CHAPTER 3: DUST NEVER SETTLES
Two detectives, one an inspector, from Command arrived just on dark and were immediately taken out to the Batten property. As they had brought their own car, Jack took the constable back to town with him, after explaining what he had looked at earlier.
“Interesting” he said to his off sider as they drove back.
“Brenden Casey came. He was going to the Territory for a holiday. Gets in to your blood I suppose.” The inspector and his off sider had a look around but anything out side would have to wait until daylight.
They had some items and food in the car and would stay the night. Jack thought this a good idea and would come tomorrow if they wanted more men. The night passed slowly for the visiting officers. Amorede tailed search of the house yielded nothing and Brendon Casey wished he had gone on his holiday last month. The occasional bellowing of a cow was the only noise to join the crickets. Next morning, Sergeant Jack Grogan stayed around his office in case the phone rang. There was limited mobile service out at that area so there was incentive
to be available. Things did seem to have an air of mystery, but what? His off sider went out to the post office to collect mail and some items from the supermarket. About 11am he came in, dumped his collections and sought out the boss.
“Jack. Funny thing but I was talking to that Mary at the post office and she reckons that she saw Hank outside a house, whilst she was driving to work. Didn’t think much about it but it was early for him to be in town. Only mentioned it to me as I said I had been out to the Batten’s place yesterday on business.” Grogan didn’t waste much time in ringing the post office and talking to Mary.
Appears it was in Lester Street, about the end house. He told his junior to keep close to the phone and headed out to the street. The end house was empty but the next one was too easy. When he asked the lady could he speak to Hank, she looked around and then nodded and told him to come in. Hank was in the kitchen but came in at the sound of voices.
“I’m Jack Grogan, you Hank?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’d like you to come down to the station now.” He turned and waited on the front veranda, soon to be joined by the supposedly missing man.
He wouldn’t give him any answers to his questions, just drove back to the station. Inside he asked him to sit down in the small interview room, gave him a cuppa and said
“Right, let’s sort this out.”
“We are not sure anything has happened, but Batten is missing, like wise your wife, and you seem to be staying in town with someone.” Hank looked sheepish and stared at the table before answering.
“I didn’t know it was a police matter. Has something happened to Mr. Batten?”
“You tell us. Where is your wife? She also seems to be gone.” Hank lifted his hands up in resignation.
“She’s gone to Sydney to her sisters. She went about three days back. I was staying to help Mr. Batten and do the meals. I ….I asked him would it be OK if I went to town to see a mate after tea. I’d probably have a drink or two, so would be back in the morning. That was two days back. When I got back next morning he was not around. A note on the kitchen bench said he had to go away for a few days and look after the place. I was going back this morning but I got sort of held up.”
“Who is this mate you need to stay with?” Grogan guessed what the answer would be or should be. Hank shuffled his feet.
“My girlfriend. Called Rebecca. We have been seeing each other for a few months I guess. Me and Alice don’t get along very well these days. Too good an opportunity to miss when she had to go to her sister’s place. Has something happened to the boss? There was a note.”
“Do you have it?” Hank said he dropped it in the kitchen tidy. He was told to wait whilst the detectives were informed.
Grogan rang the house and no reply but a few minutes later he tried again and Brendon Casey answered. The Inspector quickly went to the bin and found the note. It was not written but printed, which could mean nothing. He told Grogan to get the sister’s address and send the foreman out to the farm. They may need his help in what was what. The daylight search yielded nothing of interest. Back in town, another of those quirks of nature was about to unfold. A million to one thing. The previous night, Bill Henley had taken his wife to play cards at a friend of hers. Since he came to town, he was conscious of the need to help keep his wife interested in staying here as he was. They had baulked at the idea of a stint which could last for years, here, but it was a career move. One day he would be a sergeant. Somewhere. After the game, they decided to drive around and look at the stars from a hill which gave a good view of town in the daylight. There were a couple of cars already there so they decided to go home. It wasn’t until the next morning when the boss brought Hank in, that a light went on in his brain.
“Might be nothing boss, but it just came to me when I saw that bloke.”
“What just came to you. Where our missing farmer is?” Bill screwed up his nose.
“No. Just that me and Jenny went out to Mison’s Hill
last night, for a drive,” emphasising the last bit with a roll of his eyes.
“I am married. Anyway coming back, I now remember seeing a light of some type on at the old Crump place. You know that empty place near Williams Creek. The couple split up and walked out.” Grogan’s eyes narrowed.
“Squatters perhaps. Or perhaps not. It is very close to the Batten property, when you think of it. How about you and me have a quick looked and…” The phone rang and that ended the conversation.
The other PC took the call and then cupped the hand piece as he spoke to his senior.
“Burglary boss. A Mrs. Kemp says someone stole her Wing vase.”
“It’s Ming actually. Tell her we are on our way.” Grogan shook his head.
Like an accident waiting to happen, he thought. Iris Kemp was not actually discreet when it came to extolling her importance. Two months ago she announced that a great aunt had bequeathed her a Chinese vase. She did this in a piece to the local paper and then had a supper for CWA friends and others to show it off when she brought it back from the city. It was bound to happen. The drive out to Crumps was put aside as he and Henley went around to the old colonial house at the end of town. Closing his ears to her loud protestations about not keeping order and protecting poor people’s property, he managed to size up the incident as best he could. Rear window was forced and the only thing disturbed or missing was the vase which normally sat in a prominent position on a table for all to see as you entered the living room. Now it was gone. Assuring her they would do all they could, they left.
“Put outa bulletin and advise the usual second hand dealers and CID,” as they drove back.
Then changing his mind, turned off and headed for the Crump place. The place seemed deserted. The front door was shut and locked but there were recent tire tracks at the side and rear. The kitchen window was not locked, and with a nod from his boss, Bill Henley prised it open and crawled in, knocking over a glass on the sill, before he got to the door and opened it. The place had been used in the not too distant past and most recent past as the food scraps and dirty dishes together with discarded wrappers, proclaimed. The house seemed empty and sort of derelict, and they were about to dismiss it as vagrants or squatters when Jack noticed a discarded handkerchief on the floor behind the back door. Not so much the hanky but that it was covered in blood. Now they were more cautious and looked at the outside shed. Empty except that a small store room at the back was locked, not with a locker key but by a nailed piece of timber. The PC checked the back but no apparent window, so Grogan knew he had to be at least thorough especially if his superior was in town. Prising it off with a piece of metal, he pulled the door open.