Hangman's Gap E-Book

Rachel Amphlett

• Herausgeber: Saxon Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Could one man’s obsession with the truth be a fatal mistake?

When Detective Sergeant Blake Harknell is seconded to an active investigation in the hinterland of south east Queensland, he discovers the police station understaffed and the local population wary of his presence in Hangman’s Gap.

After a body is found in suspicious circumstances following a bush fire, the victim of a three-month old fatal car accident may be the only clue to recent events in the small rural town.

But when a third man is bludgeoned to death in his own home, the local police officers close ranks and Blake is left alone to discover what connects the three deaths.

There are too many secrets in Hangman’s Gap, and the more Blake attempts to uncover the truth, the more he risks exposing his past.

Hangman’s Gap is a page-turning crime thriller by Rachel Amphlett, the USA Today bestselling author of the Detective Kay Hunter series.

Leseprobe

HANGMAN’S GAP

A PAGE-TURNING AUSTRALIAN CRIME THRILLER

RACHEL AMPHLETT

Hangman’s Gap © 2024 by Rachel Amphlett

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Location maps

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

About the Author

LOCATION MAPS

ONE

Detective Sergeant Blake Harknell eyed the dusty white four-wheel drive that was slewed to a standstill beside a smouldering old eucalyptus stump, and rued the day he had left Melbourne.

The bittersweet tang of freshly ground coffee, the honk and shove of traffic outside his favourite café’s window – even the sour stench of overflowing gutters and drains after a heavy downpour.

Anything but the smoky tang from the charred stumps that littered the ground at his feet, and the crawling sensation that close by, amongst the burned-out tendrils of ghost gum bark droppings, an Eastern brown snake was waiting to pounce.

Sidling between the rear end of a Queensland Police-issued vehicle and a mobile water tanker emblazoned with a Rural Fire Service logo, he stepped over a motley collection of breathing apparatus before raising his ID card in silence to an enquiring junior constable.

‘Victoria Police?’

‘I was told to report here.’

He received a cursory nod in response, and then he was past the first cordon of plastic crime scene tape that had been stretched between two door mirrors.

The undergrowth crackled under his shoes while he crunched over the remains of tree trunks felled by last year’s lightning storms, now scorched and splintered to smithereens by the fire that had torn through here sixteen hours earlier.

The pungent stench of smoke clung to the air, scratching the back of his throat and stinging his eyes.

Not too far away, he could see ghostly figures wearing bulky orange high-visibility coveralls, the bright material dulled by dirt and grime, the volunteers’ skin smudged by tiny particles of charcoal that had lifted skywards when the flames took hold.

They had finished dampening down now, extinguishing the embers and obliterating any chance the undergrowth had of sparking another blaze.

Hence the water tanker.

He hadn’t experienced the Queensland heat before, but knew that the traditional torrential rains in these summer months were becoming rarer, and that the winters often meant the dams were dry.

He had seen the photographs from further out west of here as well – the dehydrated skin hanging off dead cattle that had wandered for kilometres in search of fresh water, the deserted homesteads that families could no longer afford to keep, or had no wish to keep. And he had read the reports of suicide after suicide as farmers grew more and more desperate.

High above him, away from the remnant smoke that twisted its way around the gnarled tree trunks, a lone bellbird chimed, its constant pip reminiscent of a submarine’s sonar array.

He could hear voices now, low murmurs that carried on a light breeze that spoke volumes, a deference to the utter destruction around him, no matter that it was man-made, and necessary.

Especially given the weather predictions for the coming weeks.

Movement at the base of one of the enormous gum trees caught his attention, and a young constable with sweat patches spreading under his uniform shirt raised an eyebrow in greeting, the rest of his face obscured by a paper mask that he had evidently donned to try to offset the poor air quality.

The man walked over to him, his manner brisk.

‘Can I help you, sir?’

Blake cleared his throat. ‘I got a phone call telling me to report to Detective Inspector Cameron Bragg. Is he around?’

‘Yeah. He got here thirty minutes ago.’ The constable looked him up and down. ‘Do you want some coveralls?’

‘Please. I usually carry some in my car, but…’ He broke off as two Rural Fire Service volunteers rambled towards him, their shoulders slumped.

Blake watched them walk past, their faces etched with exhaustion and a practised stoicism. ‘When did they find the body?’

