Thursday
They rode most of the way in silence, listening to rocks ping off the paintwork and each other’s laboured breaths, frustration simmering between them. Despite their collective years on the job, it was hard to make small talk, knowing multiple bodies were waiting at the end of their long drive.
Plus, they were pretty sick of each other after five long days in the outback.
Jay shifted and sulked in the heat, wiping his brow on the collar of his shirt so often it had turned a grimy, sweat-stained yellow. He sighed now and then as boredom got the better of him, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, he stopped himself and sagged into the seat.
Eventually, he sank back, eyes closed, head against the window, which was cracked open just enough to let in a sluggish stream of hot air.
Abby had done the same, though she spent most of the drive fidgeting and leaning forward so her back could breathe under her shirt.
The air-con had been out since before winter, but she hadn’t found the time to get it sorted. And the summer heat had come on so fast that everyone and their gran was booked up for a biannual fix at her local garage.
So she and Jay sat in the uncomfortably hot car with red dirt and dust spewing in from the windows, chugging warm water from small bottles, speaking briefly only when the radio dipped in and out. They stopped every couple of hours—or whenever they saw a servo—to stretch their legs and stock up on cool water. Not that it stayed cold for long.
The back of her car was a mess of empty plastic and crisp packets, which Abby promised herself she’d clean out after their time in Birdsville.
Fucking Birdsville.
They’d been all set to head back to the coast—back to civilisation—when the call came in. They were almost a thousand kilometres closer to the scene and had drawn the short straw.
“It doesn’t look good, mate. I won’t lie. We just need you to get there fast, right? No stopping if you don’t need to.”
The Chief sounded tired and annoyed, but Abby knew it wasn’t at her.
Still, she asked, “If it’s that bad, why can’t we get a chopper? My car’s on its last legs as is.”
“No chance. She’s down near Byron. By the time we got her up to you, you’d be there already. And I told you to put in for the car weeks ago.”
Abby had rolled her eyes but dutifully noted down the number for the local senior constable and the restaurant’s address—the crime scene. Jay had peered over her shoulder and let out a small groan when he saw their destination. And he’d made his displeasure abundantly clear the moment they got back in the car.
As if it were Abby’s choice where the Chief sent a couple of lowly SOCOs.
Jay perked up when they finally neared the small town. Though ‘near’ in the outback meant two hours on the road—at least.
“This really a one-cop shop?” he asked through a yawn.
Abby lifted her shoulders and twisted in her seat. “That’s what the man said. Population’s only a hundred or so, they reckon. No need for more coppers when they’re all born and bred locals. Probably the worst he sees is from backpackers—unless there’s a drought,” she added quietly.
Jay gave a knowing grunt. They’d both seen enough crime scenes to know how droughts in the bush affected people. City folk were always shocked to hear about the number of suicides it brought on.
But the isolation and money issues were just too much for some to bear.
Shrugging it off, Abby went on, “Anyway, the local guy’s at some station a few thousand Ks away. Baiting incident or some shit. So, the call’s in to an inspector from somewhere up north. Hoping he can help until the cavalry arrives from the city.”
“Which’ll be when?”
Abby blew out a short breath and glanced at the clock on the dash. “We got about a thousand Ks on ’em. Unless they fly.”
“Thought you said the heli was down in Byron?”
Abby turned her head so he couldn’t see her eyes roll. “Birdsville’s got an airport, mate.” Then she thought about the Chief’s brief description of the scene and added, “I’m guessing they’re gonna use it.”
“Shit, they’ll probably beat us.”
Abby shook her head. “It’ll take ’em that long to find their arses. You know that. And when have they ever sent a team this far in without proper confirmation?”
Jay let out an unamused breath, and the car went quiet again. They both knew how it worked in the outback. Mostly, the country cops would handle it all, including the murders and suicides. They’d nod and take notes, do their best to figure out what happened, and then tuck it under the rug.
More or less.
Local towns, local cops, local problems.
But this was different.
The last two hours went by in exhausted silence, but soon enough, the numbers on the signs were in single digits. The dirt and gravel road thumped into a semi-smooth sealed track that curved around a desolate race club and over a drought-ridden riverbed. When they reached a junction, they were met with a dusty but new-looking sign. It told them they were joining the Eyre Developmental Road, and if they took a left, they’d arrive in Marree and eventually Adelaide.
To the right was Birdsville.
There were no numbers on the sign other than the ’83’ in the middle, which referred to the National Route 83. But Abby had checked the map before they set off and knew that taking the left would mean at least five hundred kilometres of open road before they found the next town.
