Chapter 8
Kayden
I lifted the chopper off the creek bank and headed east.
Sapphire put her headset on, yet she didn’t say anything as we climbed.
She pulled out her notebook and scribbled hard, like she was trying to get everything down before it faded.
Whatever had been between us on that creek bank, chest to chest, she’d cracked open the old wound.
Now, she was a cop on a job, flying to Winton, and somewhere at the other end of this, Bruce and Wayne were alive or dead, and my father could be the reason.
A lot had changed in three minutes.
I pushed the speed up and pulled my headset on. “What do you want to know?”
She turned toward me. “Everything you’ve been holding back.”
“Everything’s a big ask.”
“Okay. Start with the cottage walls.”
I had known she’d start there.
I drew a breath and gave her the short version.
“Bob turned up at the homestead unannounced. Cassidy tore strips off him about the Henderson brothers lighting that fire. During that argument, Bob found out she and Xavier had been at the eastern outstation when it happened. He demanded she fly him out there. When he saw the stripped walls, he flipped his lid.”
She wrote something down. “And what was in the walls, Kayden?”
There it was.
I kept my eyes on the horizon. “I told you. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
She heard the lie. I heard it, too. And it damn well hurt. Yet she didn’t push. She just wrote something in her notebook, and I felt like the worst kind of coward.
I’d made my siblings promise not to tell a soul about the cash until we figured out whose it was and why it was there. That promise had been made before Sapphire walked into the kitchen and before Bob ordered her out to Koolaroo to find Frank.
But it wasn’t just about the promise. Whoever had hidden that money was dangerous. I wasn’t about to drop Sapphire into the middle of that until I understood what we were actually dealing with.
So, I kept my mouth shut and hated myself for it.
“What did Bob say when he got back to the homestead?” she asked.
“He told us to call him the moment Frank turned up. Then he got in his car and left.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She frowned. “You think he knew what was in the walls?”
“Yep.”
“You think Frank did, too?”
I heaved a sigh. “Probably.”
“If you had to guess, what do you think was in the walls?”
“I thought we were into evidence, not guessing.”
She cocked her head. “Nice deflection.”
“Yeah, well. Right back at you.” I glanced at her. “What do you think was in the walls?”
She held my gaze for just a beat too long. Then looked back at her notebook. “How long have Frank and Bob known each other?”
“Decades. Long before any of us were born.”
“How did they meet?”
I searched back through everything I’d ever been told. Nothing. “No idea.”
“How often did Bob come out to Koolaroo?”
“Too often.” I shifted my grip on the cyclic. “Frank didn’t have friends. Bob was the closest thing, if you could even call it that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some days it was hard to tell whether they liked each other or hated each other. They’d argue like hell, then ride off together like nothing had happened.”
She looked up from her notebook. “They rode off together?”
“Yeah. Bob would show up unannounced, they’d saddle up or take the 4WD and disappear out into the country. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for a couple of days. Sometimes, Bob came back without Frank, and Frank turned up days later like nothing had happened.”
“Didn’t you ask where they were going?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Frank made it real clear from when we were kids that we never asked him what he was doing. Or where he was going. We just stayed out of his way. That’s how it worked. And that’s why none of us were worried when he rode out the last time.”
“Until he didn’t come back.”
“Yeah. Until that.”
“Did any of you ever ask where they were going?”
I almost laughed. “Fuck no.”
She tapped her pen against her notebook. “Could they have been going to the eastern outstation?”
“I don’t know.”
“Kayden …”
“I don’t know, Sapphire.” My voice came out harder than I meant.
“They could’ve gone there. Could’ve gone somewhere else.
Koolaroo is a million hectares. There are caves, creek beds, and gullies out there I’ve never set foot in.
Frank’s been working this land since before I was born.
He knows places on this property I’d never find even if I had a year to look. ”
The rotors beat steadily above us.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Sorry.”
I let out a long breath. “That paint tin you found under the cottage. If Bob or Frank handled it, their prints will be on it.”
“That would help.”
“Evidence.” I glanced at her. “Isn’t that what you’re into?”
The corner of her mouth moved. Not quite a smile. She looked back at her notebook and didn’t push any further. But I could see her mind working behind those eyes, slotting pieces together, stacking up the ones that didn’t fit anywhere yet.
I wasn’t sure whether that made me feel better or worse.
The country scrolled beneath us, red and flat, and I was lying to the one person who might actually be able to figure out what Frank had gotten us all into.
