The Final Alibi by Simon King

Author:Simon King [King, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-26T22:00:00+00:00

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 noise and came across the gully that sits at the end of that path. He saw Clancy down in one of the holes down there, watched him for a bit, then came ‘n fetched me.” He stood, walked out into the next room and came back a second later, carrying three open bottles of coke. He handed one to each of us then clinked our bottles together, wishing us good health. After a long swallow, he continued.

“I could hear the poor dog from almost 500 fucking yards away, ‘scuse my French. When we broke through the trees and stood at the edge of the clearing, the gully opened up maybe fifty or so yards in front of us. It’s quite deep, maybe twenty feet in some places. And there he was, doing his freaky shit.” He took another swallow, his hand visibly shaking.

“Take your time,” Steph said, sipping her own coke.

“He had that poor dog pinned to the ground, tied to stakes that he had hammered in. The poor mutt had no chance. That fucken creep’s face was covered in blood. He was biting chunks out of the dog’s leg and shoulder. Biting chunks and chewing them.” He was almost yelling now, his anger raw. He had to put the bottle on the table, the shaking almost uncontrollable. Steph’s face was grim, as I was sure mine was.

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