A Real Sunday

POINT ARNO SWAMP MYSTERY

Every weekday morning Cassie caught the peak hour train into the City then emerged from the darkness of the underground railway station into the morning sunlight of Bourke Street.   

 

That morning Cassie headed directly for the tower block where her employers, Pearlman Lawyers, were located and pressed the lift button to level twelve. Pearlman specialised in City real estate contracts and leases. Business manager Bernie spotted Cassie arriving and said, “Hey Cassie, we’ve got a contract signing in ten minutes. I’ve sent you the link. Alicia is printing out the documents.”   

 

Cassie organised herself at her desk then headed to the contract signing room. The contract signing room was more sensitively lit than the rest of the office as if mood lighting was needed when signing contracts worth a great deal of money.   

   

The purchaser in this sale was JJ McGuiness, the head of the Ares Building Group, a major building entrepreneur. The sellers were two sisters who had inherited the former grand house from their father. For this occasion, they were dressed up as if going to church.   

   

Bernie introduced the contract of sale. The property was in Fitzroy Street, St Kilda, and the property developers, Ares Group, were purchasing it for seven million dollars.    

   

Another lawyer, Deidre from the Environment Law Centre, was introduced. “The Environment Law Centre will sign off on the environment standards stated in the contract of sale.”    

   

Cassie wondered, “What do environmental standards have to do with this City property?”   

   

Cassie followed the discussion. The price was agreed upon. However, the sticking point appeared to be that the tenants were refusing to leave the property. JJ McGuiness assured the meeting he could guraantee a solution to this problem. High levels of lead had been found in the back area where rubbish was dumped. Evacuation by the residents would be necessary. A knowing look from Bernie indicated to Cassie that old-school real estate practices to remove pesky renters were not excluded from seven million-dollar sales.   

   

The name of the property had been mentioned several times. At first, Cassie thought of it abstractly, as one of the many addresses that crossed her desk daily. However, Cassie now recognised the name - the Paradise Rooming House.   

   

Cassie was hit by a wave of recognition. The Paradise Rooming House - every time the Paradise Rooming House was mentioned she felt the ground shift under her. When the name was mentioned again Cassie was gripped by tingling nausea. She reached for a glass of water and stood unsteadily. Bernie looked askance at Cassie.   

   

Mumbling, “Excuse me,” Cassie headed out the door and into the lift downstairs. She needed air.   

   

The lift raced down to the ground floor. With difficulty Cassie texted her work saying she was feeling unwell and headed to the train station. The rattling of the empty mid-morning train added to her dizzy light-headedness.   

   

Cassie arrived home and collapsed on her bed fully clothed.   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Later Cassie awoke feeling as if hit by a truck.  It had been years since she thought of The Paradise.   

   

When fourteen years old Cassie had gone there to search for her absent father. This visit had turned into three weeks of living on the city streets, which, in turn, resulted in her mother's hair turning white, Cassie being put on psychological close watch, changing schools, and transforming into a serious student who scored enough to be admitted to Law (with the help of a single parent scholarship).   

   

In other words, it was the major turning point of her youth; which nowadays, with a good city job and all the benefits thereof, was ancient history, having been talked to death with the counsellor at the time. Nowadays Cassie was a fully paid-up member of the city lawyer lifestyle; the clothes, the Friday night drinks, the apartment and little Japanese car.   

   

The memory of the Paradise flooded her brain. She remembered arriving at the rooming house looking for her ‘Real Dad’, Brian, who she had never known. There, the drink and drugged addled residents promised fourteen year old Cassie that her father would be back soon. The residents ‘entertained’ her while she waited but he never arrived. Eventually escaping their clutches, Cassie was found in a city alleyway two weeks later and returned to her distraught mother.   

   

Cassie’s shock at this emotion returning at the age of thirty two was now replaced by panic. Ares Group was certain to knock the place down and obliterate its past character. What if this really was the last chance to find any trace of the father she never knew?    

   

   

*****   

   

   

Cassie drove to The Paradise Rooming House. The area was more upmarket than she recalled from her last visit. The Paradise was mostly as she remembered it but the surrounding shops and houses had improved dramatically. On either side of the rooming house were a backpacker’s palace, two cafés and a cycling shop.   

   

Cassie noticed details she probably missed last time. Black wrought iron entrance gates hung carelessly off their hinges. A badly chipped clay griffin guarded the entrance. A For Sale sign was prominently displayed. Several home painted banners saying ‘Save the Paradise’ were tied to the fence.   

   

The rooming house was a two-story building with a central courtyard. The crumbling brick, rusty iron and splintered weatherboard of the dilapidated building was the exact opposite of Cassie’s everyday surroundings of gleaming corporate chrome. All was quiet at the Paradise. Perhaps she was on a fool’s errand. She was definitely on a fool’s errand.   

   

Cassie tried to remember the room she looked at when fourteen. It had all changed now. Her memory faltered. Nothing seemed the same. The rooms were even smaller than she recalled.   

   

While Cassie stood in the courtyard a resident in a tracksuit with a bird’s nest of hair and big glasses shuffled down the stairs into the courtyard.   

   

“Got a smoke?” asked the woman.   

   

“No,” replied Cassie.   

   

Cassie asked if they were any records of past tenants. The birds nest woman looked blankly at Cassie, “Who you lookin’ for?”   

   

“My Dad was here fifteen years ago I think.”   

   

“Not likely. Sorry love. There’s a lot here that come and go.”   

   

The resident shuffled past Cassie and headed towards the front gate where several men in orange high viz vests were now entering the gates. Cassie spied a work truck behind them outside. One of the men started placing tape all around.   

   

“Hey, what are you doing?” asked Cassie   

   

“It’s not safe,” replied the orange vest worker.   

   

“Is your boss here?” Cassie asked.   

   

“Yeah, out front.”   

   

Cassie walked out onto the footpath.   

   

“What are you doing?”   

   

“We’ve got to close this site down. It’s unsafe,” replied an orange vest man with a clipboard.   

   

“It’s bullshit,” declared Cassie.   

   

The foreman ignored her, “These premises need to be evacuated now. They are unsafe. Please stand back.”   

   

A minibus with ‘Community Services’ printed on its side pulled up in the driveway. Workers in green vests tumbled out of the minibus. The foreman of the orange vests directed the green vests into the Courtyard of the rooming house so they could evacuate the residents.   

   

Cassie said again, “You can’t make these residents leave.”   

   

The orange and green vest workers strode through the gates calling out, banging tins and blowing a whistle.   

   

“Evacuate! You must evacuate the building immediately!”   

   

Cassie tried again, “You know this property is for sale don't you,” pointing in the direction of the sign on the front fence. Nobody was listening.   

   

Cassie ran into the courtyard. Doors started opening. People slowly emerged from their rooms. An old hippy looking couple emerged to see what the fuss was about. An old woman gave the workers an earful of abuse. The workers knocked on doors ‘encouraging’ the residents to hurry downstairs. A couple was helped down the stairs into the courtyard. Cassie tried to redirect them back up the stairs. Resident’s mattresses and old suitcases were being hurled into the courtyard.   

   

The orange vest foreman called out, “Get that woman out of here!” Cassie was knocked to the ground. In response, Cassie leapt up and ran out to the entrance. Cassie looked at the front gates and spied a rusty old chain by the gate in the long grass.    

   

Cassie began pushing the big wrought iron gates closed. She then took the heavy chain and looped it around the gates and pulled it tight. Once upon a time, the gates would have been a fearsome gothic sight with razor-sharp spikes along their top but now hung by only half their hinges. Cassie pushed the gate shut and called out, “This is an illegal evacuation!”   

   

Cassie waved to the residents on the other side of the gates, “Go back inside!”   

   

A war of push and pull began between the orange and green vests on one side and Cassie on the other. Cassie gained support from passers-by who now joined in.    

   

The orange and green vests attempted a coordinated push but they could not break the rusty chain or the resolve of Cassie and the passersby. The orange vests foreman spoke furtively on his phone. As the orange and green vest began another assault, Cassie wrapped the chains around herself and the gate.   

   

The growing group at the front of the building began chanting, “Save the Paradise, Save the Paradise, Save the Paradise!”   

   

A police car arrived. Two police officers approached Cassie who said, “These people are trying to evict the residents illegally.”   

   

“Who do you represent?”   

   

“I’m from Pearlman and Co.” Cassie added, “There is no danger of lead poisoning here. Maybe there are some old paint cans out the back. This is a ruse to get the residents to leave so they can sell the property.”   

   

At that moment Cassie spied Deidre, the environment law consultant, watching from the footpath.   

   

The impromptu protest turned into a standoff which in turn became a local cause célèbre and overnight vigil. Cassie remained at the gate all night. The orange and green vests went home. A few neighbours remained. The residents returned to their rooms or wandered off into the night. Local council officers came and went throughout the evening.   

   

Of those remaining, Cassie noticed a pastor who said she was from the church across the road.   

   

“Do you work with the residents?”   

   

“We go in and cook meals and things like that.”   

   

“I’m wondering if you know how I could find out about someone who was a resident there a long time ago.”   

   

“Pretty hard given the transient lives most lead.”   

   

“I know.”   

   

“If you give me a name and year I can take a look.”   

   

“OK, thanks.”   

   

At 5.30 in the morning the police, worried about the interruption to morning traffic, told Cassie, “The evacuation will no longer take place so you can go home.”   

   

Cassie asked, “Will you step in if they force the residents to leave?”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

Cassie tossed the chains into the grass at the front of the rooming house, which was trampled like a post-game football ground.   

   

Cassie noticed the early morning sunlight reflecting off the city skyscrapers, and headed home.   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Cassie woke in the afternoon.   

   

Her friend Gerry rang. “Have you seen this?” He sent a video to her phone. The video was from the protest outside the rooming house. “You’re all over the internet mate.”   

   

“Oh, right,” replied Cassie dopily and went to put on the kettle.   

   

She noticed several missed calls on her phone, mostly from her Pearlman boss, Bernie.   

   

Cassie fixed herself a coffee and turned on her laptop. Video clips from the rooming house tussle featuring her good self were all over social media. Under the clips were comments praising her and those who helped stop the residents from being thrown out.   

   

“Jesus,” thought Cassie as the coffee woke her up.   

   

She listened to one of the messages on her phone. It was from her boss Bernie. “What the hell are you doing? Chasing glory?! Because of your actions, the client no longer wants us to represent them and we have to explain why one of our lawyers was involved in wrecking the sale. Your actions have cost the firm three million dollars. I’ve been told to inform you that you are dismissed immediately. I hope you realise what you have thrown away. The developer wants to KILL you!”   

   

He hung up abruptly.   

   

“Holy hell,” thought Cassie.   

   

On the other hand, on social media Cassie was hailed as the “Saviour of the Paradise.”   

   

It was all too much.   

   

Later she wondered, “Have I just committed the biggest act of self-sabotage? “   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Pearlman’s HR department booked a counselling appointment for Cassie, as part of her exit from the company. Cassie attended the appointment.   

   

“Why did they make the appointment?”   

   

“You would have to ask them.”   

   

“What would be your guess?”   

   

“Well, I lost my job.”   

   

“Why?”   

   

“Because I messed up a seven million-dollar property deal.”   

   

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”   

   

Cassie outlined her dismissal from her job without mentioning her past association with the property. She felt certain that everything said here would be fed straight back to her former employers.   

  

 “Why did you go to the rooming house?”   

   

“I was just overcome by the feeling that this was wrong and they could not get away with it. We all have our limits I guess.”   

   

“Is that something you feel strongly about?”   

    

“What?”   

   

“Rooming houses. Accommodation for low-income people.”   

   

“I must do, hey?”   

   

“What about your employers?”   

   

“They never want to see me again. It’s OK. A change could be good."   

   

“OK.”   

   

“Look. It probably proved that I was sick of working in my current role.”   

   

“Interesting…”    

   

“I am probably looking for something with more meaning, or with more ethics, or some at least. City real estate law firms have none.”   

   

“So it’s all for the best?”   

   

“We’ll see.”   

   

  

*****   

   

   

For three weeks Cassie did very little. She was supposed to go into work and pick up her things but put it off as this meant running the gauntlet of her former work colleagues. She knew she was sinking into a hole. It was upsetting to let her friends at work down, especially Bernie, who had been a mentor and a solid supporter.   

   

Cassie considered doing a yoga class but then ate more chocolate and watched more daytime TV instead. She was about to start contacting agencies for work and was thinking about ringing Gerry to meet for a drink, when the phone rang. It was Deidre from the Environmental Law Centre.   

   

Deidre said, “I’m glad I caught you. I feel bad about what’s happened.”   

   

“Why should I trust you? You were part of this setup.”   

   

“We were played like you were. We normally consult on serious environmental matters.”   

   

“I would hope so.”   

   

“Might have some work for you.”   

   

“What work?   

   

“I won’t say anything now. Come to lunch on Sunday. We’ll talk then.”   

   

Cassie, who was currently not receiving any invitations to anything at all, said, “OK.”   

   

“See you at one?”   

   

“OK”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

On Sunday Cassie drove to Deidre’s house in an outer northeastern suburb, overlooking a patch of bushland. This will do me, thought Cassie, when I’m older and successful. Cassie coughed, gagging at the absurdity of that thought in her current circumstances.   

   

Deidre brought Cassie out onto the back decking and introduced her to Kelvin who she said worked with focus groups and data collection for the Greens Party. As Cassie listened Deidre made several references to the Greens Party.   

