Murderer's Thumb Read online

  Praise for Beth Montgomery and

  The Birthmark

  SHORTLISTED, GOLD INKY, STATE LIBRARY OF VICTORIA’S

  TEENAGE CHOICE BOOK AWARD, 2007

  ‘This is the sort of book I love. It tells me about a world I know little about and it does it in an absolutely enthralling way. I admire its gutsiness, the way it pulls no punches as it spans eras, generations and cultures. In this age of made-to-measure children’s literature The Birthmark is a revelation.’ Phillip Gwynne

  ‘I’d love to have a friend like Lili Fasiti–brave, daring and a fast talker. She’d get you into trouble but it would be worth it.’ J.C. Burke

  ‘A rich and moving story, which interweaves a tragic wartime history, its ghosts and its legacy, into the lives of young and old.’ Martine Murray

  ‘Beth Montgomery’s first book is compelling.’ Sunday Age

  ‘The Birthmark is Beth Montgomery’s first novel and I’d like to think it will not be her last…its gritty, gutsy style makes it an enjoyable read.’ Fremantle Herald

  ‘This exciting and intriguing novel interweaves stories of two generations of Islanders…The setting and characters are vividly drawn in both time periods. Lily is a feisty heroine…It is an exciting read.’ Magpies

  ‘With confidence and literary poise, she creates a tropical world inhabited by young adults of two generations with their own problems and secrets…Aimed at teenagers, her work has far wider appeal and reinforces the adage that “a good story well told” is hard to beat.’ Weekend Australian

  Beth Montgomery grew up in Melbourne. She worked as a teacher in the Pacific Islands and is married with three children. Her highly praised first novel, The Birthmark, was shortlisted for the Gold Inky, the State Library of Victoria’s Teenage Choice Book Award, 2007.

  MURDERER’S

  THUMB

  BETH

  MONTGOMERY

  text publishing melbourne australia

  The paper used in this book is manufactured only from wood grown in sustainable regrowth forests.

  The Text Publishing Company

  Swann House

  22 William Street

  Melbourne Victoria 3000

  Australia www.textpublishing.com.au

  Copyright © Beth Montgomery 2008

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  First published in 2008 by The Text Publishing Company

  Design by WH Chong

  Typeset by J & M Typesetting

  Printed and bound by Griffin Press

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Montgomery, Beth, 1965-

  Murderer’s thumb / author, Beth Montgomery.

  Melbourne : Text, 2008.

  ISBN 9781921351488 (pbk.)

  For secondary school age.

  Murder--Australia--Fiction.

  A823.4

  This project was assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

  For Julie-Anne

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  ONE

  Falcon Ridge stank. It was the smell of death. Old death, like cobwebs and bones: things without moisture. The taste of dust and dead leaves caught in the back of Adam’s throat. This was the smell of drought.

  Funny how he’d never noticed it before they moved to the country. But the suburbs had more overpowering scents: exhaust fumes, exotic foods and the whiff of a passing girl’s perfume. Things he associated with fun.

  Adam stood on the verandah, sniffing at the dry air that was already warm with a northerly breeze. He forced his cap down, his brown hair escaping in strands, curling back against the rim. Needed a haircut, his dad would have said. Well stuff him. Adam stepped off the verandah and strolled along the driveway. It was shaded by a row of cypresses that separated the house from the farmyard. The trees were massive, like enormous Christmas trees. Morning sunlight filtered through the branches, dappling his sneakers. He headed left to a cluster of nearby sheds. Time to look around.

  A young man drove towards him on a four-wheeler farm bike.

  What a loser. It was the Akubra hat and the checked shirt that did it. Not cool.

  The driver cut the engine and stopped in front of Adam. ‘Morning,’ he said, squinting and tapping the brim of his Akubra as if he were acting in a B grade Western movie. ‘I’m Loody.’

  ‘Adam Statkus.’

  ‘Statkus. Sounds like a disease.’