‘A couple of hours ago, when they were dampening down after the controlled burn. It’s another three hundred metres through there from the fire trail.’

‘They look shattered.’

The man jerked his chin towards the retreating figures. ‘Those two were meant to clock off yesterday afternoon, but the wind turned and they were scared the fire would get out of control, so it was all hands on deck. Bragg is through there by the way, beyond the cordoned-off area.’

‘Okay.’ Blake looked around. ‘Where do I find those coveralls?’

In response, the constable led the way to a white polyester tent that had been erected a metre or so in front of a length of plastic crime scene tape tied between two ghost gums. He gestured to the opening then turned away, leaving Blake to push back the flap and discover a table laden with sealed packets of protective coveralls amongst other equipment the forensic specialists had unloaded from the van that Blake had parked behind moments earlier.

Blake bit back a yawn, the effects of the drive from Melbourne two days ago and the rush to check into his accommodation – a pub five kilometres away in Hangman’s Gap – starting to take their toll.

Everything had happened so quickly.

He wasn’t ready, never had been if he was truthful, and yet here he was, some 1,800 kilometres from home, in unfamiliar territory with a familiar dread lodged in the pit of his stomach.

Already, the questions were forming in his head.

There was a crinkling sound, and then the tent flap was shoved backwards by a woman in her mid-twenties. She was a couple of centimetres shorter than him with blonde hair tied back in a stumpy ponytail.

‘You’re DS Harknell, right? Are you ready? DI Bragg is looking for you.’

Blake tugged the protective booties over his shoes and then straightened. ‘I am. Sorry, you are?’

‘Senior Constable Angela Forbes. I’d shake your hand, but…’ She held up gloved fingers, then dropped her elbow and let the tent flap fall back into place.

Blake followed, trudging beside her towards the crime scene tape. ‘Do you report directly to Bragg?’

The smile disappeared. ‘No.’

She lifted the tape, ducked underneath and then held it aloft while he did the same. Then she led the way along a demarcated path that zigzagged between the gum trees.

Here, the birds had fallen silent.

Even the persistent bellbird had disappeared.

The crime scene wasn’t devoid of sound though, and as they drew closer Blake could hear it – the steady drone of flies.

The air was full of them, great clouds clustering above the SOCOs and forensic technicians, the insects’ fat, glossy bodies landing on his protective suit and colliding with the exposed parts of his face before he batted them away, grimacing.

They grew louder the closer he got, and then the wind turned and he could smell it.

Death.

A chill clutched at Blake’s spine as his eyes found the numbered markers that dotted their approach.

What had the forensics team found?

Would it help them?

His gaze travelled to a group of four figures huddled together wearing identical protective suits while they peered at a tablet computer.

‘Over here,’ Forbes said, interrupting his thoughts, and then pointed at the earth. ‘Watch yourself, the demarcation narrows as we get closer, so it’s single file only.’

‘Was the victim caught in the fire?’

‘It wasn’t the fire that killed him,’ she said. ‘That much even I can tell you.’

Blake swallowed, took a last inhalation of relatively fresh air, and hurried to catch up with her.

She stopped a reverent distance from where the forensic team worked, and from here Blake could only glimpse the tattered remains of a pair of shoes wrapped around charred feet that pointed skywards from behind a jagged knee-high granite boulder.

The ground was littered with large stones around here, adding to the difficulty of a terrain already made treacherous by the thick tangled tree roots that had miraculously escaped the flames.

‘I was meant to be meeting Sergeant Mortlock this morning before I got a phone call from your HQ in Caboolture telling me to report out here to Bragg instead. Is Mortlock joining us?’ Blake asked while they watched one of the figures straighten and turn away with a sealed evidence bag.

Forbes kept her gaze straight ahead, her jaw set for a moment, then: ‘I doubt it very much.’

‘But I thought he was the officer in charge around here.’

There was a shout then, and the taller of the protective suit-clad figures beckoned to them.

‘Come on.’ Forbes led the way over, then briefly introduced him. ‘This is Jonathan Coker, our lead forensic expert.’