   

Cassie asked, “Excuse my ignorance. You’re members of the Greens?”   

   

“We are consultants to the Greens,” replied Deidre, “Is that OK?”   

   

“I’m a city creature. I wouldn't know a tree frog from a yellow bellied parrot.”   

   

“It’s orange actually,” corrected Kelvin.   

   

“OK, there you go.”   

   

Deidre described several upcoming campaigns with a legal battle at the centre of them. One was to stop logging in a state forest; another about coal mining; and another, the Green Gas pipeline project; about off shore mining for gas by a multinational group.   

   

“What’s that?”   

   

“To provide cheap gas with minimal harm to the environment.”   

   

“Whereabouts?”   

   

“Far south-east Gippsland coast.”   

   

“They’re big cases.”   

   

“Yes, they are. They’re not just legal cases but issues that have a social impact as well. I think that would suit your skillset.”   

   

“Maybe,” said Cassie.   

   

“Do you want a drink?”   

   

“Sure. Just one.”   

   

After the wine was poured Deidre said, “We think Pearlmans are crazy to let you go. Standing up to the developer takes real guts and bringing people along with you too….   

   

“That’s what Pearlman hates.”   

   

“Exactly. You said it yourself. It’s time to stretch your wings.”   

  

"And four thousand hits on youtube is amazing," said Kelvin.  

  

“The Saviour of Paradise!" added Deidre  

 

"What?" Cassie put down her glass of wine.  

  

“Let’s have lunch.” 

    

After lunch, Deidre said, “How would you like to go down to my holiday house at Beacon Cove? Refresh your batteries and do some snooping around.”   

   

“Snooping?”   

   

“Sorry, fact-finding. The Green Gas project is about to be approved by the minister. The gas platform is situated off Beacon Cove. It would very much help us to have some eyes and ears there for the next two weeks. Plus it would introduce you to this area of work.”   

   

“I have never run an environment case.”   

   

“Exactly. This will give you a feel.”   

   

“Why?”   

   

“If you like it, you can come back and work for us.”   

   

“Really?”   

   

“If you want to.”   

   

“I am not familiar with that area of law.”   

   

Deidre said, “It usually comes down to negotiating and interpreting legislation and agreements.”   

   

Cassie added, “…that might have some effect for the general good rather than making more money. That would be a change.”   

   

Kelvin said, “I would say the developers put pressure on the law firm to get rid of you.”   

   

Cassie said, “I don't think they needed any pressure.”   

   

“Take some R & R,” advised Kelvin.“It’s no fun going up against big developers. They can sabotage your work, ring you at midnight and launch online campaigns to discredit you. I’ve seen it all.”   

   

“I’m just a small time contracts lawyer. Why would they care?”   

   

“That developer is known to always get his way. He specialises in targeting anyone who opposes his plans. He is rumoured to have some juicy material on the planning minister, which is why he can get approval for all his projects.”   

   

“Really? Tell me more…”   

   

Deidre said, “The minister doesn't help himself; always getting drunk and chasing the ladies…what did they call him?”   

   

“Who?” asked Cassie.   

   

“The Daily Tele.”   

   

“A ‘pussy hound’,” said Kelvin.   

   

They all laughed.   

   

After another swig of wine, Cassie said, “Far south-east Gippsland could be a good break. My mother says we’ve got some rellies down that way… you know, the inbred country cousins.”   

   

They laughed some more.   

   

   

*****   

   

   

That night Cassie rang Gerry.  

   

“What do you think?”   

   

“It could be a great opportunity.”   

   

“But the Environmental Law is not my thing.”   

   

“I think it’s perfect for you. Working on cases that have a social impact has got to be better than drafting contracts at Pearlman.”   

   

“True.”   

   

“You’ve got so much more to offer. You’ve been saying that for a while yourself.”   

   

“I know. It’s just different.”   

   

“Take it. Those cases always end up in the higher courts. You won’t remember us in two years. And I would definitely take the holiday.”   

   

“What about that drink?”   

   

“Sounds good. Thursday?”   

   

“OK.”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Two days later Cassie went into the City to clean out her desk at Pearlman Lawyers. On the train, Cassie looked online at the news.   

   

Thinking of Kelvin’s warnings Cassie looked up a tabloid paper that she would never normally look at. And there, on page 5 - 'Protest Lawyer’s sordid sex life!'   

   

“Oh, Jesus…”   

   

The article said, ‘Can be found on Tinder – ‘Wanting to meet a man for mysterious encounters in CBD.’ A comment followed from someone who claimed to have met her for a mysterious encounter in a city alleyway.   

   

This was old news from the end of her Uni days and just plain wrong. It sounded like they had found one of her bad dates. ‘I suppose they trawl through your online history and find anything if they want to.’   

   

She rang Gerry but there was no answer. He couldn’t have been the source, could he? Cassie and Gerry had met online and gone on several ‘dates’ only to realise they worked in the same building. The dates stopped but they became friends, although Gerry still held hopes for further romance, while Cassie, less certain, blew hot and cold.   

   

Cassie arrived at Pearlman Lawyers to hand over her pass, her phone, laptop and face the music. Her former colleagues watched her as she arrived, having all read the article, she was sure.   

   

Cassie was ushered into Bernie’s office and balled out. His stomping back and forth and exclamations about letting down the company, the team and herself, could be heard out in the open plan area.   

   

Cassie was then required to wait, like a schoolgirl outside the principal’s office, until Mr Pearlman himself (who Cassie had only met at the annual Christmas party) took her into the boardroom and quietly explained that she would never work there again. He softly spelled out the damage she had caused to the firm and how serious repercussions were still to play out. These included the developer seeking financial redress for the botched sale. So that Cassie was completely clear he said, “Someone is going to have to pay for all this.”   

   

Cassie placed her few remaining items in a box. The office staff stood and stared from their workstations as Cassie made the corporate walk of shame to the lift.    

   

On the way home Cassie rang Deidre, “I think I will take up your offer if it’s still open. Have you seen the news? He’s done a job on me. Yes…leaving today…”   

   

   

*****   

   

 

Cassie sped along on the freeway towards Beacon Cove.   

   

Cassie’s mind was racing. Of course she didn’t want to jeopardise her lucrative position at Pearlman. Why, oh why, did she have to make a spectacle of herself?   

   

Cassie settled into the three-hour drive to Beacon Cove. Houses appeared less and empty paddocks and bush streamed past her window. Cassie bought an undrinkable coffee at a roadside café that she spat out. Her mobile reception was patchy and the flies were annoying. When Cassie neared her destination she pulled over to ring Deidre and tell her this was all a bad idea and that she was coming back to town. About to dial the number, Cassie noticed a real estate sign in a paddock. It said ‘New Marigold Estate’.   

   

The sign proclaimed ‘New Marigold Estate – residential and business opportunities in coastal lifestyle, now selling.’   

   

“Marigold?’ thought Cassie, “What is Marigold?”   

   

Cassie saw a signpost for ‘Coast Road’. She turned off the highway and followed it. Every kilometre a sign in a paddock advertised the New Marigold Estate.   

   

The Coast Road continued on an undulating course over farmland mixed with clusters of bush and occasional rocky outcrops. A sign stated ‘Point Arno Town Centre 2kms’.    

   

Cassie arrived at the small township of Point Arno. She drove through a roundabout and stopped at a service station. It had a quaint retro look that Cassie’s city friends would die for. Cassie drove in to fill up. As Cassie reached for the petrol pump a young man emerged from the office and said, “Here, let me.”   

   

The petrol pump was taken out of Cassie’s hand. The petrol attendant began filling her tank. The petrol attendant had long dark curly hair, wore an untucked in green petrol attendant shirt, old jeans, and, Cassie noticed, bare feet.   

   

“Is this the way to Beacon Cove?" asked Cassie.   

   

“Kind of. It's the scenic route.”   

   

Cassie noticed a sign on the nature strip: Save the Wetlands.  

   

“Which way to the wetlands?”   

   

The petrol attendant pointed to the other side of Main Street.   

   

“Over there. You interested in the wetlands?”   

   

“Might be. Would it be calming, relaxing? I need to stretch my legs.”   

   

“Definitely.”   

   

The petrol attendant considered Cassie’s legs.   

   

Cassie walked toward the little office to pay. A sign above the door said, ‘Welcome to the Arno Servo’. After payment for the petrol, the attendant added, “I can show you the wetlands if you like. I spend a bit of time there.”   

   

Cassie replied, “I should be OK.”   

   

Cassie asked, “How do I get there?”   

   

“Go down that road there - Swamp Road. It’s not far.”   

   

As Cassie walked backed to her car she turned and said, “OK, you can show me the wetlands.”   

   

“Great. I’ll be down shortly. I’m Charlie,” he added.   

   

“I’m Cassie.”   

   

Cassie returned to her car thinking that she had just been placed under a spell by a cloud of local speckled bulldust and was about to be raped and killed in a backwater, but what the hell…   

   

Cassie drove down a winding and narrowing dirt road that ended at a small gravel car park.  Looking out she saw a scrubby flatland dotted with sporadic pools of water. The wetlands stretched in all directions, straggly bushes and reeds interspersed with pools of water and mudflats.   

   

As Cassie made her way along a boardwalk she thought, ‘I don’t know enough about wetlands. If I’m going to be an eco lawyer I will need to read up on them.’ The breeze and sunshine felt refreshing on her skin although she now also noticed twisted rusty iron, crushed drink cans and general rubbish sprinkled about paradise.   

   

Observing the rock pools and great stretches of mud, Cassie began noticing birds hopping and skipping about, improvising, playing with other birds, hopping onto a bent wooden stake then dive-bombing into a shallow pool before taking off and soaring in a perfect arc and landing on a twisted mangrove root. Cassie smiled at their playfulness and levity.   

   

Cassie’s ears also adjusted. The buzzing, chirping, tootling birds and croaky frogs created a constantly changing soundtrack. Cassie breathed – no City urgency here. Then Cassie heard a shout and saw Charlie the petrol attendant making his way along the boardwalk. He was still barefoot.   

   

“Hi.”   

   

They ambled along the boardwalk in silence, each feeling free to stop on their own and look closely at something they had spotted.   

   

“It’s quite a place,” said Cassie appreciatively.   

   

“Yeah. These boardwalks were put in about twenty years ago, which makes it a lot easier.”   

   

“Do people fish here?”   

   

“Up the coast more. Some collect worms for bait.”   

   

They came to the end of the boardwalk. The reeds and saltbushes were thick here.    

   

“We can go a bit further.”    

   

Charlie helped Cassie get down onto the mudflat where planks and boards made a rude pathway.   

   

“Is this the local’s track?”   

   

“Yeah.”   

   

They walked along planks placed over mudflats, ducking under and grabbing onto straggly roots and trees for balance. Charlie the local tour guide helped Cassie the well-dressed City lawyer leap over sections of water and mud.   

   

“How far to the sea?”   

   

“About three kilometres, but it’s impossible to get through from here. It’s solid mangrove all the way to the sea. It used to be called Englishman’s Swamp.”   

   

“Why?”   

   

“Because one of the first Europeans who came here tried to get all the way to the sea. He got close but couldn’t complete the final couple of miles because of the mangrove, which was impassable. He refused to give up and employed teams of horses and a pulley system. Eventually, he got stuck in the mud and couldn’t get out. He was the first, but not the last, person to be defeated by the swamp.”   

   

“He drowned in the mud?”   

   

“Absolutely.”   

   

Cassie looked at the imposing wall of mangrove.    

   

“Let’s go back.”   

   

As Cassie stepped on a plank it shifted and she began to lose her balance. Charlie grabbed her arm to stop her falling but she placed one foot fairly and squarely in the swamp mud. “Oh heck!” cried Cassie. Charlie helped her regain balance.   

   

“Let's go up here,” said Charlie, heading for the boardwalk.   

   

“Jesus Christ, my shoe is fucked. Excuse my French.”   

   

Cassie sat down on the edge of the boardwalk, dangling her shoe from her fingers. “You wouldn't want to know how much this shoe costs. How embarrassing.”   

   

“Not at all. I’ve fallen in hundreds of times.”   

   

“I came down here for a break, for a rest. That’s actually why I’m heading to Beacon Cove.”   

   

“That sounds good.”   

   

Charlie stood up and walked across to a bush. He returned saying, “Here - put this wattle resin on your temples. It will help you calm down. I find the best way to listen is lying back on the boardwalk.” Cassie lay back. The late afternoon sun felt nice on her skin.   

   

Cassie shut her eyes and listened. She could hear the chirruping and squawking, the fluttering of wings, the buzzing of the wetlands.    

 

After a sustained period of pleasant silence, Cassie felt Charlie stirring. He began creeping along the boardwalk. He had spotted something.   

   

“Follow me,” he whispered.   

   

They crept along the boardwalk. Cassie saw what Charlie had found. A bird was stuck in the mud with beer can package plastic wrapped around its wing and leg. Occasionally it tried to flap its wings to take off but could not.   

 

Cassie watched as Charlie crept forward and carefully leaned towards the bird. Gently but firmly placing one hand around the bird, his other hand worked to untangle the bird’s little leg and wing from the plastic. Charlie pulled the plastic away from the bird then cupped both hands around its body and brought it back to where Cassie was.   

   

“What are you going to do?"   

   

“Let it fly off. Here, do you want to do it?” Charlie offered the bird to Cassie, who at first recoiled.   

