Tallowwood Read online

  “And seeing that,” Jacob continued. “Well, shit. Seeing that gave me hope, ya know? That a guy like me could have both.”

  “Both?”

  “A boyfriend and a career. That I could be on the force and be out. And it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

  August nodded, but he didn’t trust his voice to speak.

  “Anyway, that’s how I knew who you were. But yeah, I’ve kind of followed your work. You dropped off the radar for a bit and I wondered why, but then I read that piece in the Telegraph about the cold cases and saw your name.” Porter’s cheeks were pink again, and August couldn’t tell if that was from the cold or embarrassment.

  Those goddamn freckles . . . they almost made August forget the comment about him dropping off the radar for a bit.

  “So that’s why I was nervous about picking you up this morning,” Porter added, oblivious to the mess in August’s head. He needed to change the subject.

  “I’ll try not to disappoint you.” Then he nodded to the camera. “What’s with that?”

  Jacob looked down at the camera he was holding. “Oh, it’s a barrier filter.”

  August knew what it was, he just wasn’t sure why Porter was using it. “Don’t trust the forensic team?”

  Jacob laughed. “Just trying to keep learning.” He changed lenses and took some shots of the other police walking around the forest, then the trees surrounding the grave. “How tall do you reckon those trees are?”

  August looked up. Christ, they were big. “Uh, forty or fifty metres?”

  “And they’re a flooded gum, with above average rainfall and fertile soil, so they’d grow what, maybe thirty to forty metres in ten years.”

  August stared at him. “I have no idea.”

  Porter smiled at him. “No, I’m telling you. They do. They grow fast.”

  “Oh. Is this some local Aboriginal knowledge . . . ?” August asked, then regretted the words as soon as they were out of his stupid mouth.

  Jacob blinked, then burst out laughing. “No, it’s an ‘I’m not a fucking idiot’ thing.”

  Then, whether great timing or bad, August’s phone rang. He put his hand up. “Sorry . . . Sorry, I should take this.” He answered the call. “Detective Shaw.”

  “August? It’s Nina.” Then there was broken static.

  “Nina?” The reception was awful, but Jacob’s gaze shot to his. “Hang on, the reception’s terrible. I’ll just walk back to the clearing.”

  He went back the way they’d come and went to the Patrol. He leaned against it and took a moment to enjoy the sun on his face. He hadn’t realised the forest would be so cold. “Nina, you there? Can you hear me?”

  “Much better.”

  “Good. Have you got news for me?”

  “I do.”

  August looked up at Jacob who had followed him out and was walking toward him. “Hold on, I’ll put you on speaker so Porter can hear.”

  He tapped the Speaker button and laid his phone on the bonnet of the car. “Okay,” Nina began. “Blood type B positive. Box cutter was covered in the same blood found at the scene. Clothes, necklace, the note, all covered in the same blood. No other blood or traceables detected.”

  Well, that wasn’t unexpected. But at least the blood type was something to go by.

  “Bartlett got here a little while ago. He couldn’t find any noticeable bone injuries at the time of death. No stab wounds or defensive wounds; neck is intact. But we’re cleaning the bones as we speak. That’ll reveal any finer lines or possible injuries.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No fingerprints on the paper. The hair was bleached, possibly brown originally. It’s not coarse, so . . .”

  “DNA?”

  “Still running it.”

  August knew a hit could take hours or even days . . . “Thanks, Nina.”

  “How’s the scene? Find anything else?”

  August was about to say no, but Porter spoke. He was looking at the small digital screen on his camera. “Not sure. Will let you know. Thank you, Doctor Schneider.” And without another word, still looking at the screen, he began walking back into the forest.

  “Okay, Nina, I better go. Thanks again for the call.”

  “Anytime. I’ll call you again later. We’ll have that drink, yeah?”

  “Sounds good.”

  The call ended, and August pocketed his phone and set off after Porter. He found him, not near the gravesite but about thirty metres from it, away from where the other police were canvasing. Porter was standing in front of a tree. The whole forest was covered in trees, roots, moss, vines, ferns, and August could barely distinguish one kind from another.