‘Have you had a chance to speak to headquarters yet?’ Coker said to her, nodding a brief greeting to Blake. ‘It’s just that…’

‘There won’t be anyone more senior than Bragg here for at least another hour.’ She shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

Coker sighed. ‘All right, well we’ll probably be ready to move him by then with any luck. Sigford’s already left, and he said he’ll be in touch about the post mortem.’

Blake watched while one of the forensic team used a fine brush to sweep at the dirt a few metres away. The woman’s movements were meticulous, methodical, despite the rising humidity. He turned his attention back to Coker. ‘What do you know so far?’

The forensic expert’s brow creased, his eyes full of confusion as he adjusted the nitrile gloves against his fingers. ‘When did you get up here?’

‘Yesterday,’ Blake said. ‘I was just saying to Forbes, I haven’t even had a chance to introduce myself to Sergeant Mortlock in person yet.’

The forensic expert sighed, placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him to walk around a large boulder.

A fresh swarm of flies lifted into the air as one of the technicians stepped aside, and Blake saw then.

Saw the burnt flesh torn away by the flames.

Saw the raw blistering wounds so deep that charred bones showed through, a skeletal hand clawing at the smoke-filled air.

Saw the twisted, melted metalwork of a belt buckle and––

Coker cleared his throat. ‘DS Harknell, meet Senior Sergeant Ivan Mortlock.’

TWO

A pair of crows cackled above Blake’s head as his gaze took in the obliterated features of a man who was once flesh and blood.

The fire had done its job – the skeletal form was now curled in on itself, forming an uncanny resemblance to a foetus in a womb, the baked earth around it a blurred background in a macabre mimicry of an ultrasound image.

A respectful silence accompanied him while he stepped carefully around Mortlock’s charred remains, noting the blackened skull with its screaming open jaw, the pelvis and hips twisted towards the granite rock, the ribcage hollowed through and through by the unforgiving furnace that had ripped across the terrain.

Despite Blake’s attempts to stifle his breathing, despite the protective mask he wore, his nostrils were still assaulted by the stench of charred flesh.

‘How can you be sure it’s him?’

Coker jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘His car was found parked out near the back of Mike Prengist’s property, about a kilometre through there. It’s off a spur from an older fire trail that hasn’t been used for a while. The keys were still in the ignition. No sign of a struggle, either.’

‘What about a mobile phone?’

‘What’s left of it is there, on the left of his chest. He must have had it in his shirt pocket. There’s very little signal out here, so he couldn’t have used it anyway.’

Blake took in the lumpen mass of melted plastic, the outer casing of the phone unrecognisable. ‘What are the chances of retrieving the SIM card from that?’

The forensic expert snorted. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘What happened? Was he trapped before he could reach the firebreak, or…?’

‘He wasn’t out here for the hazard reduction burn,’ said Coker. He crouched beside Mortlock’s charred footwear. ‘See? The soles are burned away but there’s no metal left here. He wasn’t wearing steel-capped boots. These look like ordinary work shoes to me, although keep that off the record until we’ve got him back to ours for a proper examination. Besides, this burn was publicised four weeks ago and the RFS lot did a drive-through here before they started to make sure there were no vehicles around.’

‘You said you were meant to be meeting Mortlock. When did you last speak with him?’ said Forbes, her green eyes peering at him over her mask.

‘Yesterday, when I checked in to the pub.’ Blake scratched at the plastic hoodie that rubbed against his cheek. ‘He called me at about eleven o’clock, I reckon. Just to firm up some last-minute details before we met today.’

‘Did he seem anxious about anything?’

He frowned. ‘I didn’t get that impression, no. Why? Do you think this was a suicide?’

‘No, I don’t.’ She turned to Coker. ‘Show him what Sigford found.’

The forensic technician shuffled sideways on his haunches until he reached Mortlock’s skull, then gently turned it away so the hideous grimace faced the rock, before running his forefinger along the base of it. ‘There’s an indentation here, just behind where his ear would be. Michael Sigford, our pathologist, won’t confirm anything until the PM but said off the record it’s a blunt force trauma wound.’

‘He fell and hit his head?’

Coker blinked. ‘Not exactly, detective. Not the way he was found lying here, he didn’t. His body would have taken a different trajectory.’

Blake felt a bead of sweat trickle through his hair, accompanied by a swift shiver that spread across his shoulders. ‘So, you’re saying––’

‘He was murdered,’ said Forbes, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Some bastard murdered him, and then after the RFS crew cleared the area his killer used the fire to try and hide the fact.’

