Days end, p.23
Day’s End, page 23
He went back to the image of a dusty white 4WD and enlarged it: a Pajero. Too pixelated to tell if it was Cody Morton’s or the one he’d seen at the defaced 5G tower in Redruth. He then enlarged each of the other vehicles. Nondescript. He took a second look at a rectangular shape next to the vehicles. A camouflage net. Hiding another vehicle?
Aronson made four sweeps, not getting too close at first. In addition to the buildings and vehicles, Hirsch saw fuel and chemical drums, a pallet piled with wooden boxes, heaped firewood, a barbecue pit, two portaloos, a tower bristling with antennas and a narrow stretch of flat ground about three hundred metres long. He couldn’t work out what it was: clear of obstructions at one end, but with haybales at regular, staggered stages at the other end, starting at about one-third of the way along. Aronson had been curious, too. He veered around, coming in low, shooting at a shallow angle with his Nikon.
It was a firing range. Haybale targets at 100, 200 and 300 metres, Hirsch guessed, each one propping up a big red bullseye on a white background.
But no figures in view yet; no one with a rifle. Aronson—perhaps nervous by now—started to veer away. And suddenly the Nikon was photographing the fuselage, the landing gear, the propellor and the open sky. Reacting to the first bullet, Hirsch thought, the one that hit the engine cowling. And then, when a succession of blurred shots completed the sequence, he guessed that the second bullet had found its target and Aronson was filming the knees of his pants.
34
TEN MINUTES LATER, Cottrell’s voice rasped in Hirsch’s landline handset like gravel sliding off a shovel. ‘Do you know where the pictures were taken?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you intending to visit the campground in question?’
A curious inflexion; a curious choice of words, thought Hirsch. Cottrell knows where it is and he’s warning me off? ‘No, sir.’
‘Good.’
‘Shall I email the photos, sir?’ Hirsch said, before thinking that would take forever, given the state of Tiverton’s internet.
‘I need the memory card itself. I’ll send a courier straight away.’
From Adelaide, Hirsch thought. I’ll be twiddling my thumbs here for three hours at least. ‘Sir.’
‘Getting back to your bit of fiction, Mr Hirschhausen.’
‘Sir?’ said Hirsch, thinking yeah, the story he’d told the inspector was a complete and utter bit of fiction.
‘You say you weren’t satisfied that the shooters had removed the memory card from Mr Aronson’s camera?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So you went back for another look.’
‘Sir.’
‘And there it was, simply lying on the ground.’
‘Quite hard to spot, sir. I don’t blame your team for not finding it. I only saw it myself because I’d squatted down and glimpsed it under a bit of grass.’
Cottrell was silent, perhaps hoping Hirsch would keep talking and dig a hole for himself. Then he said, ‘And why would Mr Aronson do that, in his dying moments? Take the trouble to remove the card and toss it in addition to tossing the camera?’
‘He’d stumbled on something fishy, and knew they’d come looking when he didn’t crash nearby or straight away. Perhaps he hoped they’d find the camera without the card and assume that either others got there first, or it was in one of his pockets and got burnt up.’
‘And you went out there, acting on that hunch.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘A nice line of bullshit. Has anyone else seen what’s on the card?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Hypothetically speaking, if any hypothetical person of your acquaintance did happen to view the contents, that hypothetical person should keep his or her hypothetical mouth firmly fucking shut.’
‘Sir.’
In the end, he didn’t wait for three hours: a rider on a powerful black Kawasaki came by less than an hour later. From where? The guy merely grunted at Hirsch, pocketed the card, which Hirsch had tucked into a small envelope, and snarled away again. This all happened on the front step of the police station, at a time—mid-Sunday morning—when the town was beginning to go mildly about its business. Old folks in their front gardens, kids kicking a footy around on the school oval, a couple of young mothers with toddlers in pushers. Word would spread again.
Hirsch had held on to the Red Ensign magazine, figuring that Cottrell had access to his own copies. Rolling it into a tube, he walked with it around to the Cobbs’ house, where he found Laura sitting on the back step, in the sun, her thin bare legs at a slant and her head bowed. She was painting her toenails.