  “What is it?” August asked.

  Porter put his hand out in a stop motion. “Don’t come any closer.” He took a leaf from the tree and smelt it, and his gaze shot to August’s. Then, he crouched down, and holding his pen, he flicked away some leaves and branches. August couldn’t see the ground cover all that well; there were roots and foliage everywhere. “Fucking hell,” Porter said, giving August a solemn look. Then, he whistled loud enough to get the attention of all the cops close by, and put his hand up and yelled, “I need a team over here. I think we’ve got another body.”

  August was pleasantly surprised by Porter’s proficiency. He took a stream of photos and directed a crew of four officers, clearly, concisely, and in no time at all, he had a new crime scene established. Four metres by four metres with a tree smack bang in the middle of it.

  Not just any tree.

  He handed over the leaf he’d pulled from the branch, and August did what he did. He smelt it.

  Citrus.

  “What the . . . ?”

  “Exactly. There’s no fruit because it hasn’t been pollinated. Not out here.” He looked a mix of excited and horrified. “The only way any kind of citrus tree grows out here is if the seeds are discarded. It could have been from a hiker throwing away orange seeds, but the roots at the trunk are growing through something . . .”

  He showed August the digital screen on his camera, and sure enough, the gnarled roots of the tree seemed to be bending the earth, and oddly enough, reminded August of an octopus tentacle coming out of the water.

  And there was something clamped over the root. “Is that . . . ?” August looked closer. “Is that a rib bone?”

  “Looks like it,” Porter replied. “Sir, can you go call it in? We’ll need that forensic team back. It could be animal bones, but I don’t think so. Not with the other body so close.”

  August stared at him. “You want me to call it in?”

  “I’m not taking my eyes off this site, and you don’t have shoe covers on,” he replied. Then he grimaced. “What I mean, sir, is I’d really rather not take my eyes off this site until forensics get here, and I’d rather we didn’t compromise the site.”

  August fought a smile, but before he could speak, a guy in uniform—who looked freaking twelve years old—stepped too close to the established crime scene line. Porter turned his attention to him. “Watch where you step, Bayliss, for Christ’s sake!” And while Porter ripped that kid a new arsehole, August smiled as he walked back toward the clearing.

  As soon as August had enough reception, he dialled the last number that had called him.

  “Schneider,” Nina answered.

  “Nina, it’s August. I need you to do me a favour.”

  “Sure.”

  “Celia Dutton was leading a forensic crew up here at the scene and she left about twenty minutes ago. I need you to call her and tell them to come back. I’d like you up here too.”

  “Uh, why?”

  “We think there’s another body.”

  There was silence for a long moment. “Fucking hell.”

  August called the Tallowwood police station next. He could have used the CB radio, but he’d rather keep it to a secure line until they positively identified the bones as human. He had a quick forage in the Patrol for shoe covers but found none, so he made his w
ay back to Porter and explained he’d phoned his station and put a call in for forensics. Not long after, they heard a car pull up and a door slam closed.

  Porter sighed. “Fuck. My boss.”

  And sure enough, Hirsch came stomping along the path in no time. His dark expression had little to do with the shadowed forest. August wasn’t intimidated by his size, though, or his bad temper. Or his rank. It just made him want to roll his eyes.

  Porter stood at the front of the new crime scene, his camera still around his neck. “Sarge,” he said as a greeting.

  “What have you found now?” he grumbled.

  “I think it could be a body, sir,” Porter replied.

  “You think . . . ?”

  “Forensics are on their way to determine for sure.”

  Hirsch glowered, then he mumbled crankily, “Another body. Hell, if the media gets a hold of this, it’ll be a circus.” Then Hirsch turned to August and glowered. “Suppose you found it?”