‘Jesus.’ He took a step back and used the back of a gloved hand to wipe his forehead. ‘You’re sure?’

‘As sure as we can be, until Mike Sigford’s post mortem and any evidence we manage to find here confirms it, yes.’ Coker straightened and nodded towards the fringes of the cordon. ‘Hence why your lot have sent Detective Inspector Bragg from Caboolture HQ to watch over us. Met him yet?’

‘He was talking to Brisbane HQ when I saw him, trying to get more resources sent up here,’ said Forbes. ‘I figured I’d introduce them after this.’

‘Best get on with it then. Send him over here when you’re done.’ Coker batted away a fresh onslaught of flies from his face. ‘I want him to be here when we move the body.’

‘Will do.’

Forbes led the way back towards the outer cordon, her head bowed while she stepped carefully over twisted tree roots and coiled hoses that snaked across the demarcated path.

A strained silence accompanied them, broken only by a pair of RFS volunteers who nodded at them as they passed, one of them pausing briefly to murmur something to Forbes and then hurrying to catch up with his colleague.

‘What was that about?’ Blake said.

‘Just passing on his condolences,’ came the reply.

She kept walking.

Blake’s tongue rasped against the roof of his mouth, the morning sun lifting the shadows amongst the smoky haze between the eucalypts and hoop pines beyond the outer cordon. It was another five degrees warmer since he’d arrived and the protective suit was clinging to him, suffocating his skin, shrouding him within its sticky sweaty grasp.

Ducking under the twisting crime scene tape, he staggered after Forbes into the white tent and tore away the mask, gulping in fresh air before peeling the hood from his head, running his hand over damp hair.

‘Here.’

She stood beside a plastic crate laden with half-litre bottles of water, then tossed one to him.

He caught it one-handed, twisted the seal and swallowed half before catching his breath. ‘Thanks.’

‘No worries.’ She peeled her protective suit away from a simple black T-shirt and jeans, then sipped delicately at her water, eyeing him while she did so. ‘You do realise you might’ve been the last person to speak to Mortlock, don’t you?’

‘Wasn’t he on duty yesterday?’

‘He had a rostered day off. Wasn’t due in until three this arvo – he pulled the late shift this week.’

‘When did you last speak with him?’

A faint flush settled on her cheeks, and she turned away. ‘Monday night. Just after nine.’

‘So, how did he seem to you?’

‘Normal, I suppose.’ She stripped off the protective suit and shoved it into a biohazard bin beside the tent flap before turning back to him. ‘Distracted, maybe, but not worried.’

‘Has he had any threats recently?’

‘Not that I’m aware of, no. But then, you never––’ She broke off as voices grew louder outside the tent, then drained the last of her water.  ‘That’s Bragg. I’d better introduce you before Coker gets hold of him.’

THREE

‘Sir, can I have a word?’

Angela Forbes shifted the weight of her holstered pistol against her hip before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then heard the soft lisp of the tent flap fall back into place as Harknell hurried to join her.

Detective Inspector Cameron Bragg looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow as she approached.

He still wore a tie despite the cloying humidity, although she noticed he had loosened the top button of his shirt, sweat patches showing under the arms.

No doubt he was missing the air-conditioned comfort of his office back at Caboolture headquarters.

‘What is it? I’ve got Jon Coker wanting me to suit up so he can move the body, and Brisbane’s just informed me that they’re under-resourced and can’t spare anyone to send up here, so make it quick.’

‘I wanted to introduce you to Blake Harknell.’ She had to lift her chin to meet his deep-set eyes, brown irises boring into her before his attention moved to Harknell.

‘You’re the new DS?’

‘Yes, temporary secondment from Melbourne.’

She watched with interest as the two men sized each other up in the few seconds it took to shake hands, Harknell a couple of centimetres shorter than the inspector.

‘I heard a rumour that Ivan was talking to you yesterday.’ Bragg folded his arms across his chest. ‘What was that about?’

‘Just when I was due to get here, that sort of thing.’

‘Did you talk about any active investigations?’

‘No.’ Harknell gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Nothing like that. He wasn’t very talkative – sounded like he was in a rush to be somewhere.’

