Murderer's Thumb (5 page)

Within minutes Adam gained confidence and speed. He had enough time between cows to glimpse the engineering of the milking machine. The suction cups were like large demented spiders, minus a few legs, connected by string to the main web, which was the rotary frame. When a cow had no more milk to give, the cups came off automatically and the string pulled them back up to the web where they dangled ready for the next swollen bag of milk.

Loody attended each spent cow, spraying liquid on her udder. He worked with practised ease, moving from one cow to another, his big forearms skimming under each one and out again.

‘You…you like milking?' Matt shouted to Adam, over the din of the machinery.

‘Yeah, good,' Adam said. Physical work didn't bother him. He could let his mind wander and see results quickly. Just like mowing the lawn or cleaning the gutters. Milking cows was no different, except that animals were involved.

He'd always loved animals, but he'd never been allowed to have a pet apart from the canaries Kazek kept in the garden when Adam was small. The aviary housed dozens of birds, mostly ranging from lemon to butter yellow. But Adam's favourites were in the minority: the orange canaries and the one that was greenish-yellow. Kazek numbered each bird with a leg band and he recorded hatching details, gender and sales in a pocketbook that was kept in the top drawer of the desk in his study. Once a month, Adam would help his father catch a few canaries to take to the pet shop. He wished they could exchange the birds for a puppy. But Kazek didn't like dogs and he always said no. Probably because he couldn't colour code it and lock it in a cage.

When they lived in the outer suburbs there were heaps of neighbourhood dogs and a paddock at the end of the street where two horses were agisted. Adam used to dawdle home from primary school holding out a handful of grass, hoping the horses would come over for a feed. If they did, he stroked their strong necks, savouring the richness of their soft coats. He committed to memory the oily scent of their hair and the smell of horse manure. Cows weren't as sleek and majestic as horses, but they had character.

‘I thought they'd kick,' he said to Matt.

‘S…some do, if they're cranky. Most of them are placid.' He stepped back suddenly pointing to the cow in front of Adam. He had no time to voice a warning.

She lifted her stubby tail and let out a spray of green muck. ‘Got to watch out for that stuff,' Matt said, grinning.

Adam grimaced. He hadn't stepped clear. Cow shit spattered his gumboots and overalls. At his height, he wouldn't be able to duck it. If he weren't watching, he'd cop it fair in the chest.

Matt laughed at him. ‘It's only grass. Won't hurt you. They're nervous. It's their first time with you, so they're shitting themselves.'

‘Great. How long will it take till they're used to me?'

‘Few days.'

They worked in silence for some time before Matt spoke again. ‘You play footy, Adam?' he stuttered.

‘Yeah, a bit.'

‘We're training tomorrow night, pre-season. Want to come?'

The whole town seemed football mad. Everyone Adam talked to wanted him to join. He was flattered, but was it just because they were desperate for players? ‘What time?' he said.

‘Six. I can take you, if you like.'

‘Great,' Adam nodded. So far he liked Matt. The stuttering had surprised him at first, but Matt was friendly and seemed up-front. He wondered how old he was. He looked twenty-one maybe, or twenty-four at the most, but he didn't seem that old. The way Matt spoke about the footy was just like any one of the guys in year nine. If Adam could get to know him better, surely Matt would lend him the key.

Matt probably left that message taped to the desk as a childhood game when he lived at the house. After all, they were his initials, MT. But Adam couldn't imagine him writing in a diary. Perhaps there was some other MT Adam hadn't reckoned on? Whoever left it there, it was meant to be found; a puzzle that, with a bit of lateral thinking, could be solved and Adam knew he was the one to do it.

MT…MT…It reminded him of the gag about the hungry horse, MT GG.

Then it hit him, how Loody referred to Emma. He always said Em. Em could be written as M. Of course, that's who it was, he felt sure. Emma Thackeray. She'd written a diary and hidden it somewhere. But how long ago? When she was a little kid, or when she was a teenager, or just before she disappeared even? If he found the diary, he might learn why she vanished. Curiosity surged inside him. He wanted to re-examine the note.