   

“Cup your hands. I will put my hands with the bird into yours then gently take mine away. Hold the bird firmly then give it a push up into the air and let go.”   

   

Cassie took hold of the bird in her cupped hands, then pushed her hands forward and released the bird, which scrambled to finds its rhythm but then flew off to another area of the swamp. “Oh God, what a rush!”   

   

“She’s safe now.”   

   

“Holy cow, that was quite something. Is that what you do, save birds?”   

   

“Sometimes.”   

   

“What sort of bird was it?”   

   

“A curlew. It flies from here to the top of the world.”   

   

“Where?”   

   

"Kazakhstan and beyond.”   

   

“And I sent it on its way. Thank you, I felt quite rattled back there.”   

  

   

Cassie and Charlie walked back to the car park pleased with their wetlands walk and enjoying the late afternoon sun in silence. As they neared the car park Cassie saw a huge sign.   

   

A billboard trumpeted ‘New Marigold Estate and Resort’, a major property development. A graphic image showed a future vision of the site with speedboats, jetties, apartment buildings, palm trees and happy families. It was a much larger version of the smaller sign Cassie had seen driving into Point Arno.   

   

Next to the big real estate advertisement was another sign that proclaimed, ‘Point Arno Wetlands, No fires, no shooting, no dumping rubbish. State Forest – Department of Fisheries and Wildlife.’   

   

Cassie exclaimed, “So they’re going to build this Marigold resort right here are they?”   

   

“Aha.”   

   

“How can they build here? Don't the people complain?”   

   

“Who?”   

   

“Well, the bird watchers, the nature lovers.”   

   

“Sure. The locals don't take much notice."   

   

“Right.”   

   

Cassie took a photo of the two signs. Cassie and Charlie walked back to where her car was parked. They saw that the windscreen was smashed.   

   

“Oh heck, what’s this?”   

   

“Oh, I am sorry. I can fix it up - easy - back at the servo.”   

   

‘Did I hit a stone on the track? Or did some locals do this?”   

   

“Welcome to Point Arno.”   

   

Cassie shook her head.   

   

   

   

Back at the Arno Servo, Charlie handed Cassie a hot chocolate in a tourist mug.   

   

Cassie asked, “Is there somewhere I can have a warm shower? I feel all claggy.”   

   

“There’s the Arno Motel.”   

   

“Great.”   

   

“The windscreen will be fixed tomorrow.”   

   

On the way to the motel, Charlie explained that the membership of the group fighting to save the wetlands was pretty much just him.   

   

Cassie asked again, “How can they build a development on state park?”   

   

Cassie stayed the night at the Arno Motel.   

   

  
 

*****   

   

 

 

The next morning Cassie woke late and wondered where she was. She wandered out to the reception area of the motel, which was empty. A television mounted on wall brackets in the corner of the room was showing an infomercial for the New Marigold Estate and Resort.   

   

Cassie set off down the main street walking past clipped hedges in front of weatherboard bungalows, post-war clinker brick houses, workers' cottages and sighing golden brown eucalyptus trees.   

   

At the Arno Servo, Cassie was told that the new windscreen would be fixed later that afternoon – it had to come from Bairnsdale.   

   

“How was the motel?” asked Charlie.   

   

“I slept like a log.”   

   

Cassie added, “It’s such a cute country town. It makes me feel that there’s a parallel life I could’ve had: a wife living on a block of land in the country with kids, wearing gumboots, chopping wood, keeping chooks and making jam.”   

   

Then she said, “I can't believe they're going to build that horrible shit on the wetlands. Does the world need more apartments?"   

   

Charlie said, “Hey, before you leave, there’s another walk I’d like to take you on, on the wetlands.”   

   

“Do I get to fall in the mud again?”   

   

“This is different. It’s in the other direction. It’s a special place.”   

   

“If the car isn’t going to be ready until later, then OK.”   

   

“I finish work at two.”   

   

“Alright. I’ll have a look around. I might even see what I can find out about this development.”   

   

“Great.”   

   

Cassie walked back up the main street to the cluster of shops. She found a little shopping arcade of six shops, which were all empty except the Future Arno Showroom. It was closed. Cassie peered in the window and saw posters advertising lots for sale, featuring architect drawings of a future apartment block with a jetty in front and a speedboat.   

   

Pressing her face against the glass, Cassie tried to see the details of a model of the planned resort and estate in the centre of the room. Cassie could see the coastline (light blue and white painted artists mould), the mangrove area (looked little broccoli stems), and the boardwalk (made of matchsticks). A canal with little speedboats was planned to run through this area. Kencorp’s scheme seemed to include blasting a passage through the mangrove to the coast.    

   

Cassie noted, “They are not mucking about.”   

   

Cassie crossed the road to the Point Arno pub. It was midday. The bar was deserted. Thick curtains blacked out the outside world. Pokie machines along the wall blinked while TV sets showed continuous country race meetings. A sign advertised chicken parmigiana and cheap happy hour beer.   

   

Cassie approached the bar. A tall, slightly stooped barman lurked in the shadows of the bar.  

  

“Hi. Do you know when that Future Arno showroom is open?”   

   

No answer.   

   

“Can I get a lemon squash?”   

   

“No.”   

   

“No lemon squash? Oh well, what about a lemon, lime and bitters?”   

   

“No.”   

   

“Alright, a light beer?”   

   

“Sorry. We’re all out.”   

   

“Oh.”   

   

“You from the City?” asked the barman.   

   

“How did you guess?” joked Cassie.   

   

“We know pretty much everyone in Point Arno,” piped up a drinker in a crinkled cowboy hat at the end of the bar.   

   

Cassie tried again, “How do I find out about this development?”   

   

The stooped barman announced, “We’re closed.”   

   

“What?”   

   

“Goodbye and don't come back.”   

   

Cassie looked about. Horses were preparing to leave the starting gate on a distant TV. “Oh well. Thanks, fellas.”   

   

As Cassie walked across the pub car park she heard behind her, “Oi! You!”    

   

The cowboy drinker had dragged himself off his barstool and was striding across the car park and talking in mid-stride, “The Great Ken, businessman, land developer and football club president and Mayor, tells people he is anti-fracking then we find he is in a deal with some company to take the land. He’ll make a lot of money out of that development. Go see my niece at the council. She’ll help ya.”   

   

Cassie located the council building several blocks off the main street. It was a colonial-era building with additions of 1990s glass and steel tacked on.   

   

Cassie asked to view the Marigold Estate application. After repeating the request several times, Cassie was ushered into the planning area and told to take a seat. The mood lighting was similar to Pearlman’s contract signing room. Cassie realised that she had not thought about Pearlman for twenty-four hours - a good thing.   

   

After a long wait, a council officer entered the room.   

   

“Gidday, I’m Rhonda. You spoke to my uncle.”   

   

Cassie said, “Yeah, the guy at the pub. Can I view the application?”   

   

“No, the time for public input is finished.”   

   

“I just want to look at the proposal.”   

   

“The planning application process is finished.”   

   

Rhonda looked somewhat uncomfortable and left the room. After some time Rhonda returned and handed Cassie some folded-up papers.   

   

“Stick that inside your jacket.”   

   

“Why?’   

   

“A town planner was moved to another office. The environment officer is on stress leave.”   

   

“What about the Mayor?”   

   

“The Mayor? The Mayor is Ken Gannon, the developer.”   

   

“Oh.”   

   

“I’ll walk you out,” said Rhonda.   

   

Rhonda hurried Cassie through the foyer of the council offices where a photo showed the opening of the Gannon Wing some years before. Outside Rhonda said, “Thanks for coming!” then turned and disappeared back into the Council building.   

   

Cassie walked back to the main street. Bunting for the Future Arno Road Show hung from light poles and shop fronts. ‘Win a house and land and boat package!’   

   

Cassie tried to look up the internet on her phone but with no success. As she held up her phone at various angles a car slowed down beside her. The window wound down. A young woman with two squabbling children in the back called out, “You’re standing in a black spot!”   

   

“Huh?”   

   

“Try the craft shop.”   

   

Peering down the street Cassie spied a small sign - ‘Internet’ in colonial font.   

   

Cassie found the craft shop.   

   

“Have you got the Internet here?”   

   

“It’s ten dollars for an hour. It’s down the back.”   

   

Cassie squeezed her way past craft displays, needlepoint packages, rolls of material, applique packs, sewing machines, haberdashery, knitting and crochet needles, coloured pom-poms, jewellery making kits, floral cushion covers, clay doves and decoupage paper. Gift cards showing paintings of Edwardian children in floppy hats beside a hay wain or on a wistful nineteenth-century beach were displayed on the counter.   

     

Cassie squeezed into the seat and logged onto the old-fashioned PC. She looked up Point Arno wetlands. She discovered a bird watchers page. From there she discovered that an international migratory bird treaty covered the area. She thought back to releasing the bird in her two hands on the boardwalk and smiled.   

   

Cassie searched for Kencorp and the New Marigold development. Here, Cassie was on familiar territory - planning applications, proposed building developments, approval processes, objections, land classifications, titles, long-term leases…   

   

Cassie wrote an email to Deidre asking her about the planned development and then sent questions to her friend Gerry about building on crown land.   

   

As she pressed ‘send’, the internet died.   

   

Cassie tapped keys on the computer and checked at the back for any loose cables.   

   

Cassie approached the counter and said, “The internet has stopped working.”   

   

“Oh yes,” said the woman, “It comes in waves.”   

   

As Cassie paid her ten dollars she noticed that the woman was sewing craft figures. “What are you making?”   

   

“Figurines.”   

   

“What for?”   

   

“A display at the Point Arno Show later in the year.”   

   

“Who are the figurines of? Do they represent anyone?”   

   

“Yes. People in the town’s history.”   

   

“Ooh, is that the Englishman who got lost in the swamp?”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

“And who is that!?”   

   

“That is Marigold.”   

   

“That’s Marigold? As in the Marigold New Estate?”   

   

“That’s right.”   

   

“She looks like a movie star.”   

   

“She was, sort of.”   

   

“Well, I’d like to see that when it’s finished.”   

   

“I’ll pop you on the mailing list.”   

   

   

Cassie’s phone buzzed. There was a message from the pastor at the Anglican church in St K- ‘Found something with that name. Will send.’   

   

   

*****   

   

 

Cassie strolled down to the Arno Servo where Charlie had left a hand-drawn map for her to follow.   

   

Cassie followed the map, which took her along the wetlands boardwalk. Once again she became attuned to the birds and the buzz of the wetlands. The map led to a small shack. Charlie was standing inside the little cabin, made out of driftwood and found building materials.   

   

Cassie exclaimed, “Wow! Is this is your office! It’s better than any city office.”   

   

Cassie looked about and saw fishing nets, old photos and books including a battered ‘What Bird Is That?’ on homemade shelving and a tattered old couch.   

   

Charlie said, “Everything here I found on the wetlands. People dump all sorts of crap out here.”   

   

Cassie noticed several bulging ring folders on the workbench.   

   

“What are you doing here?” asked Cassie.   

   

“I’m making a log of the wetlands.”   

   

Cassie began flicking through one of the folders. “We can use this.”   

   

“What for?”   

   

“To object to the development.” Cassie added, “I went to the council this morning. I’ll fill you in later.”   

   

Charlie looked grateful.   

   

Cassie asked, “And who is Ken Gannon? I keep seeing his name everywhere.”   

   

“Ken Gannon is Kencorp - real estate, building, traffic management, you name it. And the Mayor.”   

   

Charlie began to walk off, “Come on. I want to show you this place. It’s not far.”   

   

Cassie & Charlie walked along an overgrown track. Charlie pushed roots and bushes aside. When the footing became uncertain Charlie held out his hand to help Cassie over sections of the track.   

   

“So, what do you call this area?”   

   

“Some people call it the Swamp, others call it the Wetlands.”   

   

“How far does it go?”   

   

“Well, the whole area along the coast here is wetlands. Being a swamp just means that it gets flooded when it's the rainy season from the Currarong creek. But the farmers have built drains and canals to divert water away from the swamp for their crops and cattle. So the swamp is not as wet as it used to be.”   

   

“Ok.”   

   

"We have planted some trees like blue gums, which attract more water to the area. Some of the old drains are not being used anymore. Slowly the swamp is returning to how it used to be.”   

   

“Are you the only one in Point Arno who cares about the wetlands?”   

   

“The bird watchers care. But most of them come from outside. The local’s idea of the swamp is to get drunk, go out and shoot a kangaroo, steal a chair from the antiques shop, then go out on the swamp, put the dead roo in the chair dressed up in a dinner jacket and sunglasses and leave it there for folks to discover over the next few days.”   

   

“Really?”   

   

“Yeah, and I’m the one who finds it.”   

   

“That's fucked.”   

   

Charlie said, “Hey, some of these plants are edible you know.”   

   

“Really?”   

  

He plucked a bushel from a bush and skimmed off some berries.   

   

“Try these.”   

   

“What is it?”   

   

“A bush berry. It gives you a mild buzz - like coffee.”   

   

“You sure?”   

   

“Or more like an espresso martini.   

   

Cassie laughed, “OK. How do you know about espresso martinis?”   

   

“I’ve been around...”   

   

They laughed and continued along the track until it came out onto open ground where the swamp met up with the creek that fed into it. Here, there was a lake surrounded by grasses, sedges and reeds.   

   

“There used to be a 1970s holiday resort around here.”   

   

“Yeah? Here?"  