‘When was this?’

‘About eleven. I’d just checked into the Royal in town.’

Bragg’s nose wrinkled. ‘That dump? Jesus. Whose idea was that?’

‘Erm…’ Harknell looked to Angela. ‘Mortlock’s.’

‘Must’ve wanted to keep him close, sir,’ she suggested.

‘Even so…’ Bragg shook his head. ‘Why are you on secondment?’

‘I had family near Morris Beach, an aunt who wasn’t well. I was owed some leave so I asked for a short secondment. Mortlock somehow got hold of my details and asked my boss to send me up here.’ Harknell held up his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. ‘And here I am.’

‘I know the area. Where does your aunt live?’

‘She doesn’t. She passed away six weeks ago. It was too late to cancel the secondment by then though.’

Bragg didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Sorry for your loss. How long are you planning on staying up here for?’

‘I don’t know, I mean the secondment was for three months, so…’

‘Good.’ A shark-like smile crossed the inspector’s face. ‘We’re low on resources, so consider yourself a part of my investigation now. I need a detective up here given that Brisbane’s not going to help. Angela, he can partner with you––’

‘Sir, with respect, we need to hit the ground running on this. I’ve got interviews backed up from this morning already, and…’

‘It wasn’t a request, constable.’ Bragg glared at her, then jerked his head towards Harknell. ‘He can help you with the interviews while you show him around. I don’t need to remind you that we’ve just lost a valuable member of our team. A family man who dedicated over thirty years of his life to the police service. Do I?’

She felt the heat rising to her face under the scrutiny of the newcomer. ‘No, sir.’

‘Right then. Speak to the RFS crew leader while he’s still here, then go and interview Miles Prengist. After that you can set up the investigation centre back at the station, get Harknell up to speed with who’s who there, then continue with the interviews. Get onto Mortlock’s mobile phone provider when you get back to the station as well, and request the call and text records for the past six months.’ Bragg glanced down at the phone in his hand as it began to ring. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’

Digging her nails into her palms, Angela watched him walk off towards the cordon with his phone to his ear, then gave herself a mental shake and then turned to Harknell.

‘Looks like you’re stuck with me,’ he said, a rueful smile on his lips. ‘Sorry.’

‘Not your fault.’ She squinted through the smoke drifting through the clearing and then jerked her chin towards a large man in his late fifties, short greying hair echoing the charcoal streaks flecking his face. ‘That’s Jeff Tanner, the RFS crew leader for this burn.’

‘Okay.’

‘Any problem if I lead the interview?’

‘None at all.’

‘Come on then.’

She led the way between the remnant stumps, the charred remains this side of the firebreak all that was left of the fledgling saplings that had taken hold over the summer and older trees that had rotted away or been sacrificed in the name of protecting the properties bordering the State-owned forest.

She held up a hand in greeting to Tanner. ‘Jeff? Got a moment so I can take a statement from you?’

The older man tore thick work gloves from hands the size of bear paws and wiped his face against the collar of his hi-vis shirt. ‘Five minutes, Ange, that’s all. No offence, but thanks to Mortlock I’ve got twice as much paperwork to fill out when I get home, and head office wants to have a video conference call at twelve. Obviously they’ve forgotten how shit the signal is out here.’

Angela grimaced, taking out her notebook. ‘Won’t take long. But Bragg wants it done. So do I. We need some answers, especially before we tell Jill what’s happened before she hears it through gossip.’

‘Jesus.’ Tanner turned his attention to Harknell. ‘Haven’t seen you around here before.’

‘DS Blake Harknell. On secondment from Melbourne.’

‘Melbourne, eh?’ Tanner raised an eyebrow. ‘Long way from home.’

‘He was meant to be meeting Ivan this morning,’ Angela explained.

‘Shit, really?’ The eyebrows lifted further. ‘You knew him, then?’

‘Jeff, the statement?’ Angela popped her biro against the notebook and turned to a fresh page. ‘What time did you get here?’

‘Just before midday yesterday, once the crew had started prepping the area. I did a final drive around to check for any people or vehicles – Carl Upshott split the burn area with me so we could save a bit of time. After that, I spoke to the Parks and Wildlife rep to make sure the escape route matrix was clear, and then we started the burn at around two.’

