Chapter 11 #2
She leaned forward, one forearm resting on the table. ‘Something keeps nagging at me about that place. The first time I was there, I put it down to some outback fable of the Missing Overseer. But that afternoon, when you and I…’
‘Kissed.’
She huffed at him, as a warning to be serious. ‘I realised it’s more than that—not the kiss—that place felt abandoned, but not empty, if that makes sense. Like something was left unfinished.’
‘And…’
‘Can you tell me about the case?’ And then up went that nose, and the hoity-toity tone reappeared. ‘Unless you don’t want Federal Police involvement in a local matter—'
What a load of bulldust. ‘We work in the same station, Montrose. And I already told you I’d share.’ He tapped on the open file. ‘Sawyer Dixby was the overseer of Dixby Downs. He went missing almost three years ago. No trace, no body, and with no single reason that anyone could agree on.’
He dragged out a photo of a guy with the kind of face that screamed mummy’s boy—chubby cheeks, a bleached mop, and a beard that looked either glued on to hide his triple chins or grown for a dare.
His designer shirt broke records for colourful bad taste—loud, smug, and practically yelling I spend daddy’s money.
Squinted eyes topped it off, the kind you’d expect on a bloke who peaked at 21 and never got the memo that the party had ended.
‘He’d be thirty-five now. But this photo was taken three years ago—right before he vanished.’
Amara shifted forward to inspect the photo. ‘The version I heard was he’d run away.’
‘That’s the popular version on the outback telegraph line. Some reckoned the family money had dried up, with debts piling high.’
Amara bit her lip, the frown just as fast.
Was this too close to home for her? Considering her own family fortune’s demise—that he had yet to fully research.
‘But you thought more, huh?’
‘That theory just never sat right with me.’ He dragged out more images from the file to show her.
‘No one ever saw Sawyer leave. His bank accounts remain untouched. They found his ute on a side track, empty. Keys in the ignition, but no owner, except some blood splattered across the seats, and drops, like a trail in the dust…’ He shuffled out a stack of photos taken of the scene.
She stared at the images and the incident report from the file. ‘This isn’t about a man who just walked away, is it?’
‘Nope.’ Again, Porter flipped through the file—pages, notes, witness statements, and sun-faded photos of Dixby Downs back when it was in its prime: cattle thick in the yards, men on horseback, and the homestead lived in.
‘Sawyer’s mother, Tilly, refused to sell the land and wouldn’t let anyone else run it.
She just… left it to rot. Some say she was waiting for her son to come home. Others say she knew he never would.’
Amara exhaled, rubbing her jaw. ‘That’s why you’re looking into this.’
Porter gave a slow nod. ‘This isn’t just a missing person’s case. Like you said, it’s unfinished business.’ And he wasn’t expecting her to continue with the case, purely because it didn’t involve livestock.
Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Again, Amara broke the silence, leaning forward to pick up the photo of the thriving homestead.
‘I got a weird feeling at Dixby Downs that day. The place looks abandoned, but someone’s been out there recently.
I saw fresh footprints near the yards, and the water tank behind the shed—the same one we were in—was recently filled. ’
He seen that, too. Giving her a mental tick of approval that the constable had done so, and that her curiosity was driving her now—an excellent trait to have as a cop.
She met Porter’s gaze. ‘If Tilly has left the land to rot, is someone else maintaining it? A property that size doesn’t just sit untouched.
Like water tanks should be left to run dry.
Surely, if she wasn’t running cattle, she wouldn’t have someone checking boundary fences, or have someone monitoring the watering points.
It makes little sense, Porter. Either this owner knows more than she’s saying, or someone else has been using that land under her nose. And I want to know which it is.’
Porter sat back in his chair as the slow grin spread across his face. ‘Well, well, well. Look who finally caught up.’
Amara narrowed her eyes. ‘What?’
‘Took you long enough to figure that out.’ He tapped the side of his forehead.
‘I clocked the water tank the second I arrived. Full tank, no station hands, no cattle, and lots of straight fence lines. I may not be a stockman, but I can read the signs. Either the ghosts have gotten real thirsty, or someone’s been topping it up.
’ He smirked, stretching out his legs under the table.
‘And the tracks? I’ve been tracking those since my first visit out there. ’
‘How? Are you a tracker like Craig?’
‘I’m nowhere near as good as Cowboy Craig, but I do go hunting.’ He took a sip of his coffee.
‘When did you first notice the tracks?’
‘Soon after I met Tilly, she asked me to take a look for her. About four months ago… Not that long before you lot stumbled out there on that Cold Stock Case.’
Amara’s jaw clenched. ‘And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?’
‘Oh, I’d considered it.’ He lazily lifted a shoulder. ‘But you seemed to be having such a fun time coming to the conclusion all on your own.’
She huffed out a breath, shaking her head. ‘You’re such an arse.’
‘You say that now.’ He stood, grabbing his police hat and tipping out the rest of his coffee in the nearby sink. ‘But I think we can be civil to each other, while you accompany me to talk to Tilly.’
Amara crossed her arms, glaring at him for a moment. ‘That’s only because I want answers.’
Porter winked at her as he rinsed out his mug and left it to dry on the rack beside the others. ‘Exactly. And because, deep down, you know I’m right.’
‘Where’s Tilly now?’
‘At The Lodge. The aged-care facility, right across the road.’ He glanced at the clock, then closed the lid on his laptop. He scooped up the photos, returning them to the case file, and slid it back amongst his pile stacked on the spare chair. ‘You can wait until morning or…’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to wait.’
‘Didn’t think so.’ She obviously needed a distraction.
He opened the security door for her.
‘Aren’t you meant to man the phones or something?’ Amara glanced around the empty office space.
‘The phones get diverted to my mobile. Come on, we’d hate to miss her. Because I think you’re in for a busy day tomorrow, chasing down the information on that brand.’
She gave him an irritated look, as if hating that he was right. ‘Fine. Let’s go talk to Tilly.’