   

“It’s all grown over now. See here.”   

   

Charlie pointed to a rotted structure overgrown with moss and entwined with a wattle bush.   

   

“That was the spa.”   

   

“You’re kidding.”   

   

“And over there - mini golf. You can just see the old course.”   

   

“Mini golf mixed with moss and fungi. How cool.”   

   

“And over here was the volleyball court.”   

   

Cassie saw an area in the kangaroo grass with faded markings and rusted metal poles still standing.   

   

“Yeah, right! I can see that.”   

   

“They used to play nude volleyball.”   

   

“What?!”   

   

“The Marigold Resort started as a family getaway but towards the end there were rumours it was a swingers' weekend place for a while. Well, that's what the people in Point Arno thought.”   

   

“And what’s this?” referring to the lake.   

   

“It was a water hole. Then they did a lot of work to make it into a resort lake. The swamp has reclaimed most of it now, as you can see.”   

   

“Nature wins out in the end, hey."   

   

On the banks of the lake was a deserted building.   

   

“What’s that place?” asked Cassie.   

   

“The old boathouse. It’s where they kept the little boats that went out on the lake.”   

   

They approached the run-down boathouse. Charlie found and prised apart two loose planks. Even though the boathouse was dilapidated it still had hooks on the wall to hang canoes on racks, now empty.   

   

“Is it used for anything now?”   

   

“When the resort was going they would put the little skiff boats here they used on the lake. Later they showed films here. It was used for rave parties at one stage. But not for a long time now.”   

   

“Hard to believe isn’t it? People were really into that stuff then – canoeing and outdoorsy adventure stuff, you know.”   

   

“Yeah.”   

   

“Makes me think of the Kon Tiki expedition.”   

   

“Yeah? Why’s that.”   

   

“I dunno, who would take a Balsa wood raft across the Pacific nowadays? Lots of moustaches, cut off jeans and tie-dye t-shirts.”   

   

“That’s the look you go for is it?”   

   

“Nah, I’m just saying, I can kind of feel that kind of energy here.”   

   

“Fair enough.”   

   

Cassie said, “Thanks for calming and relaxing me,” and offered Charlie her hand.   

   

Charlie looked at Cassie and pushed the hair off her face.   

   

Cassie said, “Let’s look over here.”   

   

They walked towards one of the corners of the boathouse. It was dark. Two old gym mats were on the floor.    

   

Suddenly they heard a scratching noise.   

   

“Look out!” shouted Charlie.   

   

A dark figure ran past very close. Cassie called out.   

   

A silhouette flashed across the sunlight gap in the palings. A clattering noise was heard, followed by footsteps running away outside.   

   

Charlie followed, “Hey!”   

   

Cassie looked around the cold boathouse.   

   

Charlie returned slightly out of breath.   

   

Cassie asked, “What was that?”   

   

Charlie said, “Dunno.”   

   

Cassie asked, “Did you know someone was living here?”   

   

Charlie said, “No I did not. Let’s get out of here.”   

   

Charlie and Cassie made their way out of the boathouse and walked around the edge of the lake and back onto the track.   

   

As they walked they discussed who the intruder might be.   

   

“Probably some hobo,” said Charlie   

   

They made their way along the track at the edge of the wetlands.  

   

Cassie said, “You make a pretty good tour guide.”   

   

They joined up with the main boardwalk and walked towards the car park. As they did so they became aware of a group of people standing on the boardwalk in the distance. As Cassie and Charlie approached they saw that several police officers were walking up and down the boardwalk. Two police cars were parked at an angle at the start of the boardwalk.   

   

“Oh God, what is this?” said Cassie.   

   

Cassie and Charlie approached the group. Charlie spoke to a policewoman, “Hi Sharon, what’s going on?”   

   

“Body found on the swamp this afternoon."   

   

“What!? Where?”   

   

“Just down here.”   

   

Cassie and Charlie looked to where several people were standing around on the boardwalk.   

   

“Where have you two come from?”   

   

“Charlie was showing me the boathouse,” said Cassie.   

   

“Who are you?” said the policewoman.   

   

“I’m Cassie.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“Did you see anything?”   

   

“We disturbed someone in the boathouse. Charlie went to look but he ran away.”   

   

“When was this?”   

   

“About an hour ago.”   

   

The police officer walked off and conversed with another police officer. A minute later a police car reversed out of the car park and drove off fast.   

   

From the boardwalk, Cassie and Charlie could see part of what looked like an older male in a tracksuit lying on the mud. Constable Dawson came back to Charlie and Cassie saying, “Don’t go anywhere. We might need to talk to you more.” Cassie said to Charlie, “It’s horrible.”   

   

Cassie held onto Charlie, “Do you recognise the person?”   

   

“No.”   

   

“I suppose you know most of the Point Arno people.”   

   

“I used to. Not now.”   

   

They watched the police coming and going.   

   

Constable Dawson said, “The officer will now take your statement.”   

   

They gave their statements – about how they were walking in the wetlands earlier in the afternoon. Afterwards, Cassie asked, “Can we go?”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

“Let’s get out of here Charlie.”   

   

They walked back to Main Street and stopped at the Arno Servo. Cassie said to Charlie, “I’m going back to the motel.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

The windscreen of the car was fixed so Cassie drove back to the motel.   

   

Back at the motel, everything was quiet. Cassie returned to her room. She was shaken up. It is not every day you see a body lying on the swamp.   

   

Cassie felt strange about seeing the body. The man was wearing a light blue tracksuit with stripes down the side. His head was at an angle.  His chalky white skin was the same colour skin as a couple at the rooming house who Cassie now recalled; an old couple preparing to go out, arguing like seagulls squabbling over a chip. He with a black t-shirt and tattoos and high hitched jeans, she in a faded floral dress, her hair grey but almost regal.   

   

Cassie lay in the bed and listened to the wind whistling through the roof. As she lay on the bed she became aware that there was a dip in the floor. Is the swamp under the town? Does the swamp move?   

   

A bird was darting around on the ledge of a narrow high frosted window in the motel room. Cassie could just see its shape flitting around on the ledge.   

   

She thought of the boathouse. You could feel that things had happened there. Can you feel traces of people doing things in the past? It certainly felt like a hideout. No wonder they had rave parties there.   

   

   

*****   

   

    

Cassie rang Deidre.   

   

“Hello hello? Can you hear me?”   

   

“Where are you?"   

   

“Have you heard of Point Arno wetlands?”   

   

“Why aren’t you at Beacon Cove?’   

   

“My car broke down."    

   

“Is that where you are?”   

   

“There’s a development proposed for the wetlands.”   

   

“What proposal?”   

   

“To build a resort and apartments and all that.”   

   

“Really?”   

   

“It’s a local developer, Kencorp.”   

   

“Local developers try that shit all the time but they’re not serious.”   

   

“Do they ever let people build on state forest land?”   

   

“Not without the ministers approval.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“When will you be in Beacon Cove?”   

   

“Tomorrow.”   

   

"Good. It looks like the Minister will be there soon to sign the Green Gas agreement."  

   

   

Message from Gerry:   

Title granted on some of that land in the 70s   

When u coming back?   

     

   

*****   

   

   

In the morning Cassie was asked to attend the police station.   

   

Sgt Dawson said, “I want to go over your statement.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“How long were you at the boathouse?”   

   

“Not long. Not more than half an hour.”   

   

“What were you doing at the boathouse?”   

   

“Charlie was showing me where the old resort used to be.”   

   

“How did you get in?”   

   

“There were some planks that were broken. Charlie knows how to get in.”   

   

“And this person that you saw, suddenly jumped up and dashed out?”   

   

“That's right. It was dark. There was a noise and someone or something took off out the gap in panels.”   

   

“That's all you saw?”   

   

“Charlie went out after it.”   

   

“What were you doing while this was happening?”   

   

“I was, um, doing up my blouse.”   

   

“Is that why you were at the boathouse?”   

   

“No, we are looking at stopping the development at the wetlands.”   

   

“And that's how you know Charlie is it?”   

   

“Yes, I mean no. I just met him when I arrived in Point Arno.”   

   

“When was that?”   

   

“Two days ago.”   

 

"Fast work," muttered the policewoman, under her breath. 

   

They both paused.   

   

Cassie asked, “May I ask, who was the deceased, the guy on the swamp?”   

   

“We haven’t released that information yet.”   

   

“Was he a local?”   

   

“We are still in the process of establishing the identity. He’s not showing up anywhere.”   

   

“I’ve got some experience in that area.”   

   

“Have you?”   

   

“I’m a lawyer.”   

   

“You said.”   

   

“If you get stuck try local health services and rooming houses.”   

   

“Why.”   

   

“He was a heavy drinker by the look of him.”   

   

“Oh, OK.”   

   

Cassie handed Sgt Dawson her business card.   

  

The policewoman said, “I can’t imagine I will need it, but thanks anyway.”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

After leaving the police station Cassie was walking back to the motel, when a white van drove up onto the footpath. Two black shirted Kencorp men got out and forced Cassie into the back.   

   

“What are you doing? Let me go!”   

   

Cassie was driven to Ken Gannon’s office and frogmarched upstairs.   

   

“Get your hands off me! What do you want? Back off!”   

   

“So you’re the Greens lawyer are you?”   

   

“What the fuck!”   

   

“Shouldn’t be poking your nose in, you know.”   

   

“Jeezus! I’m on holidays having a look around!”   

   

“Tell me what happened at the boathouse yesterday.”   

   

“What?”   

   

“You were down at the old boathouse yesterday, weren’t you?”   

   

“Was I?”   

   

“And you saw someone running out.”   

   

“Did I?”   

   

“Now this is very important. Can you describe what the person looked like?”   

   

“I told the police everything I know.”   

   

“Was it a man? Young? Old? What?”   

   

“I told the police it was impossible to tell. You should go and ask them. Grab them, stick them in a van and ask them.”   

   

“And the body on the swamp, who’s that?”   

   

“I don't know! They can’t find any records.”   

   

Ken took a huge breath in then gathered himself.   

   

Cassie got a question in,“OK, answer my question. How can the development be built on crown land?”   

   

“It can. Don’t you worry about that.”   

   

“I’m allowed to ask questions.”   

   

“It’s none of your business.”   

   

“I’m helping a friend.”   

   

“Don’t. Your friend is not your friend. He’s a feral drug addict.”   

   

“What? How do you know that?”   

   

“Everybody knows that.”   

   

Ken added, “That wasteland needs to be used. Who wants to live in a crappy one-horse town? Kids run away from here as soon as they are old enough. Green Gas is a foreign owned company that will destroy farmlands across the region.”   

   

“Green Gas?” queried Cassie.   

   

“Yes, what?”   

   

“So Green Gas is involved in wetlands too?”   

   

“My word they are. A two hundred kilometre gas pipe running offshore gas across farmland. You’re not much of a Greens lawyer if you don’t know that!” 

   

Cassie left the office.   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Finding a spot with network coverage, Cassie called Deidre.   

   

“So Green Gas want to run a big pipe across the wetlands too?”   

   

“Who told you that?”   

   

“Godzilla the local builder. So, are you competing with Kencorp for the bid?”   

   

“The Green Gas proposal is an international project whereas your cowboy developer is just going to run his bulldozer over the top of the wetlands.”   

   

“You reckon? Looks to me like he’s got some serious backing, judging by the signage around here.”   

   

“Well, I’m going to the opera with the minister and his wife tonight. The decision has been moved forward. It will be made in the coming days. I need you to be there. You will get to meet the minister.”   

   

“Did you send me down here to get in the way of Kencorp?”   

   

“We told you to go to Beacon Cove.”   

   

“That’s true.”   

   

“Green Gas will guarantee the protection of the wetlands. It’s only going to go through areas that have already been damaged by past industry – salt mining and fishing.”   

   

“You need some big billboards like this bloke has got. And some thugs. He’s a real small-town gangster you know. You don't know what you’re up against.”   

   

“He doesn't know what he is up against. Does he remind you of somebody?”   

   

Cassie suddenly remembered seeing a pamphlet for Ares Building Group on Ken Gannon’s desk.   

   

“Oh OK. See ya.”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Cassie’s phone rang. It was Sgt Dawson. “Can you come back to the station?”   

   

Cassie walked to the police station.   

   

“I’ve just been welcomed to Gannontown by Ken Gannon. Who does he think he is?”   

   

Sgt Dawson said, ”We’ve identified Mr. X. He had a false ID.”   

   

“Interesting.”   

   

“He doesn't exist officially. Luckily your suggestion was useful. We tracked him down a few towns away. Finding out his real name lead to this.”   

   

She indicated an old battered and dusty file box on the counter, “I had to get it sent up from storage.”   

   

The file was bound in tape with printed lettering around it. Printed on tape - ‘Sealed!’ and ‘Not to be opened!’   

   

“I don't want to do the wrong thing. Does the lawyer have any thoughts?”   

   

Cassie asked, “Are you asking me? Is a court seal or a police seal?”   

   

“It’s hard to tell. It’s so worn out.”   

   

“It’s over forty years old.”   

   

“Why would it be sealed?   

   

“You know, it might have names or information that can’t get out. Nowadays that would be a domestic violence victim.”   

   

“And terrorists.”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

“Or minors whose identity can’t be revealed.”   

   

“Exactly.”   

   

Cassie said, “I don't recognise the seal. It’s not any Court seal.”   

   

“The man’s daughter wants to know what’s going on with her father, the victim, with two names.”   

