The Beautiful Dead by Kim Hunt

Author:Kim Hunt [Hunt, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781913419295
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thriller and mystery
Published: 2020-02-02T16:00:00+00:00

Cal turned off Juta Road into the old campground track that followed the river inland. She watched in her rear-view as the dark Falcon sedan with two men in the front seat carried on along the main route. They’d been following her since Bronto’s. Coppers.

Even with her lights on full-beam the road wasn’t as familiar coming from the opposite direction and in total darkness. She tried to recall where she’d seen Nolly Pratt that day when she’d returned from the bush site. She’d just crossed the bridge, coming from north to south.

When she saw the small yellow reflective sign indicating the overpass, she slowed and looked for the side track down to the river on her left. There was a break in the scrub on the verge. She wasn’t in her four-wheel drive work truck. No good risking the track in the Ford, even though there’d been no rain. Too isolated. She coasted to the side of the road, parked, grabbed her torch and got out.

The roots of the casuarina trees formed a lacework of knuckled steps down the slope to the river. She shone her torch along the banks but couldn’t see any other vehicles from where she was. Picked her way along the rough access way, just to get a sense of it. It ran several kilometres in both directions, following the path of the river. She stopped and listened, hearing the occasional rustling of a nocturnal animal, nothing more. Made her way back along the track, no distant traffic noise, just the quiet of the bush and the silent river.

Maybe it’s a daytime-only beat. Is there such a thing? Who’d know it’s a beat? Only those looking for trade? So, if I give that bloke the benefit of the doubt, what was he doing here that day? Fishing? Just hanging out? If this is a beat what are the chances Stef and Pip used it? Was that Nolly bloke here for trade or as a basher? Think I need to pay him a visit, or check him out at least.

She got back to the car and started it, drove forwards looking for somewhere wide enough to turn around. She nosed across the bridge and saw a wider verge ahead where she could make a three-point turn. The car didn’t feel quite right, even considering the rough nature of the track. Her steering was washing out on the offside. She stopped and got out with her torch, walked to the other side. Flat tyre on the left front. Dammit. Travelling long distances in the country meant flat tyres were inevitable. It had been awhile so she was probably overdue.

Least it didn’t happen when I was fanging it, she thought as she lifted the jack and spare from the boot. Less than ten minutes later she had the spare bolted on, the jack lowered and the flat tyre poised to go into the boot. She shone her torch and felt across the rubber surface with her fingers, feeling for some protrusion.

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