After milking Adam spent the rest of the day in his room, lying on the bed listening to music. He loved reggae, how separate rhythms hid beside the basic beat, giving each number a disjointed feeling. He liked to fall in with the broken beat, mastering each tune with an imaginary bass or drum kit. It was the magic of discovering a new or hidden pattern. As he relaxed he pondered the cryptic message. The handwriting was small and well formed, definitely not a young child's script. But what did it mean, the eighty-ninth key? Surely no one owned that many keys.

He wondered what Emma had looked like: blonde like her brother or dark like Colin? Loody said she had a reputation for being easy. She was probably the only teenage girl within ten kilometres, except for Lina, the goth. Not a big selection to daydream over. He wished he were back at Deakin Hills, strolling through the shopping centre, checking out the local talent. Or even better, sitting by the pool watching Brock's sister and her mates climb out, bathers clinging to every curve.

If they were back in the suburbs though, the old man would track them down sooner or later. Sniff them out like a bloodhound. If Witold's tenacity for hunting down criminals was hereditary, Kazek had used it to chase his family instead. Could Adam use the same ability to find out what had happened to Emma and Lina? It was a wild idea, but maybe not. He was on the scene. Surely he could ask a few questions.

Adam wished he knew more about his grandfather. Whenever he'd quizzed the old man about him, he was given only snippets of information: famous inspector, community leader…highly respected…escaped the communists… ambushed in Germany. But always Kazek spoke about him with an edge to his voice. Adam recognised that tone. It was the same sense of disillusionment that he had for his own father. But Adam couldn't share Kazek's feelings about Witold. His grandfather had become his hero. And now Adam had a chance to follow in his footsteps.

Just after two o'clock Rosemary appeared at Adam's door, her face flushed. ‘There's a car outside. Don't know who it is,' she whispered.

‘You could open the door and ask,' he said. He got up and walked into the hallway. She followed like a timid animal hiding behind her master.

There was a knock at the door. Adam answered it. A man and a woman stood on the verandah. The man had a serious case of worry lines. The woman was tall with her hair drawn so tightly back into a bun that it pinched the skin at the side of her face.

‘Adam Statkus?' she said.

‘That's right.'

They showed identification. ‘We're from Homicide. Just want to ask a few questions about what you saw yesterday.'

Adam went onto the verandah and called back through the doorway. ‘It's OK, Mum. I'll handle it.' He related the details, explaining the position of the bone in the silage. They didn't write anything down. Adam was disappointed. He wanted to have something sensational to say, but it was exactly as he'd told Barry Timothy and they weren't impressed. No smiles, no shocked expressions. Heard it all before, no doubt. They seemed more interested in hearing how Loody had reacted: what he said, what he did. Adam supposed they were simply verifying Loody's story. Once again Adam was offered counselling and when he declined they left. He felt deflated. Finding the body was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him and they didn't give a shit.

SIX

On Monday morning Adam sought out his new friend on the bus. Snake's woolly head was down, fiddling with his phone. His gawky hands seemed too clumsy to work the buttons. He had the kind of lips that formed a permanent pout, which seemed even more pronounced when he was concentrating. He didn't notice Adam until he'd slumped in the seat beside him.

‘How's it going?' Adam asked.

‘Yeah, great. I've got a new phone. It's brilliant. Look at this!' He pushed the tiny screen in front of Adam's face so he could see a photo of one of the year nine girls, standing in the aisle of the bus. The top of her head was chopped off.

Adam raised his eyebrows. ‘Need a bit of practice.'

‘The bus moved, stuffed up my composition. Here, this one's better.'

The next photo showed the same girl turning around in her seat giving the finger. ‘Don't think she likes your photography.'

‘Oh come on, she loves it when I hassle her.'

Adam chuckled. ‘You're tragic, you are. But listen, guess what happened on Saturday.'

‘What?'

‘I found a dead body in Colin Thackeray's silage pit.'

Snake gaped at him. ‘You! No shit? Unreal!' he shouted.

‘Shut up, will you,' Adam said, looking around nervously. There were only about a dozen students on the bus, most sitting in pairs. A girl with dark eyebrows, short black hair and a beauty spot near her mouth was watching him from a few seats behind. It was a steady gaze. If her expression wasn't so cold, Adam could have gone for her.

He leant towards Snake and lowered his voice. He made his story as dramatic as he could.

‘I saw it on the news last night and wondered whose farm it was,' Snake said. ‘Shit, eh! What a find!'