   

“Fair enough. If you want to be sure just get her to swear a statement saying she wants it open.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

Sgt Dawson opened the box. Inside the box were typed pages, official documents, notes and newspaper clippings. Sgt Dawson and Cassie began reading through the material. After a long silence, interrupted only by the swish of turned pages and the occasional raised eyebrow, Cassie said, “Wow. So this guy, Mr X, when he was kid, got moved to another town with a new identity.”   

   

“And other kids,” answered Sgt Dawson continuing reading.   

   

“Because…”   

   

“They were going to be charged with the manslaughter of another kid.”   

   

“And the kid who was the ring leader… who was thirteen years old at the time…”   

   

“Was…”   

   

“Ken Gannon.”   

   

“This letter is from my old man, Sgt Ray Dawson, which is pretty amazing for me to read.”   

   

“What does the letter say?”   

   

“It lists all the names of the children who are to be moved from Point Arno; their name, their address, their new name, and new address and says that this is for senior command eyes only. And to contact Sgt Ray Dawson and gives a telephone number.”   

   

Is that your dad’s signature?”   

   

“Yes. And our phone number when we growing up.”   

   

“So, these kids were put in witness protection?”   

   

“It looks like a very basic form to me. There’s not the usual documentation. There might be elsewhere.”   

   

“It’s a long time ago.”   

   

Cassie picked up the old newspaper cutting from the file folder. The article was headed ‘Small Town Turns on Children’. The article explained that the missing child was part of a game that went wrong and got left behind. And later they couldn’t find him in the swamp. There was a massive search. Later, some of the children admitted they deliberately tied him up with the high tide approaching. The surviving kids were ostracised by the town - death threats and all. A town meeting demanded they be charged. But they were too young.’   

   

“I could ask about witness projection cases from that long ago.”   

   

“Did you know about this growing up?”   

   

“I heard about the kid that went missing in the swamp but I have never heard of five kids being offered witness protection.”   

   

“Your father never mentioned it?”   

   

“He didn't talk much. I would really like to talk to one of them and find out what this arrangement was.”   

   

“They may not be around anymore.”   

   

“We should see if we can find one to speak to.”   

   

“Yes?”   

   

“Why not. It’s police business. If I can verify one of the addresses I’ll pick you up at the motel.”   

   

An hour later they were driving out of Point Arno in an unmarked police car.   

   

“Where we going?”   

   

“Maffra.”   

   

“OK, how far is that?”   

   

“Fifty minutes drive.”   

   

“I’m not keen on Charlie.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“I was just caught up in the moment. That place…”   

   

“The boathouse?”   

   

“Yeah.”   

   

“He gave me some bush drugs anyway.”   

   

Sgt Dawson laughed, “OK.”   

   

"Will this old case affect the wetlands development plans?”   

   

“No. People don't care that much.”   

   

As they continued to drive Cassie asked, “Who are we going to see?”   

   

“The first witness on the list is, um….her name now is Diana Russo. But her original name was Shirley Hondo.”   

   

Cassie and Sgt Dawson arrived at Maffra. They located the house of Shirley Hondo. It was a pleasant country weatherboard house with potted plants hanging along the veranda. Sgt Dawson knocked on the door but there was no reply. Sgt Dawson called out, “Hello! Diana Russo? Shirley Hondo? We have come from Point Arno.”   

   

“Who is it?”   

   

“Sgt Dawson.”   

   

The door slowly inched open.   

   

“Sgt Dawson? You’re not Sgt Dawson. Sgt Dawson is dead.”   

   

“I’m Sgt Sharon Dawson. Sgt Ray Dawson was my father.”   

   

Shirley Hondo slowly opened the door and let them in.   

   

They sat on armchairs covered by floral-patterned material.   

   

“He was a good man.”   

   

“Thankyou”   

   

“Can you just explain to us, how you came to be moved out of Point Arno?”   

   

“What?”   

   

“When you were young. It’s OK. We know.”   

   

“What do you know?”   

   

“That you and other children were moved out after the boy went missing.”   

   

“It's such a long time ago.”   

   

“We just want to get a picture of how that took place.”   

  

“One day we were just moved out. Sgt Dawson organised it all. That was it. My parents were glad because it had become unbearable in the town. Like at school and down the shops. They kicked up a fuss. We were just little kids.”   

   

“And then you were in a new place with a new name?”   

   

“Yeah. I mean I just went along with it. Myself and the others were just so scared of going to prison we did whatever we were told. Thanks to your father.”   

   

“The reason we are here is, well… do you remember David Stubbs?”   

   

“Yes, he was one of the five kids.”   

   

“Well, he passed away this week.”   

   

“Oh, I’m sorry.”   

   

“He was found dead on the swamp at Point Arno.”   

   

“What?”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

“What was he doing there? How did he die?” 

   

“We are sorting that out. That’s how we came across this story.”   

   

“Oh, well yes, he was one of us.”   

   

“And Ken Gannon?”   

   

“What about him?”   

   

“He was in the group. But he stayed in Arno.”   

   

“Yes. I think he refused to go or his father said no. How did David die? It couldn't have anything to do with this could it?”   

   

“No, we are just trying to work out his identity because, as you know, he had two names.”   

   

“Well, that was necessary. But what was he doing in Point Arno? He didn't live there did he?”   

   

“No.”   

   

“Did you ever hear from him?”   

   

“Who?”   

   

“Any of the five kids?”   

   

“Occasionally.”   

   

“And Ken? What about Ken Gannon? Do you ever hear from him now?”   

   

“No. He’s a successful businessman now.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“Except he pays the rent.”   

   

“Here?”   

   

“Yeah. And the other places.”   

   

“The rest of the five kids?”   

   

“Yeah.”   

   

“Why?”   

   

“That was in the agreement I think.”   

   

“But Ken was a kid.”   

   

“His father Fred, as I understood it, set it up.”   

   

“And this has kept up all these years.”   

   

“Yes, it’s automatic from Ken’s company.”   

   

“Have you got a receipt or something I can take a photo of?”   

   

“Probably got something somewhere.”   

 

Shirley Hondo went to a sideboard and opened a drawer. Returning to her seat she handed Sgt Dawson some papers.  

 

“Why does Ken keep paying the rent after all this time?”   

   

“Well, I suppose he doesn't want us complaining.”   

   

“Would you? Complain, I mean…”   

   

“Well, it was his idea…we all just went along with it.”   

   

“The boy’s body was never found.”   

   

“People who get lost in the swamp are never found. They get sucked in.”   

   

“Is there any way he could have survived?”   

  

“No. They looked everywhere. But Quentin’s ghost; that’s Ken’s worst nightmare.”   

  

“OK. Any questions from the lawyer?”   

 

“Do you know anything about him buying some land lately; part of the swamp?”   

   

“I keep clear of Ken Gannon. As far as I’m concerned, and the others feel the same, being moved away by Sgt Dawson was the best thing that could have ever happened.”   

   

“So, are you really are saying Ken Gannon tied up that kid and left him there to die?”   

   

“Look we were kids. We were always playing games out there on the swamp, pretending to be characters off TV shows and stuff. I’m the king of the castle and you're a dirty rascal, that sort of thing. Ken and Quentin were best friends. Quentin was younger but much smarter than Ken. Quentin had a mouth on him like you wouldn’t believe. I think Ken just wanted to shut him up. He definitely did it.”   

     

Cassie and Sgt Dawson got up and went to the front door. Shirley  asked, “What did David’s daughter say? Why was he in Point Arno?”   

   

“She didn’t know he was.”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Message from the pastor in St Kilda -   

Rent assistance form with an address    

   

   

Deidre called:   

   

“We need you in Beacon Cove now. Things are hotting up. The minister is making an announcement about the proposal shortly.”   

   

Cassie replied, “I just found out something about the developer Kencorp. Dunno if it has any bearing. He was involved in a historic case of a missing child.”   

   

“Don’t worry about it.” Replied Deidre, “Get yourself to Beacon Cove. The Minister should be visiting tomorrow. I need you there on the ground.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

   

Message from Gerry:  

Title owned by Scottish Mutual Building society   

   

Message to Gerry   

Anything more on JJ McG?   

   

   

*****   

   

 

The next day at the police station Sgt Dawson said, “I’ve got no idea what we can do with an accusation of something that happened in 1974 allegedly carried out by a thirteen-year-old kid. Where’s the evidence?”   

   

Cassie replied, “Well, the witnesses that he’s been paying off all this time? She gave us some correspondence and bank statements, which show that Ken Gannon has been involved up until recently.”   

   

“That's not evidence of any crime. What I am really struggling with is my father - I mean if he did this whole thing, did he do it to help the kids, or was he working for Ken’s family and keeping them quiet.”   

   

“That's a hard one.”   

   

“I mean, am I meant to forward the file to Melbourne and set off an investigation into what has gone on here decades ago?”   

   

“Nah – but make sure you cover yourself in case more questions arise.” 

   

Sgt Dawson went into the office area and came back with a large old file.   

 

“I got the rest of the file sent up from Billy’s shed.”   

 

Cassie browsed through the pages then went to the final recommendations. The finding was that in all probability the child died but more evidence was required. Quentin’s name went on to the State missing children list, which lists thousands of children.   

   

Sgt Dawson said, “I was going to visit the second name on the list today, but I’ve got to meet with David Stubbs’ family.”   

   

“Yes, but I could go.”   

   

“I’m not sure about that.”   

   

“It’s just researching historical information.”   

   

“As long as you’re not in any way representing the police. That will come back and bite me on the bum, I can guarantee it.”   

   

“Of course.”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Cassie found Charlie.   

   

“Want to join me on a fact-finding mission?”   

   

“Where to?”   

   

“1974.”   

   

“What?”   

   

“I’ll tell you on the way.”   

   

They set off to interview Witness No.2. On the way, Charlie heard about the visit to Maffra.   

   

“I can’t believe this missing kid in the swamp. It’s possible to survive in the swamp if you know how, but a ten-year-old kid? What did Ken Gannon do? This could blow Ken Gannon’s development right out of the water, couldn’t it?”   

   

“Possibly."  

   

Cassie and Charlie drove to Longford and drove around until they found the address. It was an older-style weatherboard house. In the driveway, a man was hurriedly packing goods into the back of a ute.   

   

Cassie and Charlie approached him and asked if he was Len Osborne.   

   

He said, “Shirl said you were coming.”   

   

Cassie replied, “Can you please talk to us? It’s important that the truth is told.”   

   

He said, “I’m heading for the hills. If Quentin really is coming back from the dead he will find us. He was a smart little bastard.”   

   

Cassie asked, “Tell us about Quentin. I mean, why did you…….”   

   

“Quentin told stories, probably because he didn’t get enough attention at home. He would come to school and make outrageous claims. You know the kids that brag that their dad has got a shotgun under his bed; well Quentin the storyteller took it way beyond that. What he loved to do was make up something incredible, then add more episodes – piling one on top of the other – each one more incredible than the last.”   

   

“Like what?” asked Charlie   

   

“Well I remember this well for some reason. He was bragging about his Dad, Leon. Quentin said ‘One night he snuck out and he went to the bank and stole thousands of dollars then went to the mayor's house and stole all his money and his wife’s jewellery then drove out to the hills and had a campfire and needed something to eat so he went and killed a cow with a bow and arrow and then a policeman came but he pretended to be someone else and put on a French accent and then he escaped from there and went to the city to the shipyards and was a stowaway and ended up in another country where he worked at a goldmine and led a rebellion with the natives against the miners and the natives treated him like a king but one day they turned against him because the old kings daughter liked the look of my dad, so they put him in a barrel and threw him over a cliff and there he lived alone in the valley in the new guinea highlands on berries and just when he thought he was dead for sure he found a little bit of something that was shiny. He didn’t know what it was but then he thought it could be tin.   

 

So then he walked for seven days to a local village that had a telephone and said I know where there is silver and tin. And within five years there was the richest mine ever. And now he has lunch with the king and queen wherever he goes and met the pope and all that.”   

   

“So Quentin had a wild imagination. How old was he?”   

   

“He was nine or ten but very worldly. He was basically allowed to run around anywhere. At the pub, miss school – all that stuff.”   

   

“And what happened when he was lost?”   

   

‘They searched as much as they could. They waded through the mangrove with machetes. They set fire to the mangrove. They tried to drain the mangrove, you know with pumps and expensive hydraulic equipment  – very difficult to do. The boy was never found. It's a terrible thing. He must be there somewhere in the tangled roots and bottomless mud of the swamp.”   

   

   

Cassie and Charlie drove back to Point Arno.    

   

“What do you think Charlie?”   

   

“I dunno, it sounded like complete bullshit to me, a tall tale that grows over time.”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

“Yeah, I don't know if we are going to find out anything to change what’s happening now. It’s just a bad memory for the town, a local tragedy from long ago.”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

They drove on, along the winding country road, talking tentatively about their childhoods. Cassie said, “I ran away when I was fourteen.”   

   

“Really?”   

   

“But first I sat on the roof for two days.”   

   

“That’s good.”   

   

“I was only fourteen.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“I went looking for my Real Dad.”   

   

“Did you find him?”   

   

“No.”   

   

“OK. Maybe it's not always good to find them.”   

   

"Why do you say that?"  

  

"Well, they might not be anything like you imagine. It could be the worse thing you can do, finding out what they are like."  

   

Charlie’s eyes looked up at the rearview mirror. He then swivelled around in the seat to look out the rear window.   

