FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (30 page)

‘My oath! I want to make sure my bulls are all right. How soon can we get a truck in to pick them up?’

‘There’s a fella out that way. I’ll put him on standby. We’ll call him when we get there.’

‘You mean when you actually set eyes on my stolen stock,’ countered Queenie, managing a tired smile.

‘Ah, it’s not that I don’t believe you, Queenie — if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name, I sorta feel I know you — but there’s always the chance they could’ve done
something vindictive like, or taken off with them. You said there was a cattle truck there.’

‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Queenie reached in her pocket and dropped the keys to the truck on the desk.

The constable picked up the keys and put them in his shirt pocket with a grin. He drained his coffee mug and reached for his official hat. ‘Ready?’ They were settled in the police four-wheel drive before Queenie thought she should have called Tingulla and passed on the news.

They arrived at the Mitchell property in the afternoon and debated on the strategy of approaching the house. ‘Why not bowl straight up to the front door? I’ll keep out of sight, you take your hat off, the car’s unmarked,’ suggested Queenie.

‘Good idea. Though if I was them blokes I wouldn’t be hanging around.’

‘I wouldn’t take off on foot either,’ commented Queenie. ‘Though they’ve probably caught the horses by now. Or fixed the vehicles.’

‘I doubt they’d have had four spare tyres for each one though,’ grinned the burly constable.

As they approached the first buildings Queenie slid down in her seat. Constable Higgins parked outside the manager’s house where Queenie had been held and went to the door. He rapped loudly and called out, but there was no response. Dogs chained further down the yard began to bark and howl. The constable tried the door which opened. He went inside then got swiftly back into his
vehicle. ‘Nobody there. Looks like they left in a hurry. Let’s try the big house.’

That too was locked and empty. ‘I don’t see the cattle truck you mentioned,’ said Constable Higgins. ‘Though the others are here. You did a fair old job on the tyres.’

Queenie looked about the sheds. ‘The truck was parked over there. My guess is they hotwired that and took off. Let’s go find my bulls.’

They drove about the property heading west and when they passed a paddock with a group of horses, the constable stopped and watched them for a minute then reached over and took his binoculars from the glove box. He studied them briefly then wound the leather strap around the glasses and handed them to Queenie. ‘They’re missing bloodstock from down south,’ he said grimly. ‘If your cattle are here too then Mitchell is in deep shit. ’Scuse the language.’ Constable Higgins looked quite satisfied. They came over a rise and spread before them were the missing stud bulls and calves from Cricklewood.

‘You little beauty!’ cried Queenie. ‘They look okay too.’

‘God, I see why they duffed them. They’d be worth a bob or two,’ commented the constable.

They pulled up to the barbed-wire fence and Queenie leapt out, followed by Constable Higgins who held up strands of the wire for Queenie to slip through. She strode towards the group of bulls but the constable hung back cautiously. Suddenly a massive bull broke away from the group and began loping
straight towards Queenie at a fast and determined run. The constable looked from Queenie — who kept walking calmly forward — to the rapidly approaching thousand kilos of muscle, and opted for discretion over valour, sprinting back to the fence. When he turned around he was astounded to see the massive bull lumber straight to Queenie, who stood still, talking quietly to it. The bull lowered its head, went to Queenie and began rubbing his heavy head against her body, licking the bare skin of her arms. Laughing, she held onto its ears to keep her balance and fondled the beast. She went back to the fence and the bull followed her like a dog.

‘This is Dinky,’ laughed Queenie as the constable helped her back through the wire. ‘He’s an old sook, more of a pet now. Though he does do his duty now and then when he fancies a lady.’

‘Phew, you had me going there for a bit,’ said the constable sheepishly.

Queenie gave Dinky a hefty pat through the fence. ‘Let’s call that trucker. I want to get my animals home.’

They made the call on the police two-way radio and notified the stock inspector at Longreach that Queenie’s stock had been found. Constable Higgins made notes and then they turned back towards the homestead.

‘I’d love a cup of tea to celebrate,’ sighed Queenie. ‘Is it trespassing if we went in and brewed ourselves a pot in the manager’s place?’

“Fraid so. But don’t panic. I always carry the
makings with me. The missus always throws in some cake or biscuits too. Soon as we’re out on the road we’ll find a spot to put the billy on.’

‘Now that’s what I call a fully equipped police vehicle,’ said Queenie with a grin.

But as they bounced over the scrubby ground the first thing they saw as the home buildings came into view was a station wagon parked outside the main homestead.

‘Hello, somebody’s home. I guess we’ll just have to front them as planned.’

By the time the constable had parked and stepped from the car, leaving Queenie and his hat in the front seat, a man in a shirt and tie was waiting in the front yard. Constable Higgins strolled towards him with an affable smile. ‘Are you Barney Mitchell?’

‘Why? Who wants to know?’ snapped the man, loosening his tie.

‘Constable Higgins from Noondale. I’m following up a line of inquiry, Mr Mitchell.’

‘What right have you got to be on my property? You got a search warrant?’ Mitchell was belligerent. Small beads of perspiration were shining on his forehead.

‘Why should I need a search warrant? I just want to ask a few questions. There wasn’t anybody about so I thought I’d look for the owner on his property,’ said Higgins easily.

At this point Queenie got out of the car and went and stood by the constable, glaring at Mitchell in disgust.

‘Er, this is Mrs Hamilton. She would like to know how her missing stock came to be on your property.’

‘So you
were
snooping. Look, I’ve been away, I don’t know anything about any missing bulls or how they could’ve got here. I spend a lot of time away from this place. People come and go,’ blustered Mitchell.