Angela looked up. ‘Why the delay?’

‘The bloody wind turned on us at the last minute so we had to wait. Luckily, it was only a light breeze but…’

He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

She had seen first-hand what happened when a hazard reduction burn got out of control a few years ago, and the memory sent goosebumps prickling across her forearms despite the humidity. ‘Any sign of Ivan or his car while you were doing the final checks?’

‘None at all. He must’ve turned up after we’d gone.’

‘Were you here all night?’

‘Yeah.’ He bit back a yawn. ‘And yes, I’m knackered.’

‘Sorry, won’t be much longer. Did you see anyone acting suspiciously?’

‘No. I didn’t see anyone who wasn’t meant to be here. I’ve already told your boss – sorry, Bragg – that I’ll give him a copy of the roster.’

Angela blinked, noting the slip and the hurried apology, but resisted the urge to comment.

The bloke truly looked knackered, after all.

‘Okay,’ she said, snapping shut the notebook. ‘I’ll probably need to speak to you again later in the week once we start processing all the information, but get yourself home, Jeff. You look like shit.’

He grinned, white teeth gleaming through the smuts that covered his face. ‘Carl asked earlier if you’d be interested in joining him when he has a shower?’

‘Tell him he can piss off.’

FOUR

Blake ducked under the thick tensile web of a golden orb spider stretching between two towering ghost gum trees and swept his gaze across the thickets of lantana that clung stubbornly to the wide trunks.

Despite the stark landscape caused by the controlled burn a few hundred metres away, the undergrowth flourished here, with tangling and twisted vines creeping across the path before winding their way around smaller saplings and bottlebrush shrubs, only broken when the grasses took over, dry and yellowing from the arid conditions.

‘Will they be doing back-burning through here, too?’ he called out to Forbes.

She didn’t stop walking. ‘Yes. All of this is a fire risk. Most of it’s invasive species anyway but these grasses… If they catch light during a storm, it’d be a disaster. They’re just doing it in stages to give the wildlife space to escape.’

He spotted the telltale smudges of an old lightning strike against the stubborn skeleton of a eucalyptus. ‘When did the last fire rip through here?’

‘About three years ago. I was only a junior constable then, but it took them six days to put out the last of the embers.’ She trudged onwards, paused to lift the outer cordon tape and sign out, then waited while he did the same.

‘Tell me about Jeff Tanner,’ he said when they were on the move once more. ‘What does he do when he’s not managing planned burns like this one?’

‘He owns the local servo and repair shop. You’d have driven past his place this morning – it’s just down the road from the Royal.’

‘Another volunteer, then?’

She frowned. ‘They’re all volunteers. The place isn’t big enough to sustain full-time roles.’

‘How many volunteers were working on this burn?’

‘Fourteen. I’m planning to split the interviews between myself and Ryan Darke – you’ll meet him when we get to the station.’

‘Where does Carl Upshott work?’

‘He’s got his own business as a handyman. Does fencing repairs, bathroom renos, that sort of thing.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He gets most of his work out nearer Caboolture way though. There’re loads of new housing developments sprouting up, lots of people moving up from your neck of the woods and Sydney.’

‘You don’t approve?’

Forbes shrugged. ‘Makes everything twice as expensive for the rest of us. Even if you can find a job, the wages around here are pretty shit.’

He didn’t have an answer to that, and instead pulled out his car keys as they approached the vehicles.

‘Did you drive up from Melbourne?’ she said, eyeing the licence plate on the dark grey wagon. ‘You didn’t fly?’

He blipped the fob and the indicator lights blinked. ‘I figured it’d save money rather than hiring a car once I was up here.’

‘How long did that take you?’

‘Couple of days with a rest stop in between.’ He opened the door and then took a step back as a fresh blast of warm air wafted over him. ‘Thankfully, the air con works.’

She almost smiled at that, then pointed at the QPS four-wheel drive he’d parked behind. ‘That’s mine.’

Soon they were on the move, the steering wheel juddering under his grip as he tried to avoid the worst of the deep wheel ruts scoring the weather-beaten dirt track.

Here and there, termite mounds poked through the pale brown landscape, the towering dirt structures sticking up in the air like rudimentary milestones. They were interspersed with imposing granite boulders that had tumbled from the crevices and rocky outcrops that hung over the track, hugging the shallow valley.