‘Good colour,’ he said. A shade of red that struck him as elegant. She shot him an unsurprised look, then leaned into her task again. Her voice muffled behind a curtain of shiny straight hair, she said, ‘Almost finished.’
‘Delicate stage?’
She didn’t answer. Hirsch hunted around, saw a big old wooden cable spool, and dragged it closer. Perched his backside on it. Watched her.
‘Finished,’ she said, leaning in effortlessly to blow on her toes.
Laura Cobb was young and trapped and struggling, that hadn’t changed. But right now Hirsch saw that she was more than a shy, small-town kid without prospects saddled with a family that relied on her. She was young and pretty, and she was waking up. Expanding. He hated to think of all of that being worn down; worn out.
Spotting the magazine in Hirsch’s hands, she said, ‘I saw that in the mailbox when I went to feed Nan’s horses this morning. When I came back, it wasn’t there.’
Her response told him two things: there had been prior issues of the magazine, and she didn’t want Daryl reading them. That was encouraging, but there was also the possibility that she was an avid reader of the magazine and didn’t want Hirsch, a policeman—and a kind of friend—to know that.
‘I had a quick read,’ he said casually. ‘Quite an eye-opener.’
She gave him disgusted look. ‘Yep.’
Disgusted with the contents, Hirsch thought; disgusted with me trying to catch her out. She hooked a strand of hair behind her ears, releasing a wisp of perfumed air. Not a cheap shampoo. Wendy used the same one.
‘Are you here to talk to me or to Daryl?’
‘Daryl, eventually.’
‘He’s still in bed.’
‘I thought he might be. Is it something we could discuss with your mum?’
‘You must be joking. She’s manic at the moment. I don’t want anything to set her off.’
‘Okay,’ Hirsch said, looking away. The garden beds were damp; water droplets trembled.
Laura brought him back. ‘I can tell you what I know.’
Hirsch rubbed his hands on his thighs. ‘There was a note attached. A kid called Cody Morton wrote it. What can you tell me about him? How he knows Daryl, what influence he has over him, if any? That kind of thing.’
Laura blushed, winced, glanced away. Eventually she said, ‘He was my boyfriend for about five minutes.’
Tread carefully, thought Hirsch. ‘You’ve stayed in touch?’
She looked fully at him, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘No. He’s stayed in touch with Daryl, though.’
‘How did you meet?’
She looked away again, concentrating furiously. ‘I’m not the greatest catch in the world.’
Hirsch shook his head. ‘You’re—’
‘Don’t,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m stuck here looking after my mother. No proper job. No car. Never been anywhere, done anything. But I got talking with Cody at the pub karaoke a few weeks ago and we hit it off.’
The pub karaoke? The first Hirsch had heard of it. Not that he’d have gone. Wild horses, et cetera. ‘Okay,’ he said feebly, not wanting to lead her.
‘It was good at first. Fun.’
‘Until it wasn’t?’
She gave him a sharp look. ‘He didn’t hit me. Didn’t cheat on me, if that’s what you think.’
‘Okay.’
‘He paid attention; he was nice. He made me feel good, and I think he was keen on me, and that counts for a lot.’
Hirsch knew it did. ‘What happened? You broke it off?’
‘He had this other agenda.’
Hirsch had placed the magazine on the ground. He toed it with his shoe. ‘This?’
She looked down. Nodded. ‘In the long term, yes.’
‘And in the short term?’
‘Little things at first, like asking me my views on immigration and that. Black people, Muslims, did I know they were taking our jobs, a burden on the economy.’
‘What did you say?’
She blushed and looked away. ‘I don’t get time to read the papers or watch the news.’
‘You got great marks in Year 12. You’ve got a good brain.’
‘Wish I could use it,’ she muttered.
‘What else did he say?’
‘He wanted to know my thoughts on Covid and vaccines, and it turned out he thinks Covid’s a myth and the vaccines are dangerous, but he could get us fake certificates, plus this phone app to bypass Covid and QR check-ins.’ She paused. ‘And this is where I did use my brain. Mum and Daryl’s health isn’t that great so I made sure all of us got triple vaxxed.’