  Adam stiffened. He was proud of his heritage. ‘It’s Lithuanian,’ he said.

  Loody sniggered. ‘Sounds bloody Greek to me!’

  Adam took a deep breath and resolved not to get pissed off. This guy wasn’t worth it. Statkus was a name above that shit, the Baltic bitching and ancient ethnic rivalries. His old man had told him how revered Adam’s grandfather, Witold, a police inspector, had been.

  Loody shook Adam’s hand, met his gaze, then looked away.

  Adam was used to the reaction. His turned eye freaked out everyone at first. Some people ignored him after they got over the initial shock. They could get stuffed. But Loody seemed genuine, his handshake firm and friendly. He had big forearms covered in orange hair. It was like shaking hands with an orang-utan.

  Adam glanced at the four-wheeler. ‘Nice machine,’ he said, trying to hide his sarcasm.

  ‘Heap o’ shit,’ Loody said. His grin revealed a missing front tooth. ‘You just moved into the old homestead?’ he said, puffing out his chest and tilting his head to one side like a rooster sizing up the opposition.

  ‘Yeah, last weekend,’ he said.

  ‘Where you from?’

  ‘Deakin Hills.’

  Loody nodded slowly, ‘City boy, eh? Should come for a spin. I’ll show you round the farm.’

  ‘OK,’ Adam shrugged.

  ‘Got to collect some silage,’ Loody said. ‘You may as well come. I’ll just get the tractor.’ He turned the four-wheeler around and drove towards the nearest shed.

  Adam leant against a fence post and watched him accelerate along the drive. He hoped Loody and his cowboy hat was a one-off, and that not all the locals were like that, but when he thought about his first week at school he wasn’t so convinced. The kids were a bunch of clones in cheap sneakers and sensible haircuts. Few had the guts to stand out. They all gawked at him. It wasn’t just his eye; he knew it was the way he spoke: too confidently for a new kid.

  But Adam didn’t care. He’d made a tentative friend, called Snake, who had shown him around and filled him in on the school routines. Snake was one of the few kids who stood out. If not for his bad complexion, then de finitely because he was uncoordinated and the only guy who chose to do year nine home economics. Everyone gave him shit for it. But he was cool, let it pass. His ambition was to get an apprent
iceship as a chef, work in resorts and meet lots of European girls. It didn’t matter how many people teased him, Snake was convinced he was on the right path.

  Adam respected him for it, even though it was clear that most of his classmates thought Snake was an idiot. But he was wary of getting too close. If the old man found out their new address, Adam and his mum would be off again, the friendship severed.

  Their last move was ten days ago, a frenzied pack and dash away from civilisation, away from his old man, Kazek. Adam winced, recalling his own stupidity. If only he hadn’t given his mate, Brock, their phone number. If only Brock wasn’t so gullible, believing Kazek’s con story. Then Adam would be back in Deakin Hills, hanging out at the shopping centre or kicking the footy down at the park. Not living in some boring country town hours away from the city.

  Adam hated moving. This was the sixth time in two years. All he wanted was to live somewhere long enough to slot into the football team and feel accepted. He spat his frustration into the dirt. The spittle plopped in the dust like a blob of mercury. He kicked it away.

  Loody returned driving a huge John Deere tractor with a front-end loader attached. He braked to let Adam climb in. The tractor had an enclosed cabin that smelled of grease. Adam squeezed onto the shelf at the left of the driver’s seat and sat on a pair of folded grey overalls.

  They took off, bumping down the driveway and onto the road. Adam looked out the back window. They were towing an enormous cage with wheels.

  ‘What’s silage?’

  ‘Preserved grass…basically fermented.’

  ‘So where is it?’ Adam asked.

  ‘A few kilometres down the road, in the reserve pit. We’ve already fed out last year’s silage. This one was made years ago, in case feed got low during a drought. We built it near the wetlands because it drains well, into the waterhole. There’s this natural embankment there, so we didn’t have to do much excavating.’