She popped the latch on her backpack, pulled out a slim laptop, and opened it on her knees. Her hair fell forward, and the chopper’s vibration made the screen jitter, but she didn’t seem bothered as her fingers moved fast over the keyboard, completely in her own world.
It reminded me of the School of the Air. She’d always looked like that when she was thinking. I used to invent reasons to stay on our school sessions. Just to watch her concentrate, even if it was only through a crackling UHF connection.
I’d wanted to watch her forever. However, it turned out forever had an expiry date.
I dragged my gaze back to the horizon and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Searching the police property register to see if Frank owns any other properties.”
I laughed. “He doesn’t.”
“Not that he’s told you.” She gave me a lopsided smile, like she felt bad about that comment and couldn’t quite hide it.
That was every damn day with Frank.
I tried to angle a look at her screen, but the glare made it impossible. Her silence was killing me. She huffed. Frowned. Kept typing.
“And?” I said.
“Only Koolaroo came up under Frank’s name.”
“Told you.” I drummed my fingers on the cyclic and stopped myself.
“He inherited Koolaroo Ranch when he was nineteen.” She tilted her head at the screen. “That was young.”
“His father died around then.”
“Huh, he must’ve been young too. What did he die of?”
I searched back through everything I’d ever been told about Frank’s father. Nothing. “No idea.”
“What about Frank’s mother? Wasn’t she in line to inherit?”
“Pfft.” I shook my head. “Go back through every generation who’s owned Koolaroo, and I doubt you’ll find a woman’s name on a single title.”
She groaned.
“Yeah. Maybe that’s why she took off.”
Sapphire’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. “Frank’s mother took off?” She looked up slowly. “Just like your mother did?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I sat with that for a second. “I never connected those two before. But yeah, they both left Koolaroo.” I kept my eyes forward. “Maybe neither of them liked working their asses off for land they’d never own.”
“But both of them left children behind.”
“Yep.” The word came out flat, but I didn’t trust what else might come out if I kept talking.
She turned in her seat so she could see me better. “I know your mother vanished without a trace, but what about Frank’s mother? Does anyone know where she went?”
I wanted to have the answer. I didn’t. “Sorry. No idea.”
“Hmm.” She went back to her notebook.
Nodding toward the notebook, I said, “That thing’s going to be full before we land.”
She gave me a lopsided smile. “Lucky I have another one.” She tapped her backpack and shifted back to face the screen.
I focused on the horizon and tried not to think about the fact that she was piecing together my family like a jigsaw that was all over the place. I checked our heading and adjusted slightly. I watched a wedge-tail eagle ride a thermal far below us, wings spread wide, going nowhere in particular.
“Oh.” Her voice dropped. She went very still.
“What?”
“Who’s William Branson?”
I blinked at her. “I don’t know. Why?”
“There’s a property listing here. A residential block in Winton. Registered to a William Branson. Owned since 1994.” She looked up. “Could that be Frank’s father?”
“Granddad was Jack.”
“Cousin?”
“I don’t know any cousins.”
“Anyone in the family named William?”
“No.”
She was watching my face carefully now. I knew what I looked like. I could feel it. A man who didn’t know his own family. What the hell?
She turned back to the screen. Her jaw tightened. She typed faster.
“Your father had a brother.”
“Bullshit.”
“William Henry Branson. Born 1962. Younger brother of Frank Henry Branson.” She paused, like she was deciding whether to say the next part. “William died seven years ago in Winton. Cause of death is listed as accidental overdose.”
“What the—” My hand jerked on the cyclic, and the chopper lurched sideways. I corrected hard, my heart slamming.
“That can’t be right. Frank’s an only child. We grew up being told that. The Branson line ended with Frank’s sons. He’s never mentioned a brother. Not once.” I shook my head. “And Frank doesn’t own a house in Winton. He hates towns. Frank’s never owned a thing off Koolaroo his whole damn life.”
“He didn’t own this one. William did.”
“He didn’t have a brother, Sapphire.”
“He had a brother. Born two years after him. Hospital records show William was institutionalized for most of his adult life.” She kept her voice even, like she was trying to deliver it gently and knew there was no gentle way.
“Institutionalized?” I frowned. “As in a mental institution? Where? For what?”
“The record doesn’t specify. Just that he was admitted at nineteen and was in and out of care for most of his life after that.”
We sat with that for a moment. The rotors beat steadily above us.