The track was a tiny walkway, no more than a foot wide at best and was covered in weeds and low shrubs. A small shed stood at the end of it, flanked by a small dam, the water brown and very silty. There was a pump near the shed, a pipe snaking towards the water and a bald man with a great big belly was hunched over, performing some sort of maintenance on it. He looked up as we approached, then smiled when he recognized Steph.
“Officer Connor, what brings you out this way?”
“Hi Daz, this is Jim Lawson. Can we ask you a couple of questions?” The man also shook with me. He struck me as a gentle giant, someone you would trust with your own mother. I think it was his eyes that conveyed his calming nature.
“Hello, please call me Keg” he said to me, then, “anything I can help you with, Steph. But please, would it be too hard for you to call me Keg, Steph?” He listened as Steph told him about the new string of murders, something he had already read about, no doubt. His face grew grave when we told him about our non-existent leads.
“There’s not much to tell about Lightman. He was a loner, stuck to himself pretty much, never mingled and never came out for a drink. Not coming out for a drink is what I think kept most of the lads here at a distance. Working men don’t like loners, but a man that don’t drink with others? Something untrustworthy about them.”
“Did he have any friends? Anyone at all?” But the man just shook his head.
“None that I remember. Lightman was one of those guys who always turned up on time, did his work, and did it well, then went home at the end of the day. It’s not a crime not to drink and certainly not a crime if you choose to keep to yourself. The boys never beat him up about it, it just kinda went from one day to the next. Became his routine, I guess.” I was about to suggest talking to Richard again when he looked up at the sky and put a finger to his mouth.
“There was that one afternoon, though,” he said and my interest peaked.
“What’s that?” Steph asked. Keg was still looking at the sky, thinking. He took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, offered them around, Steph never one to pass one up, then lit his with a match, sparking Steph’s as well.
“There was this one time, where he wanted to leave a little earlier than normal. I remember it so well because Lightman never took off early. If anything, that man was punctual and honest. He was always here ten minutes before shift and never left until at least ten minutes after. Anyway, it had been a Friday, and he asked if he could leave at 2 o’clock.”
“Did he say where he was going?” I asked.
“Said he wanted to surprise a girl he’d been seeing. Some girl over in Daylesford.”
“Did he say what her name was?” Steph asked, her tone becoming low with dread, but the man shook his bald head.
“Nah, sorry. Can’t help you there. He never struck me as the dating kind, you know. Some of the lads even thought him queer. Just struck me as odd when he told me, that’s all. I’m sorry there’s not more to tell.” Steph shook his hand and thanked him for his time. I shook then followed her back to the car, walking behind her single file along the narrow path.
“Steph, you OK?” I said. She only nodded. “Don’t forget, kiddo, Lightman doesn’t have a pecker, remember?” She stopped and turned to look at me.
“Does he need one? I mean, is it all gone, half gone, all the bits gone?”
“I don’t know. Just try not to think about that now. I know it’s difficult but-”
“Excuse me, Steph?” It was Richard waving his hand from his doorway, trying to get our attention. We turned toward him, then heard him ask, “Does this have anything to do with Clancy Higgins?”
10.
He waved us into his office, then sat behind a modest-looking desk, which to me, was surprisingly clean for a timber yard manager’s. Steph and I sat in chairs facing him, anxious to hear what he had to say.
“How do you know Clancy?” I asked.
“Clancy is famous in this neck of the woods. And not for any good reasons.” I shuffled in my seat slightly, in anticipation of something useful.
“How do you mean?” Steph asked.
“Clancy worked here a few years back. Was just a work hand at the time, nothing too technical. As you know, he has a few sheep short in the top paddock, if you catch my drift. Not all there. Was my Pa that put him on, said everyone deserved to earn an honest living.”
“How long did he work here?” Steph sat forward; her interest also peaked.
“He started in, oh, around 42, and I let him go in around 45. I remember ‘cause it wasn’t long after Pa retired.”
“You fired him?” I asked.
“Ah yup. Had to. On account of all the animals.”
“Animals?” I asked, glancing at Steph, but her eyes were locked on Richard’s, as if waiting for the punch line.
“It was old Graham Roberts that found him first, but he never said anything to him. Instead, came and got me. Took me down past the shed you was just at. The path continues into the bush another 4 or 5 hundred yards or so. Graham had been working on the pump down at the dam. Had been there a couple of hours, and the whole time he was there he swore he could hear a kind of yapping, like a dog in pain. So, he followed the
