Murderer's Thumb

Praise for Beth Montgomery and
The Birthmark

SHORTLISTED, GOLD INKY, STATE LIBRARY OF VICTORIA'S
TEENAGE CHOICE BOOK AWARD, 2007

‘This is the sort of book I love. It tells me about a world I know little about and it does it in an absolutely enthralling way. I admire its gutsiness, the way it pulls no punches as it spans eras, generations and cultures. In this age of made-to-measure children's literature
The Birthmark
is a revelation.' Phillip Gwynne

‘I'd love to have a friend like Lili Fasiti–brave, daring and a fast talker. She'd get you into trouble but it would be worth it.' J.C. Burke

‘A rich and moving story, which interweaves a tragic wartime history, its ghosts and its legacy, into the lives of young and old.' Martine Murray

‘Beth Montgomery's first book is compelling.'
Sunday Age

‘
The Birthmark
is Beth Montgomery's first novel and I'd like to think it will not be her last…its gritty, gutsy style makes it an enjoyable read.'
Fremantle Herald

‘This exciting and intriguing novel interweaves stories of two generations of Islanders…The setting and characters are vividly drawn in both time periods. Lily is a feisty heroine…It is an exciting read.'
Magpies

‘With confidence and literary poise, she creates a tropical world inhabited by young adults of two generations with their own problems and secrets…Aimed at teenagers, her work has far wider appeal and reinforces the adage that “a good story well told” is hard to beat.'
Weekend Australian

Beth Montgomery grew up in Melbourne. She worked as a teacher in the Pacific Islands and is married with three children. Her highly praised first novel,
The Birthmark
, was shortlisted for the Gold Inky, the State Library of Victoria's Teenage Choice Book Award, 2007.

MURDERER'S
THUMB

BETH
MONTGOMERY

text publishing
melbourne australia

The paper used in this book is manufactured only from wood grown in sustainable regrowth forests.

The Text Publishing Company
Swann House
22 William Street
Melbourne Victoria 3000
Australia
www.textpublishing.com.au

Copyright © Beth Montgomery 2008

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

First published in 2008 by The Text Publishing Company

Design by WH Chong
Typeset by J & M Typesetting
Printed and bound by Griffin Press

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Montgomery, Beth, 1965-
Murderer's thumb / author, Beth Montgomery.
Melbourne : Text, 2008.
ISBN 9781921351488 (pbk.)
For secondary school age.
Murder--Australia--Fiction.
A823.4

This project was assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

For Julie-Anne

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

ONE

Falcon Ridge stank. It was the smell of death. Old death, like cobwebs and bones: things without moisture. The taste of dust and dead leaves caught in the back of Adam's throat. This was the smell of drought.

Funny how he'd never noticed it before they moved to the country. But the suburbs had more overpowering scents: exhaust fumes, exotic foods and the whiff of a passing girl's perfume. Things he associated with fun.

Adam stood on the verandah, sniffing at the dry air that was already warm with a northerly breeze. He forced his cap down, his brown hair escaping in strands, curling back against the rim. Needed a haircut, his dad would have said. Well stuff him. Adam stepped off the verandah and strolled along the driveway. It was shaded by a row of cypresses that separated the house from the farmyard. The trees were massive, like enormous Christmas trees. Morning sunlight filtered through the branches, dappling his sneakers. He headed left to a cluster of nearby sheds. Time to look around.

A young man drove towards him on a four-wheeler farm bike.

What a loser. It was the Akubra hat and the checked shirt that did it. Not cool.

The driver cut the engine and stopped in front of Adam. ‘Morning,' he said, squinting and tapping the brim of his Akubra as if he were acting in a B grade Western movie. ‘I'm Loody.'

‘Adam Statkus.'

‘Statkus. Sounds like a disease.'

Adam stiffened. He was proud of his heritage. ‘It's Lithuanian,' he said.

Loody sniggered. ‘Sounds bloody Greek to me!'

Adam took a deep breath and resolved not to get pissed off. This guy wasn't worth it. Statkus was a name above that shit, the Baltic bitching and ancient ethnic rivalries. His old man had told him how revered Adam's grandfather, Witold, a police inspector, had been.

Loody shook Adam's hand, met his gaze, then looked away.

Adam was used to the reaction. His turned eye freaked out everyone at first. Some people ignored him after they got over the initial shock. They could get stuffed. But Loody seemed genuine, his handshake firm and friendly. He had big forearms covered in orange hair. It was like shaking hands with an orang-utan.

