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Back Dead Horse Gap Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Acknowledgements

Flowers studied the sketch. ‘I was only there a couple of days ago.’ He looked up to find the woman watching him closely, a knowing smile on her lips. ‘Did I see you having lunch in the Tooma Hotel? You had lots of Vinnies bags. You told the barman you were off to Tumbarumba.’

‘Observant, aren’t you? But then so am I. You were sitting with a man a little older than yourself with thick, dark hair. I was trying to work out if you were detectives or undertakers.’

‘Undertakers,’ Flowers said with a laugh. ‘Wait until I tell the sarge that. I’m Detective Mitchell Flowers, by the way.’

‘Wendy Buchanan.’

‘Are you the owner?’

‘The shop used to be mine. My niece, Cate, has taken it over. I help out when it’s busy and I source some bits and pieces for her,’ she said, looking around at the merchandise on display.

As Wendy wandered away, Flowers began looking through the various prints of pygmy possums, rivers, mountains, sandstone buildings and even a couple of elaborate tombstones. He pulled out a plastic-covered sketch for a closer look. John Gilbert’s signature was scrawled below the drawing followed by the words ‘White Winter Station’. What Flowers had assumed to be headstones in a local council cemetery were in fact the private family graves on the Lorrimers’ property. He thought of Ethan tidying the area the other day, possibly in preparation for Art’s interment.

Holding on to the print, he looked around for Wendy Buchanan, but couldn’t see her.

‘Large mint mocha,’ the woman behind the counter called.

Flowers slipped the print back into the box and went to get his coffee.

section break

Laden with his laptop case, his groceries and Art Lorrimer’s old flight bag, Flowers stomped on the mat outside his apartment. Shaking the snow off his boots was the least he could do for the overly helpful owner who’d asked him on arrival if he’d like her to stock the fridge with the basics, change the towels every third day, and vacuum the floors. No, no and no. Thank you. She’d looked at him oddly, and he’d used the case he was working on as his reason for not wanting to be disturbed.

Inside the dark apartment he dumped everything on the floor as the door clicked shut behind him. Flicking on the light switch, his eyes went straight to the desk set against the wall. The high-speed computer, oversized monitor and related equipment were all there, their tiny coloured power lights blinking.