Where the Murray River Runs by Darry Fraser

Author:Darry Fraser [Fraser, Darry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises, Australia Pty Ltd
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Six

Bendigo

Constable Albert Griffin dismounted and tied his horse to a post at Gareth Wilkin’s house. He barely looped the reins into a knot when a side window flung open.

‘Why are the coppers calling on me?’

Griffin looked up. Wilkin hung out of the window, a large battered pannikin in his hand. His voice sounded hoarse. From the way he pulled at his collar, even in the last of the afternoon sunlight, Griffin could tell he was hot. Still, the dirty little bugger never washed. He’d probably picked up some disease and had a fever.

‘Not too late in the day for you, is it?’ Griffin met Wilkin’s gaze as he stepped onto the rickety boards of the stoop. He took care to stand well back. ‘Not one, not two, but three fires inside a week. All with your special kind of mark on them.’

Wilkin flicked his wrist and the contents of his cup landed with a splat on the boards. ‘That so?’

Griffin knew it hadn’t landed on his boots. The little bastard wouldn’t dare cross him now. ‘You were seen by two witnesses at the house fire. The fire at Mr Campbell’s was you. And I hear there’s been a fire at Ard O’Rourke’s orchard, just yesterday.’

Wilkin bared his teeth. Griffin wasn’t sure if it was a sneer or something else. The man was shiny, like when a horse sweated after a gallop.

‘I wasn’t the only one at that house. Lots of useless bastards there.’ He picked his shirt away from his chest, giving it a couple of tugs. ‘Don’t know no Mr Campbell. Don’t care about Ard O’Rourke.’

Albert Griffin inhaled theatrically, and exhaled with a long breath through his mouth. ‘You do know Mr Campbell. You had an appointment with him not long ago.’

Wilkin grunted. ‘Ah. That Mr Campbell.’

‘That same one. Night of the fire in his place, he belted an intruder. Hit him on the head with an ashtray.’ Griffin would swear he saw Wilkin remember the impact. ‘Man should have a great bloody lump on his skull.’ He peered closer at the smelly little bastard.

Wilkin remained quiet. He picked his shirt away from his chest again and flapped it a little.

‘You sick?’ Griffin asked.

‘Fever. Got skin blackened on me.’

Griffin beat down the urge to step back. ‘Better get yourself to the hospital, then.’ He could see fiery red scrapes at the man’s collar, but no blackened skin. Perhaps he had a sort of pox and not burns, after all. If so, he wasn’t going any closer.

‘Be gone in a day or two.’

Griffin doubted it. ‘You should do the same, Wilkin. Might get sicker if you stay around here, playing with fire.’ He turned and gave a quick look up and down the street. ‘I heard that big redheaded bloke is not a nice man when he gets mad.’ He glanced back at Wilkin. ‘You know who I mean,’ he said. ‘And Ard O’Rourke. Well, I’ve only seen him in a temper once or twice, and it ain’t pretty neither.’

Wilkin eyes were bulging.

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