Adam glanced at the four-wheeler. ‘Nice machine,' he said, trying to hide his sarcasm.

‘Heap o' shit,' Loody said. His grin revealed a missing front tooth. ‘You just moved into the old homestead?' he said, puffing out his chest and tilting his head to one side like a rooster sizing up the opposition.

‘Yeah, last weekend,' he said.

‘Where you from?'

‘Deakin Hills.'

Loody nodded slowly, ‘City boy, eh? Should come for a spin. I'll show you round the farm.'

‘OK,' Adam shrugged.

‘Got to collect some silage,' Loody said. ‘You may as well come. I'll just get the tractor.' He turned the four-wheeler around and drove towards the nearest shed.

Adam leant against a fence post and watched him accelerate along the drive. He hoped Loody and his cowboy hat was a one-off, and that not all the locals were like that, but when he thought about his first week at school he wasn't so convinced. The kids were a bunch of clones in cheap sneakers and sensible haircuts. Few had the guts to stand out. They all gawked at him. It wasn't just his eye; he knew it was the way he spoke: too confidently for a new kid.

But Adam didn't care. He'd made a tentative friend, called Snake, who had shown him around and filled him in on the school routines. Snake was one of the few kids who stood out. If not for his bad complexion, then de finitely because he was uncoordinated and the only guy who chose to do year nine home economics. Everyone gave him shit for it. But he was cool, let it pass. His ambition was to get an apprenticeship as a chef, work in resorts and meet lots of European girls. It didn't matter how many people teased him, Snake was convinced he was on the right path.

Adam respected him for it, even though it was clear that most of his classmates thought Snake was an idiot. But he was wary of getting too close. If the old man found out their new address, Adam and his mum would be off again, the friendship severed.

Their last move was ten days ago, a frenzied pack and dash away from civilisation, away from his old man, Kazek. Adam winced, recalling his own stupidity. If only he hadn't given his mate, Brock, their phone number. If only Brock wasn't so gullible, believing Kazek's con story. Then Adam would be back in Deakin Hills, hanging out at the shopping centre or kicking the footy down at the park. Not living in some boring country town hours away from the city.

Adam hated moving. This was the sixth time in two years. All he wanted was to live somewhere long enough to slot into the football team and feel accepted. He spat his frustration into the dirt. The spittle plopped in the dust like a blob of mercury. He kicked it away.

Loody returned driving a huge John Deere tractor with a front-end loader attached. He braked to let Adam climb in. The tractor had an enclosed cabin that smelled of grease. Adam squeezed onto the shelf at the left of the driver's seat and sat on a pair of folded grey overalls.

They took off, bumping down the driveway and onto the road. Adam looked out the back window. They were towing an enormous cage with wheels.

‘What's silage?'

‘Preserved grass…basically fermented.'

‘So where is it?' Adam asked.

‘A few kilometres down the road, in the reserve pit. We've already fed out last year's silage. This one was made years ago, in case feed got low during a drought. We built it near the wetlands because it drains well, into the waterhole. There's this natural embankment there, so we didn't have to do much excavating.'

‘Oh,' Adam said, sounding impressed. Loody said excavating like ‘egg-skavating'. Adam had visions of eggs on skateboards.

They turned onto the bitumen and headed south.

‘You worked here long?' Adam asked.

‘Started here when I was seventeen. Be six years, I suppose.'

‘Must like it.'

‘Don't know anything else. Grew up on a dairy farm.'

‘In Falcon Ridge?'

‘Nah, my joint's the other side of Redvale.'

They drove on in silence for a while before Loody said, ‘Just you and your mum, is it?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Where's your old man?'

‘Back in the suburbs,' Adam said. ‘We left him a few years ago.'

‘See him much?'

‘Don't want to…he's…he's trouble.'

Loody nodded, but didn't press him for details. Just as well. It was embarrassing explaining how such a decrepit bastard could wreck your life. He hated having to explain to friends that the old bloke smoking a pipe in the corner wasn't his grandfather, it was his dad. So he never invited people home much. If any mates did come round, the old man criticised them to their faces. That was the kind of bastard he was. But that was before things got really bad, before they escaped. He hoped Falcon Ridge was far enough away to give Kazek the slip. Now the old man couldn't possibly park outside Mum's work, or accidentally take a wrong turn into Adam's street.