Before It Breaks Read Online Free PDF Page A

the scene and record the car’s number plate and odometer setting. A phone burst into life somewhere close by. Generic ringtone. Clement tracked the sound to the dirt a few metres from the edge of the creek. Using his shirt over his fingers, Clement carefully picked up an older model smart phone. Number Withheld flashed on the screen. Clement answered.
    â€˜Hello?’
    No answer but somebody was on the other end.
    â€˜This is Detective Inspector Daniel Clement …’
    The line went dead. Clement stared at the phone. His police car was equipped with a computer that would enable him to trace the Pajero plates but to get back to it through the bush was going to take another twenty minutes slog. He scrolled through the phone’s last calls. The most recent out was identified as ‘Rudi’.
    He dialled, using his own phone.
    Voicemail. A man, foreign accent, something European. “I’m not available. Leave a message.’
    Clement left a brief message asking Rudi to call him. He scrolled to the next entry which was labelled ‘AngClub’. Clement had never been inside the Anglers Club but he’d passed it often enough, a small modern brick building at the industrial end of town, so indistinguishable it could as easily have been a public dunny or scout headquarters. Broome was a small town and he doubted there would be more than fifty members of the Anglers. He gave it a try. The phone rang for some time. He was about to give up when a woman answered.
    â€˜Anglers.’
    â€˜This is Detective Inspector Daniel Clement.’ He ran through his spiel. He was at an abandoned vehicle he thought might belong to one of the members. After eliciting the woman’s name was Jill he described the car.
    â€˜Just a sec,’ Jill said. He heard her calling to somebody in the background. She came back on. ‘Sounds like Dieter’s.’
    â€˜Dieter who?’
    A further bout of offline consultation was followed by ‘Schaffer. Don’t ask me how you spell it. Is everything okay?’
    That was the question, wasn’t it?
    Apparently Dieter Schaffer was about sixty-five, retired and unmarried. He generally fished alone. The only number they hadfor him was the mobile. He lived way out on Cape Leveque Road somewhere. Jill didn’t know who Rudi was. Clement got off the phone and considered his options. His gut said it was a probable crime scene but there could be many explanations for what he’d found. Schaffer could have accidentally shot or cut himself, then called Rudi or some other mate to come get him. Clement rang Derby Hospital, and got Karen who had made it abundantly clear to him several times that there was always a bed ready for him there, with her in it. Karen was late forties and it showed in her face but she had the taut body of a woman half her age.
    â€˜You finally asking me out?’
    Clement sidestepped.
    â€˜You have a Dieter Schaffer there? Sixty-five, German accent, emergency admittance most likely?’
    â€˜We got a twenty-something idiot who blew himself up with his barbecue gas-bottle.’
    â€˜Anybody admitted with any sort of gunshot or other wound, the last twenty hours?’
    â€˜No. And you still haven’t answered my first question.’
    â€˜I’m not dating.’
    â€˜I’m not asking for a date.’
    He had to extricate. ‘I’ll buy you a beer at The Banksia.’
    â€˜She’s not coming back to you, Dan. Sooner you understand that, the better off you’ll be.’
    â€˜Thank you, Karen.’
    â€˜My pleasure. I’ll call you if Mr Schaffer turns up here.’
    He’d never slept around on Marilyn. Once or twice he’d kissed women, a greeting or farewell, felt that jolt, knew that if he wanted it anything was on the table but he always pulled back, no matter how bad it was with Marilyn at the time. He was never sure if this was any testament to his morality, he liked to