‘Who said my missing stock were bulls, Mr Mitchell?’ said Queenie in a deadly quiet voice.

‘You get off my property. I’m calling my solicitor,’ barked Mitchell.

‘You do that Mr Mitchell,’ answered the constable.

Ripping his tie off and loosening his collar, Barney Mitchell stormed inside the house.

‘What now?’ whispered Queenie.

‘Not much he can do. He’s got stolen property on his premises whether he put it there or not.’

They turned back to the police car when Queenie nudged the constable. Lying on top of the bonnet of the station wagon was Mitchell’s jacket and a briefcase. The jacket was open, revealing the inside pocket which bulged with several fat white envelopes.

‘What do you want to bet there’s cash in those meant for the three blokes who were waiting here to be paid for delivering my stock, and whatever else they’ve done for Mitchell,’ hissed Queenie.

Constable Higgins took her firmly by the elbow and led her to the car, opening the door for her. ‘Hop in. Don’t worry, we have enough on this bloke. What with the description of the three fellows who held you and the cattle truck that left here, I reckon they’ve probably already been picked up.’

Chapter Twenty-One

Colin waited till Dina had left the pink palazzo, as he called the unit she and Fisher had almost finished decorating. He lifted the phone and called Saskia at her flat.

‘How’re things going, Saskia?’

‘So so. I’ve just got back from Tingulla. TR is back at home.’

‘How’s school? Have you had any thoughts about your future plans?’ Colin’s voice dripped solicitous concern.

‘Well . . . sort of. I’ve taken a year off; I’m just here packing up. So I’m seeking opportunities, as they say.’

‘Maybe I can help there.’ Colin was being the kindly uncle, but he had his own reasons for helping Saskia. By luring her to Harmony Hill he would be able to keep tabs on her and the family. Besides, it would be fun just to upset Queenie — he knew she’d be furious if her daughter had anything to do with him.

‘Oh?’ Saskia was curious.

‘Look, Saskia. I told you a bit about Harmony Hill but it’s now progressing well and I’d like you to come out and have a look at the place.’

‘Uncle Colin, is there a job in the offing here? Or is this a social trip?’ asked Saskia bluntly.

Colin laughed easily. ‘Well, I’d like you to see what we’re all about before I offer you a job.’

Saskia agreed to visit Harmony Hill with him the next day.

In the morning Colin tooted outside her apartment and Saskia dashed downstairs and threw her battered leather shoulder bag into the back seat of the Audi.

‘All set?’ asked Colin.

‘Yep. What’s new?’

‘Well, the conference cum convention centre is finished, we’re just doing the little individual yurts. Have to start looking for another therapist soon. Ria will do acupuncture and naturopath health stuff plus she’s a dietician so will advise the clients on nutrition and health, that kind of thing.’

‘What’s her husband do?’

‘Bruce can do anything it seems. He’s worked out an advertising and marketing strategy plus he’s been overseeing the building and the landscaping. He’s set up a pretty good couple of walking tours through the rainforest. Throws in environmental awareness chats. He’s also found a bat colony and a bowerbird’s nest, so they’ve been included too.’

‘Sounds good. Is this place going to make money?’

‘It’ll depend on marketing and promotion. It doesn’t have to make a profit right away.’

Saskia glanced at Colin, trying to read his expression behind the dark glasses. ‘From what I’ve heard about Mr Camboni, a health resort doesn’t sound his sort of thing.’

Colin glanced at her with a slight grin. ‘Been catching up on the family gossip, huh?’ He punched a cassette into the tape deck as if to change the subject, and the rest of the journey passed in idle chatter.

Saskia noticed that Colin never asked about TR or Queenie, though he did ask more about the family business. ‘Tingulla and Cricklewood have done fabulously. Mum and TR are pretty smart, so is Tango. He’s running Guneda while TR is recovering.’

‘I hear Guneda’s got a pretty good name in the horse-racing world.’

‘Yeah, TR and Tango are terrific trainers and breeders. That’s what I’d really like to do,’ she sighed.

‘Why don’t you ask Tango for a job then?’

Saskia shook her head of dark curls. ‘No way. Not yet. I want to make it on my own first. No handouts, thanks.’

Colin didn’t answer but recognised her stubborn streak and thought to himself, ‘Christ, she’s just like her mother’.

Tango rose early and went down to the racetrack. Two horses thundered past him, clods of dirt kicking up behind their galloping feet.
He clicked the stopwatch and waited for Mick to turn the perspiring black thoroughbred back towards him.

Mick loosened the strap on his helmet. ‘So? Whaddya reckon?’

‘He’s out of condition, has a few bad habits, typical bloody mad racehorse, but seems to have potential. Tell me about the blokes who came to see you. Where are the papers?’

‘In your tray on the desk.’

Tango studied the horse as Mick told him of the visit of the two men. ‘One of them didn’t say nuthin’, the other fella didn’t seem that interested. He wasn’t the boss like, though he was a pretty posh sorta fella. Foreign, bit spivvy.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser . . . hmm.’ Tango rubbed the horse’s nose. ‘You’re not a bad looking bloke, you might come good given a bit of work. We’ll see, eh, Mick?’

‘Been on worse and done all right, Tango.’

‘Yeah, riding to win? Or backing the opposition?’ he chortled. ‘There are different ways of winning a race. See you later. And thanks for minding the shop.’

Back in his office, Tango studied the papers that came with the horse known as Ambrosia. ‘Well, I’ll be . . . the bastard’s back into racing again. Okay, Alfredo Camboni, I’ll train your horse, business is business, but the price has just doubled,’ he said aloud, stuffing the documents in a file and slamming the drawer of the filing cabinet shut with unnecessary force.