Murder with the Lot Read Online Free PDF Page B

better give me your mobile number. The police might have some questions. Noel…what was the surname?’
    â€˜Ah…I don’t have a mobile. I really must get on.’ He picked up his esky, cradling it to his chest. He moved to the doorway, his long white hair waving, Medusa-like, around his face. ‘I could do without police harassment, actually. I don’t want Bubbles upset. Not in her condition.’ Clutching the esky like a new-born baby, he charged off into a whirling blast of dust, the dog thumping along heavily behind him.
    Well, anyone could see the bloke was up to something iffy. Who could see a bird in all this? And where the hell was Dean? I pulled out my phone from my handbag. No signal.
    I popped my head out of the doorway and looked around. The lake was a pink–brown blur. The wind was dropping, dust hurtling at a slower pace. At some point soon the wind would be running out of dust to blow. I tied my hanky over my nose and mouth, grabbed my handbag and star picket and headed out.
    Noel was walking along a track behind the hut, through the native pines. Every now and then he looked behind him. I kept well back, darting into the scrub. He reached a white van parked under a tree. A white HiAce, it looked like, broken side mirror.
    Crouching behind a scrappy shrub, I watched him get in. The van started and, with some crunching of gears, turned and headed along the track towards the highway. Before it disappeared, I grabbed a pen from my bag and wrote down his rego on the back of an old docket from Vern’s shop. Dean would thank me for that later.

Twenty minutes later, back at the hut, I heard a car engine over the wind. I poked my head out. A police van. It stopped way back along the track I’d driven in on, and the driver got out. Dean at last. I’d never been so pleased to see his neat blue uniform. The wind dropped and the sun suddenly came out now Dean was here, like he’d arranged it all. Evidence of the dust storm lay all around, red streaks over pink sand. I marched towards him.
    Dean crunched across the sand. ‘Hi, Mum.’ He leaned in and pecked my cheek, like he was calling in for a cuppa on a normal day. ‘Where’s this body, then?’ He stared at me with those confident brown–black eyes.
    â€˜Listen, there’s a whole long history to tell you. There’s a weird fella calls himself Noel. A birdwatcher without binoculars. And his awful dog, killer dog I’d say. I took down the bloke’s rego for you.’
    â€˜Mum, I’m not in the mood for a mound of drivel. I’ve got a heap of paperwork waiting at the station. Is there a body, or isn’t there?’
    â€˜Course there is.’ I rummaged through my handbag. Three used tissues, some sticky-looking Butter Menthols, a creased copy of the Pocket Guide to Elves and Fairies for Dean’s youngest, must have been in there for years. ‘Where is it?’
    â€˜Hang on,’ I said. ‘You’ll need this rego, I’m sure of it.’ Out fluttered the docket, finally. ‘Here,’ I tucked it into Dean’s shirt pocket and tapped his chest. ‘You’ll need that later. Now. The body. It’s over near the lake. Let’s go.’
    We crunched our way along the gravel track, over the dune, the mallee gums clinging low on the stained pink sand.
    I was almost skipping along, now that Dean was here. I started imagining myself on the front page of the Hustle Post . I might even be on the telly, once the taskforce arrived. I’d have to nip out quickly and get a new outfit.
    â€˜Want me to call for back up?’ I said. ‘I could call Bendigo on your radio. Reckon I can handle a police radio.’
    â€˜No, Mum!’ You could have cut an arm off with his tone. ‘ I’m the police officer. That means I handle the policing. All of it.’
    We passed my car, covered in red dust, parked where I’d found the body.