   

“Hey Cassie watch it, there’s someone behind us getting close.”   

   

A car behind was driving erratically. It drove up close on the narrow country road.   

   

Cassie pressed her foot on the accelerator. The car behind did the same thing. It started to move dangerously close trying to overtake Cassie's car.   

   

“What?!”   

   

Cassie increased speed further. The road was winding and Cassie cut across corners on the narrow road.   

   

Charlie called out, “There’s a track coming up soon. Turn right when you see it!”   

   

Cassie kept driving fast.   

   

“Where’s this bloody turn off?” said Cassie.   

   

After another minute Charlie said, “Coming up here!”   

   

Cassie swerved and pulled the car so it demolished a sapling and several bushes. Now they were bumping along on a potholed dirt and gravel track. “He’s following us!”   

   

“Keep going along here. I know these tracks. They’re logging tracks.”   

   

Charlie instructed, “Next track on the right.”   

   

Charlie called out, “Down here!”   

   

Cassie turned the car sharply. Speeding along a narrow track in scrubby bush. Charlie said, “It’s OK. I think we have lost him.”   

   

“Fuck.”   

   

After driving for a long time down dirt tracks they came out at the edge of the swamp area. They drove around towards the car park area. Here, once again, they saw a group of people gathering on the boardwalk including Sgt Dawson. Cassie thought that they must have been reviewing the scene where Mr. X was found. Cassie walked towards Sgt Dawson. The policewoman saw her approaching and said, “Shirley Hondo.”   

   

“What?"   

   

The policewoman indicated the area behind her.   

   

Cassie covered her mouth in shock. "But she lives in Maffra!"   

   

"Did you go and see the second witness today?" asked Sgt Dawson.   

   

"Yes. He was packing up and leaving."   

   

“Did you take Charlie?”   

   

“Yes, I did. We were followed.”   

   

“I can’t believe you took Charlie. I gave you strict instructions.”   

   

Sgt Dawson called a Constable over, "Constable, get the address of the person this woman saw today and send a car over there straight away.”   

   

Sgt Dawson declared, “You need to report to the station and make a statement. Get down everything these witnesses said. Do not go and see any more of these people. This now means that the bodies on the swamp are connected to the 1974 case."   

   

"Sorry, I didn’t feel safe going on my own," said Cassie.   

   

The sound of drumming could be heard in the distance.   

   

"What is that?” asked Sgt Dawson   

   

They listened.   

   

“Sounds like the Greenies have arrived down by the boathouse."   

   

"Did you do this?" asked Sgt Dawson accusingly.   

   

Then, as if in response, the sound of a speaker from a van with a loud hailer driving down Main St could be heard, ‘Get your ticket in the Future Arno community raffle! House and land and boat package to be won!’   

   

Sgt Dawson exclaimed, "Oh God, now I’ve heard it all!”   

   

   

Cassie and Charlie drove to the Arno Servo.   

   

Charlie got out saying, “Do you want to get something to eat?”   

   

Cassie replied, “Can I take a raincheck? I can't believe that woman is dead.”   

   

“There’s something I want to discuss.“   

   

“I went to see her. Can we talk about it right now?  

   

“Not really.”   

   

“OK, where?”   

   

“At the Delhi Belly.”   

   

“OK. See you in one hour.”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Cassie entered the Delhi Belly, Point Arno's only restaurant, and saw Charlie sitting at a table. There were no other customers.   

   

Cassie sat down at the table. “I can’t believe it. It’s so shocking. Did Sgt Dawson and I have anything to do with it? I mean, that thing we saw in the boathouse, that could have been the killer, hey? And we went to see that guy today. What if he is in danger? I'm just so wired and tired...“  

  

“I have to tell you something.”   

   

“Whatever it is, it doesn't matter."  

   

“I don't know how to thank you for all that legal work.”   

   

“You don't have to thank me, you already have.”   

   

“What?”   

   

“By showing me the wetlands and the bird. It’s given me a much-needed fresh perspective.”   

   

“That's so cool.”   

   

“You should run wetlands tours”   

   

“Look, I’ve got to tell you something that I don't want to tell you.”   

   

“You've got a girlfriend. Charlie, I couldn't give a rat's at the moment.”   

   

“What? No. Ken Gannon is my Dad.”   

   

“What the fuck!!”   

   

Cassie nearly fell backward off her chair.  

   

Charlie pleaded, “I know nothing about Ken’s childhood. I am not even a Point Arno person. I was brought up in the City by my mum who Ken had a fling with on a footy trip. I came back to Arno to meet him but he rejected me. He said I was not his son and was trying to get his money. But my Mum has letters from him and gifts. I am pretty sure they had a relationship with him coming up to the city all the time. That's what she said. She said he wanted to get out of Point Arno and was going to. But then his dad died and he got called back to run the family building business.”   

   

“Have you spoken to him?” asked Cassie with marked disinterest.   

   

“He won't see me.”   

   

“So, you are, in fact, not interested in saving the wetlands – you’re just trying to get your father’s attention.”   

   

“No way. I’ve been here for ten years. I fell in love with the wetlands. I forgot about Ken. I believe I came to Arno for a reason and the reason was not to meet my father but to discover the wetlands. And now, it’s my mission to save it. Everything I have told you is from the heart.”   

   

Cassie was quiet. “Why didn’t Sgt Dawson say anything?”   

   

“I have told her I don't want to be known as Ken’s son. So I can have my own life.”   

   

Cassie studied Charlie, trying to refocus her view of him with this new information. Cassie leaned back in her chair. The TV at the restaurant was showing the Future Arno advertisement again. Cassie threw down her napkin and got up. As she left the restaurant she turned back to look at Charlie and said, “Fuck!”   

   

Cassie returned to the motel. She felt utterly flat. It was time to go. She had let herself get sidetracked. Charlie had given her a wake-up call. What was she doing in this stupid hick town?   

   

   

*****   

   

   

The next morning Cassie was about to drive to Beacon Cove as Deidre instructed, but instead drove the other way. Cassie looked at the address the pastor from the St Kilda church had sent her. The address was the ‘home address’ Brian had put on his first application for assistance at the rooming house. It was in Leongatha, two hours away.   

   

Cassie drove to Leongatha. The further Cassie drove away from Point Arno, the calmer she became. Once again she had jumped into a situation only to get burned or produce a reaction she wasn’t expecting. She couldn’t bear to think of the two victims on the swamp. 

Cassie found the address provided by the pastor - 23 Jorgensen Street, Leongatha. It was a demolished house. The sign on the wire fence stated ‘Danger, Keep Out’ and in small letters underneath, ‘Kencorp.’ “Wow, They extend up here, hundreds of miles away.” Cassie tried to imagine the demolition site as a house lived in by a family. This was difficult.    

   

Cassie drove around Leongatha to get a feel for the place. Cassie saw that there was a Family Services department in the main part of the town. It was situated in a grey-flecked brick building that housed several government services.   

   

Cassie took the lift up the third floor, where a reception area was, with a rabbit warren of workspace cubicles behind that. Cassie said, “I am looking for someone who was in a foster family. I’ve got an address.”   

   

“There’s a search area over there where you can put in names.”   

   

“OK. Great.”   

   

Cassie searched for the address of the demolished house and found several entries. Returning to the receptionist Cassie said she had some file numbers she would like to look at. The receptionist said, “You order them and then we bring them up and get in touch when you can come to have a look.”   

   

“Is there any way I can look now? I came a long way.”   

   

The clerk looked Cassie up and down and then said, “Fill in this form.”   

   

After ten minutes another official came and said, “You want to look at an old file?”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

“You order them online then we get them sent up.”   

   

“Yes, I know. I’ve driven down to look at the file today from Melbourne,” said Cassie, flexing her legal profession muscle.   

   

He perused the completed form. “So you’re from Pearlman’s lawyers?”   

   

“That’s right.”   

   

“OK then. Follow me. It’s in the next building. As they walked he said, “The basement got flooded out a couple of years ago so the files had to moved to next door.”   

 

They arrived at a large room filled with rows and rows of filing frames.   

   

“So is this all the old family services files?”   

   

“Yeah, for all of Gippsland.”   

   

Cassie’s mind flashed to all the lives represented here.   

   

“What number have you got?”   

   

Cassie called out a number.   

   

“That will be down in, um, Row G.”   

   

“OK.”  

   

“I’ll be outside having a smoke. Just knock on the door when you’re finished.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

Cassie found Row G, which was very long. She eventually found the right file which was large and loosely held together. She laid the file down on the concrete floor and tried to quickly leaf through the pages.   

   

The family at this address had many foster children over a long period. She didn't see Brian’s name jump out. She started flicking through all the pages and taking photos with her phone.   

   

After a long time, the official called out, “How are you going in there?”   

   

“Alright. I’ll be out in a minute.”   

   

Cassie put the file back more or less in place and walked back to the door and knocked. The official, who looked as though he was enjoying the sunshine said, “You don't want to take the file upstairs?”   

   

“Nah, I just wanted to have a look at something in it.”   

   

“Oh OK. That's a long way to drive just to check something.”   

   

“Yeah. That’s how it is when your working on a case.”   

   

“What’s the case?”   

   

“Just a historic claim for money and property, you know.”   

   

“It’s always about money, isn’t it?”   

   

“Yes. “   

   

They arrived back at the reception. The clerk said, “What firm did you say you were from? We called Pearlmans and they said you were no longer working for them. And that you are facing possible disbarment.”   

   

“Oh did they? How nice of them.”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

“It’s OK. Thanks a lot,” said Cassie as she dashed out the door.   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Cassie sat in her car in an empty Leongatha street looking at the photos she took of the file. There were many names.   

  

Cassie took several names and, using her phone, searched for them online. Some of the names came up but it was hard to know if they were the same people. She found one name from the address on an online marketplace site. On the page, there was an advertisement for a dog kennel for sale.   

   

After umming and ahhing Cassie sent the person a message.   

   

“I’m interested in buying your dog kennel. Is it still available?”   

   

“Still available,” came the quick reply.   

   

Cassie then replied, “Actually, I wanted to ask. Did you live at 23 Jorgensen Street? I am trying to track down my dad who was another kid there.”   

   

The reply took some time in arriving.   

   

“Can’t help you.”   

   

Cassie replied,  “Sorry, I’ve got a list of names who were foster kids back then. My dad’s name was Brian.”   

   

Again, the reply took some time in appearing.   

   

“OK, I‘ll see. 40+ kids over 20 years.”   

   

Cassie replied, “OK?”   

   

But there was no answer.   

   

   

*****   

   

   

While sitting in her car Cassie noticed that she had several messages from Deidre.    

   

Where are you?   

   

Next message:   

Minister cancelled. Not signing the agreement.   

   

Next message:   

The minister is a piece of shit. Only cares about farmers' votes. 

   

Next message about her findings on Ken Gannon:   

‘Great work. Well done.   

We can use this.’   

  

 

Cassie’s phone buzzed. It was a message about the ex foster kid. He lived on a block near Sale. It was on the way back to Point Arno. Cassie was not at all sure about returning to the stupid hick town but set off anyway. She was now crisscrossing bigger and bigger distances across Gippsland; passing forests, crossing rivers, the small towns and endless highways and back roads blurring into one continuous vista. The roots and the threads and contours of the land were now coursing through her veins.   

   

After driving for an hour and a half Cassie found the road, which led to a rusty gate. She followed a winding driveway to a cottage on a rocky hill.   

   

The man was in his kitchen cleaning machinery parts, which were spread across the kitchen table.   

   

His name was Spike. He lived alone in the small cottage. He wore greasy overalls and a fisherman's beanie. He offered Cassie a cup of tea.   

   

While rolling a cigarette he said, “Even though Gaz and Terri were in it for the money, to top up their drug dealing, they loved us in their own way. They put us to work. Family time was ‘move that pile of soil over there by two o’clock’ and you can have some lunch.   

   

They subcontracted the girls out as cleaners and the boys as apprentice car mechanics. There were punch ons between Gaz and the older boys. Everything was out in the open. They cut up the dope bushes at the kitchen table and stashed them up in the attic, and then we’d go over to Wally’s place and work on a hot car. We didn't know any different. Some scary looking character would arrive and Ma would call out ‘how ya going Macca? Hey, Macca’s here, don't mind him, he’s a cunt.’ I was lucky I got to tech school. I mean, I started educating myself then. There were no fucking bedtime stories. But they had big parties when it was your birthday, although we didn't always know when our birthday was. They were on government payments all their life. We were their income. But guess what? There were heaps of people at their funerals. They were an institution in the Gat in the 70s and 80s.   

   

I remember Brian. He was a little grommet. He came from down on the coast I think. I remember that he had an injury, a disability. He had one arm missing or a withered arm. But you know what, he was good at tennis and rolling cigarettes one handed. I remember that.”   

   

“One arm?”   

   

“Yes, that's right.   

   

Cassie felt unsure. Was this what she was after?   

   

Cassie said, “OK, thanks a lot.”   

   

Spike continued cleaning the machine parts on the kitchen table.    

   

“Did you know your real parents?” asked Cassie.   

   

Spike said, “Nah, they were my parents. They were total pricks, both of them, god rest their souls, but they were my parents.”   

   

“Right. What are ya gonna do, hey?”   

   

“Yeah. Do you want something to eat? Stay for a bit?”   

   

“I’m right. Gotta get going.”   

   

“They made it hard to get on with normal people. You know, in a crowd.”   

   

“Yeah. Is it OK living out here?”   

