Daniel hoped Beck wouldn’t ask him what Macca had reminded him of at the Wishaw police station, about the odds of a missing person running further after attempting any sort of crime. There were plenty of options for Jamie to escape the Gold Coast before they got to him, if it was him, and if he was intent on giving them the slip.

Little bugger, Daniel thought, giving a couple of disappointed exhalations and accelerating past the queue of caravans waiting to turn onto the Dangar Road, before the water could form at the corner of his eyes.

The increased speed pulled both of them back.

Beck didn’t stir, but her head fell forward, so he looked and noticed she was asleep. Daniel dragged a towel out of his footy bag on the back seat and gently tucked it against the window, over her seatbelt, in time for her to come to rest on it. She shifted, noticing the comfort.

At the border, he was determined to stick to the speed limit. The cops up here wouldn’t be forgiving, and Beck’s criminal record would probably show up on the police system. He’d have to leave the Queensland boys out of it, just find Jamie and get back home.

As Daniel waved to the guy in the quarantine booth, he wondered if the fellow assumed they were happily married and heading off for a holiday. He hoped so.

Twenty-One 2005

TWENTY-ONE
2005

It was almost eight when the roadhouse on the coastal bypass came into view. James pulled in, parked Tony’s Ford and went in for something to eat.

The waitresses were already cleaning out the servery and prepping for the breakfast shift, so he bought another bag of chips.

Back in the car, he ate them so quickly they scraped his throat, so he twisted one of Tony’s beers open and washed it all down. Laughter in the distance drew his attention, and he watched a truckie hoist himself back into his rig as one of the waitresses was emptying a bucket outside the back door.

The truck pulled away and the roadhouse lights flicked off, leaving only illuminated petrol prices and a solo light shining above the public toilets by the shadowy creekside.

Just minutes after both waitresses took to the one car and headed off, the utes and cars started to slow down off the main road. Some of them emptied and people went through the motions of refuelling. Now and then, a man would make the journey to the toilet. Some checked to see if anyone was watching, others kept it quick.

James downed more beer, burped and wiped the salt off his face. By then, he needed a piss. Before he could move, a four-wheel drive pulled off the road and made a slow circuit of the wide car park, then came to a stop between Tony’s car and the toilets.