Bitter Wash Road Read Online Free PDF
Author: Garry Disher
full of frothing lunacy.
The police took thirty minutes to arrive. They surrounded the house, jammed the signal, chased the helicopter away—and waited. Night fell. They tried to talk to Pullar and Hanson. After a few hours of silence it occurred to them to rush the house...
They found an elderly man and woman unconscious and the Wagga teenager naked and traumatised. No sign of Pullar and Hanson, who had fled, on foot, to a neighbouring property where they stole a beefy black Chrysler 300C station wagon. By daybreak they were hundreds of kilometres north, apparently heading for Longreach. Another rape-and-murder team might have swapped the Chrysler for a less obvious car at the earliest opportunity; Pullar, back on the phone to Nine, had said, ‘Man, this car has got some serious grunt.’
~ * ~
Hirsch squinted, the sun was beating hard and the road shimmered with mirages. Now a collection of tumbledown houses appeared, set two hundred metres off the highway. Muncowie the sign said, an arrow pointing to the little side road that took you there, to a place that seemed to have no function. Rusty rooftops, tired trees, sunlight breaking weakly from a windscreen.
Then Hirsch was through the town. A kilometre further on a white Pajero appeared, parked at the side of the highway. A man was resting his rump against it; dark heads showing inside the vehicle, behind tinted glass. Hirsch cruised to a stop, switched off and got out, stretched the kinks in his back. He could see the Pajero occupants more clearly now: a woman in the passenger seat, looked like two kids in the back. Roof racks piled with roped-down luggage.
The driver, coming around to meet him, offered a huge paw.
‘The name’s Nancarrow, I called triple zero.’
Powerful forearms, a nuggetty chest, sun-damaged skin, sunglasses propped above a high, shiny forehead. From Broken Hill, according to Kropp. A mine worker? ‘Heading south for a holiday?’ Hirsch asked. ‘You and the family?’
‘Two weeks,’ Nancarrow said.
Hirsch strolled around to the front of the Pajero, eyed the bumper, the left and right panels. Dust, smeared insects, no dents or blood. ‘You spotted a body?’
Watching him, Nancarrow said, ‘Down there.’
The bitumen ran high here, raised a couple of metres up from the pocked soil, the erosion channels. Grass tussocks and a couple of hangdog mallee trees were nearby, clinging to the rim of a shallow depression. If you were a male who’d stopped for a piss, that’s where you’d do it. Two damp patches side by side in the dirt. Father and son?
As if in answer, Nancarrow said, ‘Me and my son went down there for a leak and saw her.’
Hirsch glanced uneasily at the Pajero. Nancarrow said, ‘It’s okay, he’s little. I told him the lady had fallen over and the ambulance would come soon and take her to the hospital.
‘Did either of you touch her?’
‘Christ, no. All I wanted to do was get my kid back to the car before he got too curious.’
‘How did you call triple zero? Is there a mobile signal here?’
‘Nup, dead. Zilch. I called from the pub.’ He gestured vaguely back along the road.
Hirsch nodded and slipped in another question. ‘Who is she?’
Nancarrow blinked. ‘What? Who...? How would I know?’
‘Perhaps she was travelling with you? Your neighbour, babysitter, niece? A hitchhiker you picked up?’
‘I know where you’re coming from, and the answer’s no. I stopped for a quiet leak by the side of the road and saw a woman lying there, end of story.’
Hirsch nodded glumly. Maybe they’d know her back at the pub. ‘Thanks for reporting it. Thanks for waiting.’
Nancarrow gave him a sad if crooked smile. It said, ‘Sooner you than me, pal,’ and ‘Sorry I wasn’t more help,’ and ‘Thank Christ I can go at last.’ Maybe even, somewhere in there, ‘Poor woman, whoever she is.’
~ *
The police took thirty minutes to arrive. They surrounded the house, jammed the signal, chased the helicopter away—and waited. Night fell. They tried to talk to Pullar and Hanson. After a few hours of silence it occurred to them to rush the house...
They found an elderly man and woman unconscious and the Wagga teenager naked and traumatised. No sign of Pullar and Hanson, who had fled, on foot, to a neighbouring property where they stole a beefy black Chrysler 300C station wagon. By daybreak they were hundreds of kilometres north, apparently heading for Longreach. Another rape-and-murder team might have swapped the Chrysler for a less obvious car at the earliest opportunity; Pullar, back on the phone to Nine, had said, ‘Man, this car has got some serious grunt.’
~ * ~
Hirsch squinted, the sun was beating hard and the road shimmered with mirages. Now a collection of tumbledown houses appeared, set two hundred metres off the highway. Muncowie the sign said, an arrow pointing to the little side road that took you there, to a place that seemed to have no function. Rusty rooftops, tired trees, sunlight breaking weakly from a windscreen.
Then Hirsch was through the town. A kilometre further on a white Pajero appeared, parked at the side of the highway. A man was resting his rump against it; dark heads showing inside the vehicle, behind tinted glass. Hirsch cruised to a stop, switched off and got out, stretched the kinks in his back. He could see the Pajero occupants more clearly now: a woman in the passenger seat, looked like two kids in the back. Roof racks piled with roped-down luggage.
The driver, coming around to meet him, offered a huge paw.
‘The name’s Nancarrow, I called triple zero.’
Powerful forearms, a nuggetty chest, sun-damaged skin, sunglasses propped above a high, shiny forehead. From Broken Hill, according to Kropp. A mine worker? ‘Heading south for a holiday?’ Hirsch asked. ‘You and the family?’
‘Two weeks,’ Nancarrow said.
Hirsch strolled around to the front of the Pajero, eyed the bumper, the left and right panels. Dust, smeared insects, no dents or blood. ‘You spotted a body?’
Watching him, Nancarrow said, ‘Down there.’
The bitumen ran high here, raised a couple of metres up from the pocked soil, the erosion channels. Grass tussocks and a couple of hangdog mallee trees were nearby, clinging to the rim of a shallow depression. If you were a male who’d stopped for a piss, that’s where you’d do it. Two damp patches side by side in the dirt. Father and son?
As if in answer, Nancarrow said, ‘Me and my son went down there for a leak and saw her.’
Hirsch glanced uneasily at the Pajero. Nancarrow said, ‘It’s okay, he’s little. I told him the lady had fallen over and the ambulance would come soon and take her to the hospital.
‘Did either of you touch her?’
‘Christ, no. All I wanted to do was get my kid back to the car before he got too curious.’
‘How did you call triple zero? Is there a mobile signal here?’
‘Nup, dead. Zilch. I called from the pub.’ He gestured vaguely back along the road.
Hirsch nodded and slipped in another question. ‘Who is she?’
Nancarrow blinked. ‘What? Who...? How would I know?’
‘Perhaps she was travelling with you? Your neighbour, babysitter, niece? A hitchhiker you picked up?’
‘I know where you’re coming from, and the answer’s no. I stopped for a quiet leak by the side of the road and saw a woman lying there, end of story.’
Hirsch nodded glumly. Maybe they’d know her back at the pub. ‘Thanks for reporting it. Thanks for waiting.’
Nancarrow gave him a sad if crooked smile. It said, ‘Sooner you than me, pal,’ and ‘Sorry I wasn’t more help,’ and ‘Thank Christ I can go at last.’ Maybe even, somewhere in there, ‘Poor woman, whoever she is.’
~ *
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