   

“Yeah. I like shooting; rabbits and deer. That's why I live out here.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

   

*****   

   

   

Cassie slowed down as she arrived at Point Arno and stopped outside the Arno Servo.   

   

Looking up Main Street she took in the small country town atmosphere. As she looked, Cassie became aware of a blemish on this picture postcard. In the distance on the far side of the Point Arno shops, a vehicle was fast approaching. As it neared Cassie saw that a big truck was being driven erratically down Main Street and heading her way.   

   

From the front seat of her car, Cassie watched as, what she now saw was a concrete mixer, lurched down the main street, zigzagging into rubbish bins, traffic signs, flattening a front fence and narrowly missing a tree. Banners and bunting for the upcoming Future Arno Roadshow caught up in the wheels of the cement mixer, trailed behind in a long tangled tail.   

   

The Kencorp cement truck, Cassie now realised, was heading directly for her. As Cassie quickly slotted her car into reverse to get out of the way, the truck took a sudden turn to the right to head down Swamp Road. However, it overshot the turn and ploughed directly into the side of the garage of the house on the corner. Immediately reversing, the driver wasted no time redirecting the nose of the cement truck to head down Swamp Road and took off.   

   

Cassie now recognised the driver. It was Ken Gannon, looking deranged and determined at the wheel of the cement mixer.   

   

Looking back down Main Street Cassie saw people running down the middle of the road in the truck's wake. Cassie decided to follow the vehicle, and those chasing it, down Swamp Road.   

   

The madcap convoy turned left down another track, which led to the boathouse and the lake. As they emerged at the clearing by the boathouse Cassie noticed a greenie’s camp. Banners were strung from trees and a ragtag campsite was now in place not far from the boathouse.   

   

Once in the clearing by the lake, Ken’s truck revved and aimed straight for the Greenies camp. Suddenly a police car appeared out of nowhere and pulled in front of the cement truck, causing it to veer left and come to a sudden halt in front of the boathouse.   

   

Sgt Dawson opened the police car door in a business-like manner and strolled over to the truck. Kencorp traffic management staff rushed to try and help Ken get down from the truck. But he resisted, still wanting to head for the greenie’s camp. Several police officers and Kencorp staff forced him down to the ground while Sgt Dawson looked on shaking her head. She ordered the police to bind his hands with cable ties and put him in the police car, then told the Kencorp staff to get the cement truck out of there.   

   

Sgt Dawson was about to drive off when she saw Cassie. She drove alongside Cassie’s car and wound down her window, “Where have you been today?”   

   

“Leongatha.”   

   

“Didn’t I ask you to report to the station?”   

   

“I had business to do.”   

   

“Make sure you report to the station tomorrow morning.” And drove off.   

   

Cassie waited until the various cars departed then drove back to Main Street. Street signs were bent, fences flattened and signs and bunting for the Future Arno Road Show lay strewn across the road. The cowboy drinker standing outside the pub gesticulated and mouthed, “I told you so!” and “Ken is nuts!” as she drove slowly past.   

   

Cassie drove to the motel. She went to her room but found it locked. Cassie went to the front desk and called out. “Hello?! “   

   

Eventually, a small lady with an obvious wig appeared behind the desk. Cassie said, “I can’t get into my room.”   

   

“We’re booked out.”   

   

“Seriously? Can I have my room? Please.”   

   

Cassie added, “I don’t see any guests here.”   

   

“It’s the Road Show. They’ve booked out the whole motel.”   

   

In the corner, the TV was showing the local news. ‘Minister favours local company for coast development.’    

   

No wonder Deidre was upset. Ken’s plan was going ahead.   

   

Exasperated Cassie returned to her car and drove around looking for Charlie. He was not at the Arno Servo. Cassie drove back to the Swamp car park and headed to Charlie’s shack.   

   

Charlie was not there. Cassie cleared junk off the battered old couch and sat down. Suddenly all the miles travelled and tensions held during the day welled up in her bones. As she laid back resting her head, Cassie looked about at all the paraphernalia around the shack - useful tools, pictures, bird feathers, and fishing nets.   

   

Cassie found an old coat and a rug that smelt of the swamp and covered herself with it. Cassie fell asleep.   

   

   

*****   

   

 

The next day Cassie headed to the police station to see Sgt Dawson but as she approached she saw a group leaving the station. Pausing under the awnings on the other side of the road, Cassie watched while Ken Gannon, looking like he’d spent a night on the streets, his wife, his lawyer and Charlie left the police station and got into two waiting cars. Cassie tried to get a glimpse of Charlie’s face too but could not.   

   

After the Ken Gannon group drove off Cassie continued to watch. Suddenly, police officers, including Sgt Dawson, ran out of the station and jumped into their police cars which accelerated quickly, leaving behind a cloud of gravel dust. As the dust cleared, Cassie spied a young girl standing on the other side of the road gesticulating to the departing cars, “Help! Stop! Stop will ya!"   

   

Cassie crossed the road and approached the girl. “Are you OK?”   

   

The young teenager replied, “Are you police? I need the police. My grandma’s in trouble.”   

   

Cassie said, “Come with me and we’ll speak to the sergeant,” indicating the girl should follow her into the station. As they were about to enter the station the girl blurted out, “My grandma is in danger. She sent me here to get help.”   

   

“What’s wrong?”   

   

“She’s gunna get killed.”   

   

“Why?”   

   

“From Quentin.”   

   

“Quentin?” questioned Cassie, “Hold on. What’s your grandma’s name and where is she?”   

   

“Mrs Fantella. She’s in Beacon Cove.”   

   

“You came from there?”   

   

“Yeah.”   

   

Cassie entered the police station with the girl by her side. She asked the front desk police officer if Sgt Dawson was around. He said she was down at the Swamp. Cassie thought for a second. Cassie considered the young girl and then turned to the policeman. “We will return shortly.”   

   

Cassie took the young girl in hand and said, “Come with me. We are going to see your grandma.”   

   

They drove out of Point Arno on the Beacon Cove road. As Cassie drove, a line of large vehicles approached from the opposite direction. As this convoy thundered past Cassie and the girl narrowly avoided ending up in the ditch on the side of the road.   

   

Cassie said, “That's the Future Arno RoadShow heading for Point Arno.”   

   

Lily said, “My grandma’s alone in the house. This guy is coming to kill her for sure, she reckons.”   

   

“Don’t worry, we’ll help her.”   

   

The countryside began to change to coastal windswept trees and saltbush. The sea appeared in the distance. Cassie and Lily drove into Beacon Cove. I finally made it to Beacon Cove, thought Cassie. “Where is your Grandma at the moment?”   

   

“At home.”   

   

“Is she by herself?”   

   

“Yeah, she won't let anyone in.”   

   

“Don't worry, we’ll get there. How did you get to Point Arno?”   

   

“I hitched.”   

   

“Is that safe?”   

   

“I’ve done it before.”   

   

“Be careful.”   

   

Lily stared straight ahead.   

   

“I’m just saying.”   

   

“Yeah.”   

   

“You don't know what’s out there.”   

   

“Like Quentin’s ghost?”   

   

“Is that what your Grandma said?”   

   

“Yeah. Is it real?”   

   

“There’s someone out there. I don’t know if it’s a ghost.”   

   

“Why does he want to kill grandma?”   

   

“He doesn’t. She’s just being careful.”   

   

Cassie added, “When I was your age...I thought I could go all over the place, no worries.”   

   

“Yeah?”   

   

“I ran away from home. Not a great idea.”   

   

“Where did you sleep?”   

   

“In the park.”   

   

“Was it cold?”   

   

“Freezing.”   

   

“Were you scared?”   

   

“Of course.”   

   

They arrived in Beacon Cove.  

   

Cassie added, “I’m just saying, be careful if you’re going to be hitchhiking and that.”   

   

Lily’s grandmother’s unit was locked up with the blinds drawn. Lily led Cassie around to the back of the ground floor unit. Lily took a key out of her front pocket and unlocked the door calling out, “Gran! We’re back!”   

   

Lily spoke to the darkened house, “This lady was at the police station. She said she would help.”   

   

Lily pointed to a lounge room in the centre of the house then ran off down the corridor.   

   

After the bright sunshine outside it was very dark inside. “Hello, I’m Cassie. I know about the Quentin case. I talked to Shirley Hondo and Len Osborne.”   

   

Gordana’s voice from the other side of the room spoke, “To think of them out on that swamp.”   

   

Cassie could now make out the profile of someone sitting on the other side of the room.   

   

Gordana said, ”Don't turn on the light. He might be watching.”   

   

“Who?”   

   

“Quentin.”   

   

“Do you think Quentin’s ghost is coming for you?”   

   

“Yes?”   

   

“Why do you think he is alive now?”   

   

“He could be alive. He could have got help to get out. He could have waited all this time to return. We don't know. We were just little kids. I’ve had a long time to think about it.   

   

Imagine a nine-year-old boy - getting himself untied. Breaking free. Running through the swamp. Not getting sucked into the mud. Not slipping over. Not falling in the water. Not getting scratched and torn from the trees and bushes. Faced with a solid wall of mangrove, finding a hole to climb through. And pushing the roots out of way, getting through the mangrove that goes on for a mile or two, then run, run, running until he gets to the beach. And now it’s dark. He stays there for one freezing night, with the crabs and jellyfish and mosquitos.  And in the morning, pushes on, running further away from Point Arno.   

   

And then, having not eaten, still only being nine years old and not collapsing and calling out for his mummy, he then hitches a ride, or something, and approaches a town and then disappears, when fortunately someone hears him crying in an alleyway and takes him in, like a lost kitten, and gives him a saucer of milk and a home to live in.   

   

Versus…   

   

Somebody, an adult, untying him and helping him getaway in their boat or car.   

   

I think that Ken’s dad, Fred, paid Ken to do it. And then helped Quentin escape, to get rid of him.   

   

“What? In a boat or something?”   

   

“Maybe.”   

   

“Why did he want to get rid of him?”   

   

“I worked it out later. I think Ken and Quentin had the same mother, Marigold, but different father, Leon and Fred.”   

   

“How do you know that?”   

   

“Well I don't, but Marigold and Leon were very friendly. They used to sing together at Marigolds Sunday soirées. We kids use to run around picking up the champagne corks.   

   

Marigold told everyone how the idea for the resort got started. She said that one day she was walking down to the water hole when she heard Leon playing the ukulele on his veranda. It was a Trini Lopez tune. That’s when she got the idea.   

   

Anyway, that was her story. Later Quentin was born. Quentin had dark red hair. Ken does not. After that Marigold was placed in the sanatorium on the hill. I think it was agreed that everyone would pretend that Quentin was Leon and Angela’s child. That's my theory.”   

   

“Why do you think that?”   

   

“Because one time I remember that Marigold escaped from the sanatorium and she came screaming down the hill with white sheets flowing behind her and ran straight up to Quentin who was playing in the park. She held him so tight. Ken was standing right there and saw it all. His mother was dragged back to the hospital. Her one aim in escaping was to hold Quentin. She didn’t even notice Ken.    

   

I think Fred arranged the disappearance to get rid of Quentin.  You've got to understand that Marigold was unsuited to Point Arno. She never forgave Fred for moving her there when they were married. She flirted with all the men just to annoy Fred.   

   

The resort was called the Marigold in her honour. But she wasn’t around to enjoy it. She was in the rest home.   

   

Mr Sedgeman from the permanent building society said they had to call it that. He was the one who organised all the money and the purchase of the land. Marigold used to sit on his knee and sing the Chattanooga Choo Choo on Sundays. He bought the Acapulco resort dream completely.”   

   

“What was there before?”   

   

“It was just bush on the edge of the town. People went for walks there, threw their rubbish there, went for swims in the water hole, built cubby huts, and of course, kids played games there.”   

   

“It’s a very long time ago. The past can’t come back to life and hurt us. I’m sure there is some other explanation."   

   

“I just remembered - Quentin’s jacket. That it had been found and someone had it: maybe Ken’s Dad. It was a rumour. I’m not sure if it’s true.”   

   

“Was it found?”   

   

“That was the story. I think if it is scratched and mangled then he went through the swamp or tried to. If there are no scratches, someone took him away.”   

   

“Do you think Ken tied up his brother and left him there? If Marigold’s part of the resort estate was left to her two sons that would be another reason why Ken doesn't want Quentin back.” Cassie was thinking of the comment by the clerk at Leongatha, ‘It always comes down to money.’   

   

There was a loud sound in another part of the unit. Cassie gave a nervous start.   

   

Gordana called out, “What are you doing Lily?!”   

   

“Nothing! I‘m building a barricade!”   

   

“You and Lily should come with me back to Point Arno.”   

   

“That's the last place I should be.”   

   

“I will tell Sgt Dawson to put a guard here straight away.”   

   

“Are you from Point Arno?”   

   

“Nah.”   

   

“I thought you were.”   

   

“No?”   

   

“You sound like it.”   

   

“It has started affecting me, probably.”   

   

As Cassie left she told Lily, “Don't let anyone in the house.”   

   

  

*****   

   

   

Cassie drove off and suddenly found herself in the centre of Beacon Cove. Bright sunshine reflected jaggedly off gleaming surfaces – glass shop fronts, cars, boats, seaside public art, and the white breakers on the sea.   

   

Driving along the waterfront Cassie saw a foreshore park where signs were promoting Green Gas, an empty stage and unused audience seating; the site of the aborted Green Gas project signing.   