  ‘Oh,’ Adam said, sounding impressed. Loody said excavating like ‘egg-skavating’. Adam had visions of eggs on skateboards.

  They turned onto the bitumen and headed south.

  ‘You worked here long?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Started here when I was seventeen. Be six years, I suppose.’

  ‘Must like it.’

  ‘Don’t know anything else. Grew up on a dairy farm.’

  ‘In Falcon Ridge?’

  ‘Nah, my joint’s the other side of Redvale.’

  They drove on in silence for a while before Loody said, ‘Just you and your mum, is it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where’s your old man?’

  ‘Back in the suburbs,’ Adam said. ‘We left him a few years ago.’

  ‘See him much?’

  ‘Don’t want to…he’s…he’s trouble.’

  Loody nodded, but didn’t press him for details. Just as well. It was embarrassing explaining how such a decrepit bastard could wreck your life. He hated having to explain to friends that the old bloke smoking a pipe in the corner wasn’t his grandfather, it was his dad. So he never invited people home much. If any mates did come round, the old man criticised them to their faces. That was the kind of bastard he was. But that was before things got really bad, before they escaped. He hoped Falcon Ridge was far enough away to give Kazek the slip. Now the old man couldn’t possibly park outside Mum’s work, or accidentally take a wrong turn into Adam’s street.

  ‘Divorced?’ Loody asked.

  ‘In the process.’

  Loody did the slow crooked nod again. ‘You after some part time work?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’ll be fifteen in a couple of months.’

  ‘Always need relief milkers. It’s not hard work. I’ll have a chat to Colin about it. He won’t care how old you are.’ Loody looked at Adam’s denim shorts. ‘Have to cover up your fancy pants though. Cows will shit themselves. Got any overalls?’

  ‘Nuh.’

  ‘Take those ones under your arse home with you. They’re Matt’s. They’ll probably fit. You look the same height.’

  Adam glanced down at what he could see of the soft, worn material. ‘Right,’ he said. Adam’s mother had mentioned the landlord, Colin Thackeray, and pointed him out, stiff shouldered and red-faced, trudging past the house on his way to the milking shed. There was a son as well, tall and thin like a streak of pelican shit. From Loody’s description, he had to be Matt. Adam kept seeing him wandering around in a grey boiler suit and green gumboots, unless he was off for a jog somewhere.

  The thought of a job filled Adam’s mind with possibilities. Some extra cash would be brilliant. He could get an iPod, or even save for a laptop. His mum, Rosemary, was always at him to get an after-school job. Bit hard when they were never anywhere for long enough. Adam supposed working on the farm would be one way to combat the boredom of living in the bush. As long as he could tolerate Loody, who thought Statkus was such a weird name. He could talk! His name was weird enough.

  ‘What’s Loody mean? Is it short for something?’ Adam blurted.

  ‘Yeah…Ludeman. It’s my surname.’

  ‘Sounds German.’

  ‘Yeah, ancestors settled in South Australia. Grew grapes or some shit.’

  ‘How’d you lose your tooth?’

  Loody gave him an odd look. ‘How’d you stuff up your eye?’

  Adam smiled. Loody sure dressed like a wanker but he was quick with the comeback. ‘Got into a fight with a billiard cue,’ Adam said.

  ‘That’s about how I lost my tooth. Got into a fight.’ He turned the wheel sharply to the left.

  The lurch of the tractor tipped Adam forwards. He spread his arms wide against the windscreen and back window to brace himself.

  ‘There’s a panic bar beside your head, so you don’t fall out,’ Loody offered.

  By craning his neck Adam could see the metal bar. He gripped it with one hand, regaining his balance. Just like being on a tram holding the overhead bars.

  Loody stopped the tractor in front of a wide wire gate.

  Adam sat, waiting for Loody to get out, but he didn’t move. Instead he turned to Adam and said, ‘Passengers open gates, you dumb city slicker.’

