Death on Dangar Island

Gary Goes Fishing

Gary summed up the cove with an experienced eye. The island sat well upriver so there was no swell, just a gentle shore break that lapped against the rocks. To his left, the beach curled away to a small rocky point where a narrow jetty pushed out into deeper water. From the opposite headland, the place looked as quiet and as cosy as any piece of water he’d ever laid eyes on. Not really planning to swim, he still checked out the water. The current between the island and the opposite shore was running strongly. Swimming too far out would mean a tough time getting back. Even a sedate bay like this had its hazards. He didn’t consciously look for the dangers; it was just habitual.

He checked his rig, cocked his wrist, and cast out. The eggbeater reel ran out with a series of smooth clicks and the rig hit the water with a satisfying plop. He stretched his shoulders, yawned and took a long swig of beer. He held the bottle up to the sun with a cocked eyebrow. He jammed the butt of his rod into a small gap in the rocks near his feet and helped himself to another beer. The cap twisted off with a hiss as he sat back and drifted off to the drone of the radio.

His eyes narrowed as he noticed movement on the water. A twin-engine catamaran coasted up to the jetty across the bay; the noise of the motors reached him a moment later. ‘Water Taxi’ was painted in large letters down the sides. The driver washed the vessel down and topped up the fuel. Even from this distance Gary could tell the man wasn’t tall. The stocky figure wandered down the jetty and entered a shabby weatherboard house facing the beach.

Gary picked up his rod, reeled the line in to check the bait, and then cast again with an expert flick. There’d been a couple of nibbles so far but no dinner.

His mind drifted back over the events of the day. He had to admit finding the girl’s body set him back on his heels a bit. He’d seen a few dead bodies in his time though, so why was this one getting under his skin? Instantly his mind found its way to an image of Wendy in her coffin. Her face with too much makeup, her dress vivid crimson and fancier than anything she would have chosen herself. If only he … He fought off the self-pity. Remembering what the shrink told him, he reached desperately for something that would help change the trajectory of his thoughts.

He clutched at the first straw that floated into his mind – what was it with Israel and his whole ‘this ain’t a snakebite’ business anyway? Did he have to go around making a mystery out of every little thing? Then again, his mate had a few tricks up his sleeve when it came to sniffing out crime scenes.

He thought back to when his neighbour Franko had gone on holiday two years ago. He’d told Israel how annoyed he was because people had kept coming around and knocking on Franko’s door at all hours. Israel pointed out to him that when people went on holiday they usually told their friends and acquaintances what they were doing. Mail had also been piling up in Franko’s box across the road. Israel eventually persuaded him to come and help check over Franko’s house. He’d thought his little African mate had lost the plot, but then… the back door had been unlocked, and a fly-buzzed meat cleaver had lain on the kitchen bench stained with blood.

They’d found Franko’s severed hand in a bag in the deep freeze. (‘Well, where would you keep a piece of freshly cut meat?’ the professor had said when asked why he’d checked the freezer.)

The incident had set Israel off on a hunt for the rest of Franko, like a well-manicured bloodhound with impeccable manners. Much to Wendy’s disgust, Gary had followed Israel around Sydney for a couple of weeks, trying to keep his mate out of trouble. The cops had been bloody surprised when he and Iz showed them how they’d found the rest of Franko’s bits and pieces. Yep – there was certainly something suspicious about that death. They’d found the killer too, which …

He felt a bite, jerked the rod,and then let the line run. The reel ticked over as the fish went with the bait. For a moment he thought he had it – but then the line went slack and the weight of the rig fell back into the water. He pulled the hook in. No more bait.

As he bent down to grab another piece, he noticed a figure strolling down the beach towards him. The squat, muscular frame told him it was the water taxi operator.

‘G’day,’ the bloke drawled as he came close enough. ‘Caught much?’

‘Nah.’

‘Be better later on when it gets a bit darker.’

Silence.

The stocky man shifted his weight and sniffed. ‘Been some bream about near that little hole last coupla days.’ He pointed to a spot further down the peninsula.

‘Oh yeah?’ Gary twisted around, noting the position.

The murmur coming from the radio increased to a cheer.

‘Another one?’ said the stocky little man. ‘Who was it?’ They both listened intently to the broadcast for a minute or two. Once the excitement of the wicket died down, they got back to chewing the fat. Gary asked him what it was like to live on the island. The stranger dispatched the question with a minimum of fuss and syllables and then introduced himself as Sam. Formalities dispensed with, a brief masculine silence descended again and they both contemplated the river.

‘That your own boat?’ Gary nodded across the bay.

‘Yep.’

‘Business go all right?’

‘Not really.’ Sam winced. ‘But I’m my own boss and it keeps me on the river. Can’t imagine doing anything else. I get to live on the island into the bargain – which is good.’

‘Yeah, it’s nice here,’ said Gary turning his head and glancing up at the hill full of trees behind him. ‘Kind of peaceful.’

‘Most of the time. Had our share of excitement last night though, didn’t we?’

‘Tell me about it. I was the one who found the body.’

‘Serious?’

‘As a heart attack.’

‘Mate,’ he said, straining the ‘a’ and sounding vaguely impressed. ‘That would’ve thrown ya.’

‘Ah, not really. I was an ambo for twenty years, so I’ve seen worse – a lot worse.’ Gary nodded towards his beer. ‘You want one?’

‘Nah, thanks. I might get a job later on. Better stay off the grog for now.’

‘Was there a party or something going on here last night? I noticed a whole bunch of goth kids loading booze on the ferry last night.’

‘Yeah, they had a cracker. Those kids often come over on the weekends. One of the rich ones rents a house and then they all pile in. Last night was a beauty – they had fire breathers and all sorts going on.’

‘Invited, were you?’

Sam smiled. ‘I went and had a look about midnight. My place is close by, so I wasn’t getting much sleep anyway. They had the music pumping. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.’

‘I’m over there.’ Gary pointed out the house he’d rented. ‘It’s tucked around the corner so we didn’t cop it.’

‘Oh, yeah. Here on holiday, are ya?’

‘Yeah. Just hoping for some quiet time away.’

‘Didn’t start too well.’

Gary grinned ruefully and nodded at the rod. ‘Nah, I guess not. But it’s getting better by the minute. Hey, that girl I found this morning … she looked like part of the crew from the party last night. You know, she had the tatts, the piercings, the makeup.’

‘Is that right? I guess she could’ve wandered off and got bitten. Snakebite, wasn’t it?’

Gary hesitated for a second. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘I don’t know any of the girls who come out here with that lot. I’ve got to know a couple of the young blokes though. They’ve been getting a lift over with me pretty regularly.’

‘Isn’t it expensive?’

‘Not really, but I don’t think it’d bother them much if it was. I get the feeling they’ve got a bit of money behind them, those two. Surprisingly good blokes though. Not stuck up or anything.’

‘Not like me then, Sam?’ They turned simultaneously as a pale, angular woman sauntered towards them.