‘Did he ever try to get you to join Antipodean whatever it is?’
‘Not really. Not directly or straight away.’
‘In a roundabout way?’
She gave him an incredulous laugh. ‘He wanted us to get married! I mean, Jesus, I haven’t even been out of South Australia yet.’
‘Sounds like he was pretty keen.’
‘Yeah, but it was also part of his agenda. He said childless couples are evil. No family values. We need families with children—you know, keep the white race vital and alive.’
‘Forget about love, eh?’
Laura gave him a hard look. She had felt love, and she had been loved. He was taking that lightly. ‘I thought he was being overly romantic, if you must know,’ she said. She shrugged. ‘But I liked being in a relationship.’
Hirsch didn’t risk smiling, but gave her a nod.
She was searching his face furiously. Apparently satisfied, she said, ‘As for joining the cause, it was a kind of slow burn, asking what I thought about things and saying how it enriched his life, networking with like-minded people around the world, joining organisations.’
‘Such as?’
She concentrated. Said, eventually: ‘One was called Combat 18. Another was Proud Boys.’ She snorted. ‘Boys is right.’
She stuck out a leg, examined her painted toes. ‘They’re not boys, though. One of his mates was ex-army and had a licence to own a gun. Worked as a bouncer at a club in the city. Another was a skinhead and been in prison.’
‘I can see why you might want to break it off.’
She gestured dismissively. ‘I never took any of it too seriously. What tipped me over the edge was, he showed me a video of the Christchurch massacre.’ She looked up, wide-eyed. ‘As though I’d be impressed.’
‘Horrible, I bet. I’ve never seen it.’
‘So I broke it off and now he’s hanging around Daryl.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘He was actually quite upset. I think he really liked me, so he tries to stay close by getting tight with Daryl, I think. I won’t let him in the house, and I told Daryl to wake up to himself. But I think they see each other when I’m not home.’
‘What does Daryl make of everything?’
Laura gave it thought. ‘He’s easily led, you know that. And he just spouts stuff without knowing what any of it means. Like, the Holocaust was a myth and we need a race war so that when society collapses, he and Cody and the others can step in.’
‘There have been a few incidents lately,’ Hirsch said carefully. ‘I can’t go into it, but does Daryl ever go off with Cody, do things with him?’
‘Actually, you nearly caught them once. Something about the phone tower in Redruth.’
Hirsch nodded.
‘Don’t arrest him, please. He wouldn’t last five seconds in jail.’
Hirsch, seeing that the sun was in her eyes, scooted around to her other side. ‘I’ll do my best. Does he listen to you?’
‘Sometimes. Not really, not anymore.’ She paused. ‘The other day he told me he’d sworn an oath.’
‘An oath? What kind?’
Laura kept her eyes half-lidded as she called up the memory. ‘How it was his duty to be a warrior and defend his people and speak the truth, and how his blood would live on if he got killed. I mean, crazy stuff.’
‘I can’t see him following through, Laura.’
‘I know, nor can I, but he’s got these attitudes now. Like he says he hates gays and trans people, even though he doesn’t know any. And after we took Mum to Doctor Pillai on Friday, he called her a coconut. I mean, Doctor Pillai! She’s our guardian angel. And you know how soft he is—I mean physically. Flabby. The other day he said he’s going to get a haircut and go for runs to get fit. Take up mixed martial arts, stuff like that. Still spends hours in front of his computer, though, not getting fit.’
‘Gaming?’
‘Always. Since he was little. But also chatrooms, forums, videos, memes.’ She looked pained. ‘He calls himself People’s Warrior.’
Hirsch gave her a small, sad smile, thinking that kids like Daryl were legion. Without the ordinary circuit breakers of family, work, school and other social contact, they were wide open.
She went on: ‘But you know Daryl, he’s easily distracted. Give him a Coke and a bag of chips and he’s happy. He doesn’t understand half of what he reads and his room’s full of books and magazines from Cody that he’s never even looked at.’