  “The body?” August shook his head and smiled. “Not me, sir. Porter did. At first, I wondered what the hell he was doing, but he was one step ahead of me.” August shrugged and found himself smiling at Porter. “Porter’s detective skills were exceptional, Sergeant. He should be commended. In a proverbial haystack”—August gestured to the rainforest, panning the trees—“he found the needle.”

  Chapter Six

  Holy shit. August Shaw just praised my detective work to my boss. Jake preened a little and tried not to smile. He wanted to fist pump the air and yell, “Hell the fuck yes!” but settled for a curt nod of thanks and aimed his gaze at Hirsch instead.

  “I noticed the tree, sir,” Jake started. “It’s out of place here. The dark green, waxy leaves, and the height of it. It’s too short. Trees in this forest need to be forty metres tall and break the canopy to get sun, so this tree was all wrong.” He turned side-on so he could see the tree in question. “So I took a closer look,” he prompted as he handed him the leaf he’d given August earlier. “Smell it.”

  Hirsch put the leaf to his nose and cocked his head. “What is that?”

  “I think it’s lemon, could be tangelo. Sharper than orange. Definitely citrus.” Jake shrugged. “My nan has an orange tree, and I spent a lot of summers climbing it. It doesn’t smell like that, but maybe it’s because this one hasn’t been pollinated. I don’t know, I’m not an arborist.”

  Hirsch grew irritated, and Jake knew he probably could have done without the childhood memory. “So how does a lemon tree equal a body, Porter? If you’ve dragged forensics back here, tell me you’ve got more than a goddamned fruit tree.”

  “Well, it appears the tree is growing out of the body, sir,” Jake replied. “Whether the victim had fruit with him, or maybe he’d eaten it. There was a case in the US not too long ago where they found a body because seeds in the victim’s stomach had germinated during decomp. I won’t know until forensics gets here.”

  Hirsch glowered some more, then, trying to get a look for himself, went to walk into the cordoned-off area, but Jake stepped in front of him. “Ah, sir,” Jake said, almost cringing. “Crime scene has been established and you’re not wearing the right gear.”

  August chuckled, earning a murderous glare from Hirsch. August put his hands up. “He wouldn’t let me in either.”

  “I don’t want to risk cross-contamination. Until forensics gets here—”

  “Yeah, righteo. Christ,” Hirsch barked at him, his brows in a hard line. Then he obviously thought of something and shot August another dark look. “You called this in? Deans said you called it in.”

  August nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me you kept this off the radio. The last thing we need right now is the freaking media getting a sniff of this.”

  “I didn’t use police radio,” August replied. “Used my mobile phone.”

  The sound of vehicles approaching drew their attention, and a moment later a stream of forensic experts trickled in. Jake recognised Celia, who had complimented Jake on his crime scene techniques, followed by Nina Schneider and a man August introduced as Bartlett. He looked to be in his late fifties, with short grey hair and ruddy cheeks, and Jake got the impression that August and Bartlett didn’t exactly like each other.

  Then August nodded to Jake and said, “Senior Constable Jacob Porter is lead on this investigation, and he found what could be bones in the roots of a tree. We’re hoping you can tell us if they’re human or not.”

  The forensics suited up, including standard issue shoe covers. “Got any spare of those?” August asked. “Porter won’t let me inside the scene perimeter because I don’t have the proper gear.”

  Nina grinned at Jake. “Good lad,” she said and threw some shoe covers to August. “You can stand three feet from the far side, but you’re not going in there until we’ve assessed it.”

  August and Hirsch both grumbled, but they did walk around and peer over the site at the bottom of the tree. Jake watched as August frowned and sighed. He looked up, meeting Jake’s eyes, and gave a nod. “Good work, Porter,” he said.

  Hirsch said nothing, just scowled some more and turned to bark orders at some unsuspecting constable. August walked back around to take his place near Jake, and they stood back while the forensics teams moved in to the base of the tree. Celia’s team photographed everything and bagged a variety of items, and Nina and Bartlett watched as Celia concentrated on the bone that was clamped and almost embedded into the tree root. She delicately removed layers of dirt and vegetation, photographing and bagging at every interval, her team talking quietly amongst themselves.