  ‘Shit, sorry!’ Adam scrambled down from the machine and dropped to the dusty road. The gate was easy to unlatch and it swung out quickly before sticking in the dry ruts. He lifted it, pushing hard to ease it wide enough for the tractor. Dumb city slicker? What a bastard! As if Adam knew what to do when he’d only been on the farm five minutes. He’d think of some way to get back at Loody.

  The tractor lumbered into the paddock and Adam shut the gate. When he climbed inside again they took off and drove uphill to the right where a tangle of trees stood beside a huge mound.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ Loody said.

  An old yellow tractor was parked in front of some shabby melaleucas. They drove round to the side and there it was, a hill of silage, olive green and smelling sweet. The smell reminded him of the sherry his mum put in the Christmas trifle—that revolting dessert of old cake and custard.

  The pit was like an open-cut mine, about three metres high and ten wide. Trees lined both sides and there was a layer of earth on top.

  ‘You seen those hills of plastic around the district, with tyres on top?’

  ‘Look like giant blue pizzas with massive olives?’

  ‘That’s them. They’re short-term pits. No more than a year or two old. This one’s an earth pit. Dirt does the same job as plastic and tyres. Weighs it down, keeps the air out, so it won’t rot. Some farmers have silage buried for over ten years. Drought insurance.’

  There were bush flies everywhere. They descended on Adam as he jumped from the tractor. They went for the nose and eyes, tickled and taunted him until he waved them away. But they settled on his face again in seconds. Loody cut the engine and joined him on the ground. They walked over to the open face. Some silage was spilt on the ground. It was soft underfoot, like walking on straw, except each shaft of grass had been finely cut, as if some
one had been at it with a pair of scissors.

  ‘Only had this pit open a few days. Once the air gets in, it dries out. We just take a few metres off the face morning and night, so not much gets spoilt.’ He plunged his hand inside the wall of dried grass and pulled out a handful of moist green clippings. He held it to his face and sniffed loudly. ‘Good shit…if you’re a cow.’

  ‘Yeah sure,’ Adam said.

  ‘Stand over by the trailer while I get it loaded,’ Loody said. He hoisted himself into the metal seat of the old tractor and fired it up. At the front was a big set of steel prongs like fangs from a sabre-toothed tiger. Loody drove the tractor forward and opened the grab up wide. There was a puff of black exhaust and a laboured put-put as he plunged its jaws into the mound of silage, tightened the grip and pulled backwards. The newly exposed wall shone bottle-green and black.

  Loody turned the tractor towards Adam, and headed for the cage on wheels. That’s when Adam saw it. A dark object fell from the captured mass of silage and something else, narrow and pale, protruded from the right side of the steel jaws. A broom, a stick, a bone?

  ‘What’s that?’ Adam shouted, pointing at the grab.

  Loody frowned, shifting in his seat to get a better view.

  Adam’s hands and neck were suddenly clammy. He stumbled closer, fighting back an urge to flee. But there was no mistaking what he saw. It was bone. He ran over to the black object, which lay on the soft bed of fallen silage. It was a boot. A black boot with a metal buckle. His eyes swung back to the silage in the grab. The idling tractor had shaken free more of the dead grass. Adam could make out the curving bones of a ribcage.

  Loody threw the engine into neutral and jumped down to join him.

  Adam tried to force back the bile surging up his throat, but he doubled over and vomited. As he coughed and spat, trying to clear the taste from his mouth, he turned to see Loody standing beside him, shaking.

  ‘Fuck, mate,’ Loody whispered. ‘I think we’ve found a body.’

  TWO

  Loody fumbled the mobile from his belt like a drunken gangster. ‘Hope I get reception down here,’ he muttered, punching in the numbers. ‘Come on, come on, you bastard! Answer the phone…hey, hi…Barry, you’d better come and see this. I think we’ve found a body…Yeah, sorry, it’s Loody.’ He was breathless as he gabbled. ‘Over at the waterhole paddock, first turn right after the Pattersons Creek bridge… yeah, mate, see you.’ His hand shook as he put the phone away.