Adam grunted in agreement. He didn't want to relate how gross it really was and how he'd chucked.

‘Loody dug it up, eh? Couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke,' Snake spat.

‘Not your favourite person?'

‘What do you reckon?'

Adam shrugged. ‘Loody told me two girls disappeared from Falcon Ridge about six years ago. Do you think it's one of them?'

‘Has to be,' Snake said. ‘Got to be.'

‘Emma Thackeray was one, wasn't she?'

‘Yeah and Lina, Lina Trewin. They were friends. Lina lived in your house then, with her aunty.'

‘My house? Up at the farm?'

‘Yeah.'

‘So what happened?'

‘Dunno. They disappeared. Everyone was pretty sure they'd planned it, to run off together. Emma always wanted to go to the big smoke, always hung shit on us country hicks.'

‘So you think that's what happened? They snuck off.'

Snake shrugged. ‘Don't think so now, do I? But yeah, that's what everyone thought then.'

‘Did anyone try to look for them?'

‘Yeah, there was a search. All the farm dams were checked and the police asked everyone at Booradoo if they'd seen them. Someone saw Lina get on the bus to the city, they reckon. It all died down after that. Missing persons.' He frowned at Adam. ‘Sounds like it's got to you.'

‘Yeah, well…I was there and…I can't stop thinking about it. The way Colin's so paranoid and Loody won't let on much—I reckon they're hiding something. As for Matt, he hasn't even mentioned the whole incident.'

‘Yeah but Matt's a bit…' Snake tapped his forehead, ‘… you know? Took him four attempts to get his learners permit. He's probably got no idea what's going on.'

Adam disagreed, but he didn't argue with him. ‘Anyway… it's like that TV show
Missing Persons
. There's a reason why those girls left Falcon Ridge, or didn't leave in the case of the body in the silage, and I have to know what it was.'

Snake looked horrifled. ‘You?'

‘Why not? I reckon I could find out something…the answers are always there, if you look around. Besides, my grandfather was an investigator, so looking for clues is in my blood.'

‘Oh yeah?'

‘True. He was in the police, back in Lithuania.'

‘Where?'

‘Between Poland and Russia.'

Snake looked impressed. ‘Right. So how's Colin taking it?' he asked. ‘Bet he's hit the piss.'

‘He's pretty cut up. He warned me not to spread the word, doesn't want the whole district talking.'

‘Can't help that. News gets out.'

Snake's words jabbed at Adam's conscience. He glared at Snake. ‘Well, just don't go telling everyone…'

‘I don't mean me. People will piece it together.'

Adam held his breath, trying to suppress both his anger and his guilt. Finally he said, ‘Yeah, well I don't want Colin thinking I've got a big mouth. I'm working for him now, milking four times a week.'

‘You move fast. You've only been here a few days,' Snake said putting on a posh voice, ‘and you're taking away our jobs. Bloody migrant!'

‘Where vood this country be vitout us? I ask you?' Adam said, mimicking Kazek's accent.

Snake cracked up laughing. ‘You sound like a Nazi war criminal.'

Adam raised his eyebrows in agreement. The way the old man tried to control his life, Adam had said the same thing to his father's face one day when he was twelve. That earned him a beating he'd never forget. It was the only time Kazek ever hit him and it was the first time Rosemary threatened to leave. But they stayed and learned to tread carefully, for three more years.

‘You coming to footy training tonight?' Snake said.

‘Yeah. What's the under fifteens side like?'

‘Under fifteens?' Snake spluttered. ‘Got to be joking. Club's only got two sides: seniors and seconds.'

‘So I'll be in the seconds?' Adam said incredulously.

‘Yeah. No big deal. League's full of high school kids. How you getting to training?'

‘Matt's taking me.'

‘You're game.'

‘Is he that bad?'

Snake shrugged. ‘He's OK out here. Just wouldn't trust him driving in Booradoo. He's not real flash at giving way.' Matt's ute was covered in dust. The door creaked when Adam opened it. The interior was pale blue vinyl and spider webs. Matt's bag lay in the centre of the bench seat. The bag was like the ute: lacking care and attention. The stitching was coming away at the side and the zipper was broken. Adam put his own bag on the floor and slid in. The hot vinyl burnt his thighs, a major drawback of wearing footy shorts in summer.