She turned the wheel and eased the old ute to the right.
“Strewth,” Jay whispered. “You wouldn’t even know it’s there.”
Abby nodded, but said nothing. Jay was right—if she didn’t know any better, she’d think they were in for another hundred Ks before they saw signs of life. The outback stretched around them like a never-ending nightmare, with nothing but a few scattered trees to break up the beige and red sand.
It gave her the creeps.
Twenty minutes later, the number of trees seemed to double, then triple. They crept closer and closer to the road until they reached a gravel turnoff and a river crossing. Abby assumed the bed would fill with water once the summer was over. But it was as dry as the rest of the landscape that day.
By the time they reached the city limits, they’d passed a few other dirt roads and even come across a bike lane.
As if anybody would be dumb enough to cycle to Birdsville.
It wasn’t until just before a cattle grid that the first buildings became visible. They rumbled over, followed the road to the left, and rolled to a stop at the entrance to the town. Other than the number of people in the street, it looked like most outback towns they’d been to—dusty and sad.
“Word’s out,” Jay muttered, sitting up and cranking the window down.
Abby braced herself. “Town like this, how could it not be?”
The town of Birdsville sits around thirteen kilometres from the Queensland-South Australia border. It’s split into four small blocks beside a little, seemingly deserted airport. Abby cruised by a health centre and an oddly vibrant kids’ park. It was shaded by a huge metal structure, saving the red and green climbing frame from the worst of the sun’s rays. The next couple of blocks held a roadhouse, school, petrol station, hotel, and a public swimming pool.
People were everywhere, but most seemed to be milling around the hotel. Some were teary, others curious. They watched the new car suspiciously, not bothering to hide their glares.
Abby stopped at the next crossroad, unsure if she should go straight or to the left. A handwritten sign told them the scene was up ahead and to the left, but the road was blocked. Locals, she assumed. Choosing to skip awkward greetings with angry residents, Abby took the left turn and followed the road straight and then right. They rounded a visitor centre and stopped about fifty metres from the site, where more cars had been left to block the way.
One, she noticed, was a police car.
The inspector from up north?
“You right?” Jay asked. He was halfway out of the car, but Abby hadn’t moved yet.
She kept hearing those words—multiple bodies—repeating in her head.
“Yeah, mate,” she said eventually. “I’m right.”
The pair wasted no time in shedding their shirts and shoes, and quickly stepped into light, full-body suits that covered everything from their boots to their heads. They each wore white singlets so they could keep the tops open and the hoods down while they were still outside.
After giving everything a once-over, they grabbed their gear, slinging the heavy bags over their shoulders.
Jay slammed the boot shut and mumbled, “Heads up, Abs.”
Abby fixed a flat smile on her face. She walked forward, extended her hand, and introduced herself and Jay to the man in uniform.
“Abby Sykes and Jay Laythem. SOCOs from Brisbane.”
“G’day. Inspector Logan, down from Boulia.” He nodded and raised his eyebrows, shaking each hand with a firm grip. “The government only sending crime scene techs these days? I thought with this many dead, they’d have the whole force out here.”
“They’re on the way,” Jay assured him, his eyes on the building and the people around it.
The trio looked at each other briefly before turning in unison towards the scene.
After a few steps, Logan asked, “You two been doing this long?”
Abby noted the tone in his voice and replied, “Long enough.”
“I just meant—” Logan began, turning to face them, his palms up in apology. “It’s a rough scene.”
Abby looked over the country cop’s shoulder. The old building took up most of her view. The place was huge, with plenty of seating outside, no doubt mainly for the backpackers. She wondered how often anyone actually sat there, given the heat. Squinting a little, she took note of the words painted on the tin roof: Birdsville Bakery.
A bakery—not a restaurant like the Chief had said.
That rules out a drunken brawl.
Probably.
It sat on the corner, surrounded by red dirt and teary-eyed people. Four men stood on the brick path a few metres from the entrance with their backs to the place. Abby and Jay followed Inspector Logan onto the property, passing the cop’s car and a girl who appeared out of place. She made eye contact, her cheeks glistening in the sunlight under red eyes.
Abby gave her a slight nod and finally turned her attention to the front door. The men guarding the entryway unfolded their arms and made a gap before quickly closing ranks without so much as a glance over their shoulders.
The smell hit them first—copper and rot. Then the slick red across the tile came into view.
“Christ,” Jay breathed. “That’s a lot of blood.”