘Wasn’t Henry the one who lost the snow lease?’ asked Ryder.