  Hirsch joined them eventually, giving the experts all the room they needed, when another vehicle arrived. This time, Allan Kenny appeared at the far end of the makeshift path.

  “Christ,” Hirsch mumbled, and Jake wondered if he’d meant to say it out loud.

  Kenny made his way to them, and before he could even ask what was going on, Nina turned to face them. “Well, Porter,” she said to Jake. “Looks like you got yourself a second body.”

  Fuck.

  “The one exposed bone is the fourth rib, but we can see another two without digging too far,” Nina added.

  “Could it be the ribs missing from the first body?” August asked, nodding to the first gravesite. “You said some ribs were missing.”

  “Good question,” Nina said with a smile. “But no. Wrong ribs.”

  Bartlett looked up at their audience. “This excavation will be a long one. The tree roots are intrusive, and I don’t know how much will be recoverable. We don’t even know how much of the skeleton is even here yet. We can see a partial rib cage.”

  “What are you saying?” Jake asked.

  It was Nina who answered. “It could be days before we can clear this scene. So, August,” she said. “I think you can forget about booking a flight home today. You might wanna book yourself some accommodation instead.”

  August sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. He looked tired, and Jake realised that it was now mid-afternoon and they hadn’t stopped or eaten all day. August must have been up before five this morning to get the first flight, and Jake felt bad for not thinking of that sooner. But this day was far, far from over.

  “Hey, boss,” Jake said to Hirsch. “I think we should close the reserve to the public.”

  Hirsch stared. “You want to close a national park?”

  Jake was unflinching. “Yes, sir. Today.”

  Hirsch wasn’t impressed. “And tell them what? No camping until we’re done digging up dead people?”

  “Well, no,” Jake said calmly. “I’d probably go with some bullshit about how the local forestry commission are doing line work or something. Or the lake has a blue-green algae outbreak. Less likely to arouse suspicion that way.”

  Hirsch glared, but Commander Kenny almost smiled. “Good idea,” the Commander replied before suggesting he and Hirsch walk back down the path toward the clearing. August watched them leave, and Jake watched August.
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  When he glanced at Jake, August was smiling. “Don’t think your boss liked that too much.”

  “And I’ll get my arse chewed for it later.” Jake sighed. “He’s got his knickers in a twist. And I get it. He doesn’t want his town to gain national fame for this. I can see the headline now.” He motioned his hand across a non-existent headline. “The Tallowwood bodies. TV miniseries, coming soon.” He shook his head and sighed again. “But wishing it wasn’t happening isn’t helping anyone. So he can rip me a new one all he likes, but I won’t jeopardise this case in hopes of keeping it quiet.”

  August smiled at that. “I like you, kid.”

  Jake grinned despite the name calling. “Kid? I’m twenty-nine!”

  “Anyone younger than me is a kid. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

  And Jake might have thought that was funny, but the expression on August’s face changed. Like he didn’t mean to say that and caught himself just a moment too late. His brows furrowed and he stared back down the path toward Hirsch and Kenny for a long time.

  So Jake turned his attention back to Drs Schneider and Bartlett, and Celia, as they did their thing. It was tedious work. Uncovering one layer at a time, bagging samples, documenting . . . so much documenting. And they cleared the top layer of fallen leaves and foliage, painstakingly slow, surrounding the base of the tree and the body. Jake had always found that fascinating work, and as they did their thing, other cops refocused their canvassing of the forest floor and Jake gave instructions and directions. The afternoon grew darker as the winter sun began to get low.

  August watched it all, but Jake noticed he kept looking back to where Sarge and the Commander were talking. They were near one of the cars in the clearing, having what looked like a not too pleasant conversation.

  “What do you reckon they’re talking about?” August asked.

  “The Sarge is probably having a meltdown about his town being front-page news. The Commander’s probably talking pre-emptive damage control,” Jake replied.