   

Cassie jammed on the brakes at a traffic crossing. A group of people crossed as if in the City, swinging shopping bags, sunglasses under summer hats and pushing prams.   

   

A car honked behind her, snapping her out of her rumination. Cassie stepped on the accelerator, negotiating a tight squeeze in traffic and zooming away from the knot of shops and people.  

  

   

*****   

 

Cassie arrived back in Point Arno. The town was empty. There was not a soul in sight. The police station seemed unmanned. The pub was quiet. The craft shop was closed with a ‘back in one-hour’ clock face on the door. Cassie looked at the figurines in the window. More figures had been added. Looking closer she noticed a young woman in a business suit with a dash of red in her hair following a cement mixer and large bird, the curlew.   

   

A screwed-up piece of newspaper blew across the road and landed at her feet. She picked it up. It was a dirty copy of yesterday’s local paper. The headline read, ‘Ken Gannon murder charge!’   

   

   

*****   

      

Welcome to the Future Arno Roadshow!   

  

 Cassie walked down towards the lake area and the boathouse. As she approached, she saw that the Greenies camp along the bank of the lake had grown. Was this Deidre and Kelvin's doing, stirring up opposition to Ken’s plans? Signs and banners screamed ‘No Development’, ‘Save the Wetlands’, “Save the eastern curlew!’ A giant curlew bird puppet on sticks danced up and down above the group of protesters. Next to the greenies camp, a Kencorp sign showed a Future Arno family standing in front of an apartment and boat by a jetty.   

   

In front of the boathouse, black t-shirted technicians were putting the finishing touches to assembling a public address system, a huge video screen and lights on a tower of scaffolding.   

   

The crowd squeezed into the area between the boathouse and the lake and spilled over into the surrounding area. The people chatted in anticipation. The community raffle for the house and land package would be drawn today.   

   

As far as Cassie could tell, the crowd was made up of distinct factions. She saw locals who had been sold shares in the development and other locals who had just come for a sticky beak. They jostled next to local council members, media with cameras,  police and Kencorp security and greenies in waterproof parkas, home knitted jumpers and beanies. Next to them the roadshow events staff, hired for the day, stood by ready for the start.   

   

Several white government cars arrived. A group of City type people in dark suits and sunglasses made their way to the Future Arno VIP tent. Cassie spotted a short man walking next to a tall blonde woman in a fur coat.   

   

Cassie thought, “The Minister.”    

   

The lights cranked up and the PA system suddenly jumped to life. A pre-recorded announcer voice spoke.   

   

“Welcome to the Future Arno Roadshow and the launch of the New Marigold Estate and Resort. The New Marigold Estate and Resort will feature apartments, boating facilities, Venetian style canals, retail opportunities and a world-class biodiversity centre.”   

  

A video collage of Future Arno blasted from the video screens accompanied by thumping music.   

   

The music finished, followed by expectant silence. Finally, a man emerged. Ken Gannon approached the speaking podium.   

   

He began his walk to the podium with purpose but by the time he came to stand at the microphone, his footsteps were less certain. His eyes darted around and looked at the crowd and across the lake. There was no applause.   

   

Cassie edged closer to hear his words.   

   

As Ken stood at the microphone a wave of restlessness rippled through the crowd – the Greenie protesters, Future Arno crew and Point Arno locals jostled against each other bumping the Roadshow technicians who were adjusting the spotlights.   

   

Suddenly, a large shadow of a man loomed on the wall of the boathouse. Ken looked behind him. Cassie watched him then watched the shadow on the wall. Cassie and Ken locked eyes. Then Ken looked out to the swamp and spoke,   

   

“I know you are out there! Come and get me, Quentin! Come on out and show yourself, you little bastard. You think I don't see you. But I know you’re there!”   

   

The microphone feedback made an ear-piercing metallic ring. Now the assembled crowd watched as, emerging from the overhanging bush on the far side of the lake, a skiff - one of the little paddling canoes used at the old resort  - was propelled, as if by an unseen hand, across the lake.   

   

Piled up on the skiff were tangled roots and branches from the swamp. A smouldering fire snaked a trail of heavy smoke. To the horror of those watching, laid out across this pyre was a body.   

   

Cassie’s legs gave way. “That’s Len Osborne, the second witness. I cannot believe this.”   

   

Four police officers strode into the lake to meet the burning skiff and guided it to the water's edge while dousing the fire.   

   

Ken, at the speaker’s podium, watched with mouth agape. Then he sprung into action, heading straight for the lake. He strode into the water, walking then swimming, hitting the surface with stiff arms and kicking his legs, causing a wave to swell and swamp the edge of the lake.   

   

Ken reached the other side of the lake and climbed dripping wet onto the overgrown bank and headed into the dense trees and roots of the swamp. Kencorp officials and police officers took off after him.   

   

Cassie spotted Charlie chasing after Ken and followed him. Ken ran deep into the wetlands, a long way, banging his shins, getting scratched, slipping over, keeping on going no matter the obstacles. His pursuers lost sight of him. Ken disappeared into the darkest section, getting ever closer to the wall of mangrove.   

   

When Sgt Dawson, the Kencorp workers, Cassie and Charlie caught up with him they saw he was standing on a muddy embankment of overgrown roots and twisted saltbush, covered in mud; a mud man from the black swamp.   

   

Ken called out in a high-pitched emotional voice.   

   

“Stay there! This is where it happened. This is where I tied Quentin up. There was an old post here. My father paid me to do it, to teach that little smartarse a lesson. That's what I had to do. He gave me ten bucks. Quentin was my best friend. It was just a game. I didn’t know how it was going to turn out.”   

   

Sgt Dawson and the Kencorp staff approached him. Ken shook his head and turned and ran, disappearing into the mangrove.   

   

   

*****   

      

Cassie said to Charlie, “I’ve got to head back, but…”   

   

“It’s OK Cassie. I’ll see you later on,” said Charlie. 

   

Cassie walked back to the boathouse. She found the boardwalk and then found the track by the wetlands that Charlie had shown her.   

   

Back at the lake, the crowd had disbursed. The event was over. The community raffle was cancelled. The embankment was taped off as a crime scene. Event staff were packing up chairs and rolling up cables. Protesters were taking down their signs. The police were crowding around the smoking skiff. The Minister had departed the scene.   

   

On the far side of the lake, where cars had parked on the muddy grass, Cassie saw JJ McGuiness and the tall fur-coated blonde in a furious argument. The blonde stormed off and McGuiness’ car departed the scene abruptly.   

   

Cassie saw Deidre who said, “This is Angela and her granddaughter Grace.”   

   

“Who?” said Cassie, “I gotta check something first.”   

   

Cassie approached the old boathouse and entered through the two loose planks. She adjusted her eyes to the darkness. She moved a board covering a broken window to let a shaft of light in. She stood and looked around at the corner where the intruder had been. She walked over there and began trying to loosen the floorboards, without much luck. Some came partly away in her hand because they were so rotten.   

   

Cassie looked around and found part of an old canoe paddle to wedge the floorboards with. She pulled up several floorboards until she found a package of dirty old thick plastic. Lifting the package out of its hiding spot, Cassie held up the tightly wrapped plastic package to the available light. She saw a tattered children’s jeans jacket. She unrolled it. It was ripped and spattered with stains and marks. One arm sleeve was completely missing with only the top of it remaining in shreds as if it had been violently torn away.   

   

Cassie stared at it. She heard Gordana saying,   

   

“Imagine a nine-year-old boy  - getting himself untied. Breaking free. Running through the swamp. Not getting sucked into the mud. Not slipping over. Not falling in the water. Not getting scratched and torn from the trees and bushes. Faced with a solid wall of mangrove, finding a hole to climb through. And pushing the roots out of way, getting through the mangrove that goes on for a mile or two, then run, run, running until he gets to the beach. And now it’s dark. He stays there for one freezing night, with the crabs and jellyfish and mosquitos. And in the morning, pushes on, running further away from Point Arno.”   

   

Confused, Cassie walked back out the front of the boathouse. Outside Angela was being introduced as “Quentin’s (as in Lake Quentin) mother”. Her granddaughter Grace, who wore a heavy metal t-shirt and gothic jewellery, was talking, “They deserved to die you know, them kids who tied him up. Living with that all that time never saying anything. What about my grandmother Angela? What does she get out of all this?”   

   

Grace, bedecked in gothic jewellery (silver skulls) and face piercings, began recounting how she had visited all the witnesses because she was tracking down the family history. “I wanted to get everyone’s DNA for my grandma Angela. It’s important. We were told we could inherit half the estate.” Grace waved the DNA results sheet around.   

   

Cassie asked, “Who told you that?”   

   

“That lawyer guy.”   

   

“Kelvin?”   

   

“Yeah, him.”   

  

Cassie looked at her, beginning to realise that she had possibly killed the witnesses.   

   

At that moment Cassie looked up and saw Sgt Dawson marching out of the swamp with Charlie in handcuffs.   

   

Cassie gasped, “Oh no!”   

   

Sgt Dawson called out, “He confessed.”   

   

“No.!”   

   

“Charlie came here ten years ago to kill his father. He told me so.”   

   

“No.!”   

   

Cassie looked around. People were drifting away. The swamp looked serious and smug, thought Cassie. Cassie scooped up the DNA info sheet.   

   

   

*****   

   

Cassie stood on the embankment with the wind tugging at her face, pieces of rubbish swirling around on the ground near her feet.  She could not focus. Mainly she wanted to see Charlie and tell Sgt Dawson she had arrested the wrong person.   

Deidre appeared by her side.   

   

“Can I give you a lift back to town?”   

   

“Ah, I need to speak to Sgt Dawson.”   

   

“Come on, we’ll sort it out on the way back. I will call her now.”   

   

Deidre rang a number. Cassie heard her explain that they should track the recent movements of a young woman with a heavy metal t-shirt and gothic jewellery.   

   

They set off in the Deidre’s heated Audi.   

   

“Congratulations,” said Deidre, “The wetlands are saved. The Minister will now sign the Green Gas proposal. The pipeline through the area will be sensitively placed. The biodiversity and natural environment will be preserved.”   

   

“Just promise me you’ll look at Charlie’s folders. Everything that is in the wetlands is listed there.”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“You promise?”   

   

“Yes.”   

   

After driving in silence Cassie said, “You knew who I was when I met you didn’t you? You wanted my help stopping Ken Gannon. You knew he was talking to the Ares Group. You wanted my help flushing out the child witnesses."  

  

Deidre said, "Green Gas is a once-in-a-generation project. Parochial attitudes are the biggest obstacle to saving our planet."  

  

"Kelvin encouraged that mother and daughter to take revenge for Quentin."  

  

Deidre said, "And so they should revenge Quentin or Brian. And so should you."  

  

Deidre went on, “Brian was a Gat boy. That’s how I knew him. You could say we were going out for a bit before he left.   

   

He knew about you. When you were fourteen and went to look for him he just missed you. He was out drinking. He tried to follow you when you ran off into the City, he told me.”   

   

Cassie tried to speak but choked on the words.   

   

“What?! Don’t say this. It’s too hurtful. Where is he now?”   

   

“He passed away some years ago.”   

   

Cassie looked in the rearview mirror. She could see the ghost of Brian / Quentin in the back seat. His face was covered in blood and swamp muck.   

   

“After that, he gave up the drink. When I caught up with him after all those years he still went on about Ken Gannon. The fact that Ken became successful made it worse.   

   

“But when did he die?   

   

“About ten years ago. He was planning to see you after you finished University. But then he had serious health problems and died.”   

   

“But why didn't he let me know?”   

   

“He was ashamed. He didn't want to distract you.”   

   

“No, that's not right. This is bullshit. You’re feeding me a bullshit fairy tale.”   

   

“OK. You want it straight? He was not a nice man. He was an alcoholic. He didn’t care about others. He treated your mother badly. You two had to flee to a woman’s shelter, you know that don’t you?   

   

Your Mum was right. He didn’t care about other people. He didn’t look for you that night. He didn’t look for you any night."   

   

“Please stop. I can’t take this. Please stop talking.”   

   

“He had a heart attack from drinking and smoking, and died.”   

   

“Fucking parents.”   

   

“He would not have made a good Dad. He might even have other kids.”   

   

“Stop it. Stop it”   

   

“Are you OK?”   

   

“Yes, just stop, please. I need to get out. I think I am having a panic attack.”   

   

"What?"  

  

Cassie grabbed the steering wheel. Driver and passenger wrestled for control as the car lurched left and right across the road, then came to a screeching halt.  

  

"Let me out, damn you!”   

    

Cassie stumbled out of the car.  

  

Deidre called out, “What are you fucking doing!?"  

   

Cassie said, "I'll be right here.”   

   

“What?” asked Deidre.   

   

“You can leave me here.”   

   

“But we are in the middle of nowhere.”   

   

“That's fine.”   

   

“Really?”   

   

“Yes, no problem. You go on ahead without me. I just need space, a lot of space.”   

   

“OK?”   

   

“OK.”   

   

“Bye!”   

   

Cassie stood on the side of the road. As the car drove off Cassie could see in the rear window the ghost of Real Dad with swamp mud on his face. He stared out at her as if he was trapped.   

   

Cassie took her phone out of her pocket and, praying she had some reception, dialled, “Hey Gerry, can you please pick me up!?   

   

“Yes, now!”   

   

In a paddock behind her was a sign for the New Marigold Estate with ‘SOLD’ slapped across it.