‘But going out with Cody and damaging property is something else, Laura,’ Hirsch said. ‘That’s more than just being a keyboard warrior.’
She shrank. Hirsch knew there was more, and waited patiently. The sun was higher now, angling into the yard.
Beginning slowly, quietly, she said, ‘Cody took him to a lockdown protest in Adelaide.’
Where he was probably filmed. ‘Anything else?’
She said in a rush, ‘A training camp somewhere out east, okay?’
Hirsch felt cold. ‘What kind of training?’
‘You know how he is, half what you say goes in one ear and out the other. He said there were lots of speeches and lectures, like being at school.’
‘Just him, him and Cody? Others?’
‘About a dozen.’
‘What about military training?’
‘There was a bit of that,’ Laura said, in a low voice. ‘Marching around, you know, hup two three four. Singing Waltzing Matilda.’
‘What about weapons?’
‘I knew you were going to ask that. It was the first thing I asked. He said there were some guns but he didn’t shoot any. The others did. I sort of believe him.’
Hirsch wriggled; his backside was numb. After a while, he said, ‘You could have come to me, you know.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t consider it,’ she shot back at him. ‘But I didn’t want him to get into trouble, and he’s just not that motivated. He’d rather fly his drone. I’m hoping Nan will give him some regular work at the stables, and maybe Mr Tennant can get him stocking shelves at the shop, things like that. Keep him occupied.’
She paused, looked away, and he barely heard her: ‘They want him to go on another camp soon.’
‘Don’t let him go, Laura. It’s too dangerous. He could get arrested.’
She was shocked. ‘You’d arrest him? You know what he’s like.’
‘Not me,’ Hirsch said. ‘The federal police. They know what’s going on and I think they mean to act pretty soon. We don’t want Daryl getting caught up in a raid. But I have to tell you, his name’s probably on a list somewhere. There could be a knock on your door one day.’
She started rocking. Teary, a kid again, with too much to bear. Hirsch patted her shoulder and said, ‘If that happens, ask for me.’
35
THAT WAS SUNDAY. On Monday, early, Sergeant Brandl called. ‘Good luck today.’
‘Good luck?’
‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Hope it goes well with the shrink, therapist, whatever. Don’t hold back. Get better soon, et cetera.’
Brandl at her gruff, awkward best. ‘Thanks, sergeant,’ Hirsch said.
Seven-thirty. He finished his calls and emails, showered, changed, had a second coffee, made a cheese and salad sandwich for later in the day. If he left at 8.30, he’d have plenty of time to reach Gawler and find the psychologist’s office, and so his walk across to the general store to buy the Advertiser was an amble, dragging a morning shadow after him. Half a dozen town and farm kids were mingling on the shop veranda, waiting for the school bus, the boys mostly shoving and insulting each other and the girls mostly on their phones. The Redruth High uniform was dark brown over grey: everyone hated it.
He nodded and smiled, thinking: running the gauntlet. As a group they were terrifying. Individually they were shy, uncomplicated kids.
The girls, apparently absorbed in gossip or social media, were nevertheless the first to spot him. ‘Hello, Mr Policeman,’ one of them said in a sing-song voice. Another, bolder, called, ‘Paul. Hey, Paul.’
Hirsch nodded and smiled again genially, finding a path through daypacks, gym bags and uniformed torsos. They all knew he was involved with Wendy Street, head of maths at their school. Did they know she’d been getting online abuse? Kate, too? Surely they did. But what did they think about that? They’d have attended Sergeant Brandl’s warning lecture, but if they weren’t victims or perpetrators, would anything she’d said have sunk in?
Good kids, he told himself. Liked to tease, but basically good natured.
The youngest and shyest was Jack Laurie, who’d been chased by Brenda Maher’s dog. He followed Hirsch into the shop and said, stumblingly, ‘Sir? Mr Hirschhausen?’ Then, finally, ‘Paul,’ on a hesitant, downward note, as though aware, too late, that he might have breached protocol.