All around him were the burned-out husks of trees, the soil between them blackened and ruined.

The two vehicles wound their way down the craggy hillside for another minute or so, and then the terrain levelled out.

The track twisted around a wide corner to reveal a dusty black panel van parked on the right-hand side in front of an off-white ute that appeared to have been abandoned. Scorch marks mixed with mud up the sides of the paintwork, and the windscreen was streaked with road grease and dead bugs.

‘Shit.’

Blake stomped his foot to the floor as the brake lights on Forbes’s vehicle flared, narrowly avoiding careening into the back of her four-wheel drive.

She crawled past the vehicles, and as he craned his neck to see around them he spotted a team of four forensic technicians scouring the terrain, heads bowed.

They glanced up, one raising a hand by way of greeting in the direction of the QPS four-wheel drive before returning to their work.

‘Mortlock’s ute,’ Blake murmured.

It appeared to be in reasonable condition, with only the usual muck and dust associated with a vehicle used regularly but cleaned as and when its owner had time. There were no obvious signs of vandalism or other damage to the bodywork aside from that caused by the hazard reduction burn. Even the flames had only licked at the paintwork from a distance, nothing more, and so maybe the forensic team would find something to help the fledgling investigation.

But why had the senior sergeant parked here?

Had he walked to where his body had been found that morning, or had someone else been here with him?

Forbes picked up speed then, only stopping when she reached the end of the twisting dirt track and a T-junction.

An enormous scruffy blue road train thundered past, its two trailers pockmarked with ventilation holes. The soft white muzzles of Brahman cattle were just visible through the gaps as they sniffed at their last vestiges of freedom before they reached the slaughterhouse.

Forbes turned onto the potholed asphalt road, accelerating as soon as the four-wheel drive’s tyres struck the tarmac.

They reached Miles Prengist’s house via a convoluted route along a second dirt track that made Blake wonder why the landowner simply hadn’t carved a direct access from the back of his property through to the State forest’s dirt track.

By the time he parked alongside a large galvanised steel water tank, his coccyx was numb from the potholes and ruts, and he was sure the car suspension was in worse shape.

Climbing out, he groaned as his back protested, then wandered over to where Forbes stood next to her vehicle, eyeing the house.

It was a simple whitewashed clapboard affair, with a shallow veranda clinging to the front of it and a gabled roof that hung over the top windows with a perpetual frown.

Straggly grass grew in clumps around the base of the wooden steps leading to the front door, and what might have been once an optimistic front lawn was now given over to abandoned rusting machinery, interspersed with weeds and stones.

‘What can you tell me about Prengist?’ he said.

‘He’s a fourth-generation cattle farmer. Mid-fifties, history of violence – doesn’t like being told what to do, especially if it’s about his property. His wife walked out on him four years ago when the last of the kids left for university. Her bruises cleared up after about three weeks.’

‘Any history of gun ownership?’

‘Yes, but Ivan confiscated his last registered rifle eighteen months ago.’

‘Is he likely to kick off when we knock on the door?’

‘It depends how much he’s had to drink.’

‘How big is his property?’

‘Big enough. He has three hired hands to help out now that both his boys have left home.’

‘Do they stay in touch with their dad?’

‘Not as far as I know. One’s working down in Sydney, the other buggered off to England as soon as he graduated. Neither have been back here, that’s for sure. Someone would’ve told us otherwise.’

Blake scanned the three large timber-clad sheds that towered over the thin line of macadamia trees to the left of the property, squinting against the late morning sunlight. ‘How do you want to do this? Knock first, or have a look around?’

Forbes squared her shoulders. ‘Let’s see if he’s in.’

‘Perhaps I should go first?’

‘He doesn’t know you.’ She was already walking towards the veranda. ‘He might listen to me.’

He hurried to catch up, his skin prickling with anticipation as her boots found purchase on the steps leading to the front door.

As he drew closer, he saw that despite the state of the barren front yard, the veranda decking was swept clear of leaf litter and had been recently oiled.

Forbes beat her palm against a metal fly screen, then tried the handle.

It didn’t give under her touch.

‘Miles? It’s Angela Forbes,’ she called. ‘You in?’

There was no answer.

‘Want to try the sheds?’ Blake ventured.