There were too many conflicting pieces of information. It was time to rattle the grieving brother’s cage to see what fell out.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Dunton, Tasmania

Wednesday, 12.46 p.m.

Back at the station, after securing an interview with O’Brien later that afternoon, Jake decided to stretch his legs and wander to the local takeaway for lunch. He exited to the wide road that ran directly through the middle of town.

For the first time since he had arrived in Dunton, the sun not only cleared the interminable fog from the streets but was strong enough to warm his skin. Jake rolled up his sleeves and began to stroll, pausing at each food premises he passed, checking their menus for items made with fresh strawberries along the way.

The bakery and a jarringly out of place pop-up café were offering items made with them. There were punnetsful at the supermarket, alongside strawberry-flavoured bubblegum, ice creams, milk and even lip balms. He hadn’t noticed how ubiquitous they were before, but if you were put off by strawberries, Dunton’s main street was a minefield.

After ordering a salad sandwich from the woman behind the takeaway’s counter he stood away from the queue by the drinks’ fridge, rehearsing the questions he’d ask O’Brien. He didn’t realise at first that one of the other patrons in the shop was speaking to him.

‘… found who killed old Ms O’Brien?’

He brought his focus back to a short, rotund woman standing in front of him, her head capped by a halo of fairy-floss white hair.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said, have you had any luck finding the man who killed poor old Ava O’Brien?’

‘I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,’ he said.

‘Well you’re no fun.’ She laughed. ‘So serious. Mind you, it’ll have been one of those campers.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘No one round here would do something like that. It had to’ve been someone who was passing through.’

‘Oh yeah, she was found up at the Campbell place, hey?’ said the younger woman serving behind the counter, joining the conversation as she held out change to another customer.

A woman standing alone near the takeaway’s sole dine-in table gave a harsh ‘Huh’.

Jake inspected her closely. With short, spiky blonde hair and a thin face, he was certain it was the woman in the beaten-up hatchback who’d given him the finger as he’d raced to the campground to look for Jamie on Friday morning. ‘Is something funny?’

She laughed again, bitterly, picked up her purse and a parcel of hot chips and walked toward the exit.

‘Please stop and explain, Ms … ?’

Something in Jake’s voice reached her. She paused halfway through the fluttering plastic strips in the doorway.

‘O’Shea.’

‘What’s funny about finding Ms O’Brien at the Campbell manor?’