Wingnut

'New South Wales. She said her mother was a champion rose grower.'

'That narrows it down,' Jason replied sardonically.

'She drove a Ford Panel Van,' Luke offered. 'Don't see many of those around these days.'

'Was it in good nick?'

'I'd say average.'

'Roo bar? Spotties?'

'Neither.'

Jason mulled that over.

'What?' Luke asked.

'Nothing,' Jason admitted. 'I'm just trying to fit it together. A good-looking bird who's on the run ends up in a country pub on Friday afternoon. She has a rose growing mother, a panel van and when she screws over the bloke who takes her home for a root, she leaves him an IOU stating the precise amount of money she took.'

'Why would she go to Queensland?' Luke questioned. 'Why not Victoria or South Australia?'

'Distance,' Jason said. 'She's trying to put distance between her and whoever it is she's running from. She'll also need work. She has a better chance of doing that around here than she does in Adelaide, particularly if she's planning on earning her coin by getting her kit off. There's plenty of mining guys and farmers with money to spare around here.'

'I got the impression she'd made a few quid that way,' Luke agreed. 'She's not rough, though.'

'No,' Jason conceded. 'She was probably raised in the suburbs of Sydney. A rose growing mother and a good education, thrown away when she hit her late teens, bought a panel van and started shagging the bad boys.'

'One of whom isn't ready to let her go.'

'That'd be my guess.'

The men pulled open the last of the sheds on Jock's property. It, like the others, was empty. There was no sign of either Jock or Erin, and nor was there any signs of sabotage or theft.

The entire property was exactly as it should be, which only made the bullet holes, the stolen cash, and the missing farmer and dog all the more unsettling. Even Luke seemed a bit wary as they made their way back to the house.

'Maybe we shouldn't go inside again,' Luke suggested. 'They might want to dust for finger prints.'

They went out the front just in time to see a police car pull up. An officer emerged wearing the tired expression of a country cop who had better things to do than investigate wayward primary producers.

The policeman's attitude quickly changed once Luke explained what they'd found. Within mere minutes his demeanour shifted, and after touring the house and finding the bullet holes, plaster powder, missing money, and untouched mobile phone, he ushered Luke and Jason outside and took down their details.

'Now you boys go home,' the copper said. 'We'll call you if we need anything further.'

Jason took the hint and headed off home. As he got in the car, his phone rang through the ute's Bluetooth speaker system, and he answered it wearily.

'Depressed already?' Amanda teased.

'Mandy!' he exclaimed.

'Daddy!' he heard his son say in the background.

Oh fuck, it was good to hear their voices. It was exactly what he needed after a long and stressful day, and he drove home laughing and sympathising as his wife and son bought him up to date on everything they'd done and seen so far.

'The next person who tells me I'm fat is going to get eaten,' Amanda complained. 'Why are the Chinese so blunt?'

'I dunno chook, but I think you're perfect the way you are.'

'I knew I loved you for a reason.' She said. 'I'm missing you. Don't get up to trouble, you hear me? I want you safe and well when I return home.'

'You haven't a thing to worry about. The only things I'll be doing are working, eating, sleeping and shitting.'

~~~~~~~~

Two detectives arrived at the O'Sullivan's farm on Friday morning. They carried notepads and guns, and wore serious expressions. They asked the first farmhand they came across where they might find Jason Hobbs, and the farmhand stared blankly at them.

'Jason?' he repeated.

'Jason Hobbs,' the elder of the two cops said irritably. 'We've been told he works here a few days a week, and should be on site now.'

'I don't know any... Oh... You want Wingnut,' the farmhand said. 'I'll give him a call and see if he's around.'

The farmhand and the two police all knew full well that Jason was on the property, and they were all fully aware that the farmhand was giving the man dubiously nicknamed 'Wingnut' an opportunity to either prepare himself or run away.

'Isn't that his vehicle?' the younger detective inquired, pointing to a ute with a banner magnet on it. The sign read; 'Better Slashing and Mowing Services' and listed a phone number that matched the one they'd been given for Jason.

The farmhand ignored the question and sent Wingnut a text.

Ten minutes later, Jason drove up in a farm ute, got out, and asked the detectives if they'd found old Jock.

'Not yet,' the younger one said. 'We'd just like to ask you a few questions.'

'In private,' the older one added, glancing at the lingering farmhand.

An uneasy knot formed in Jason's stomach. There was something about the way the cops were looking at him, not a hint of warmth or compassion on their faces, that made him realise that he had to be very, very careful.

'We can go over to my ute,' Jason offered.

Wingnut and the two coppers left the farmhand to himself as they made the thirty metre trek to Jason's ute. Once there, Jason folded his arms over his chest and waited for the interrogation to start.

'Is this about Jock?' Jason asked.

'It is,' the older detective said. 'We've conducted a search of his property and checked his phone and bank records. The last time he used either his phone or credit card was Saturday morning. At this point, we're treating his disappearance as suspicious.'

'Shit,' Wingnut remarked. 'That's no good.'

'Jason Hobbs,' the younger detective said. 'Been a long time since you've been in trouble.'

Jason didn't respond. His skin prickled as he realised what was coming next; a review of the mistakes he'd made in his younger years.

'There were two separate incidents in your youth,' the cop continued. 'Shop-lifting at seventeen, assault at nineteen. You pled guilty to both. Now we have a man, a client of yours, who was robbed and is now missing. Foul play is suspected.'

'Our problem,' the older detective clarified. 'Is that you admit to handling Jock's rifle. Being 'scared' is a handy excuse for why your fingerprints would be on his firearm, isn't it?'

'I was scared,' Jason admitted. 'I saw bullet holes in his ceiling.'

'See, that confuses me,' the younger cop said. 'Who on earth walks into someone's house and stares at the ceiling?'

'Someone who's rolling their eyes,' Jason explained.

Both cops rolled their eyes.

'Nope,' the younger one said. 'I don't buy it. Not for a second.'

Wingnut shrugged.

'That's your problem then, I guess,' he said. 'Do I need to keep talking to you? Or am I free to go? Because I'm getting the feeling this isn't a friendly chat, and that you're looking at me like I'm guilty of something.'

'Well, you're technically free to go, but it won't look good if refuse to assist us with your investigations,' the younger one said. 'Tell us, how's your financial situation?'

'My financial situation?' Jason said. 'It's okay. The wife and I get by. We have some money saved.'

'Any debts?' the cop pressed.

'Sure. A mortgage, the wife's car loan, and a business loan.'

'How's that business of yours going?' the older cop asked. 'It looks to me it isn't doing that well if you're working on a farm.'

'The business nets around twenty thousand a year,' Jason replied. 'I earn maybe thirty, forty thousand a year doing contract labour, farm work, machinery operation, and anything else anyone wants.'

'Let's just say fifty thousand,' the older cop said. 'Your wife earns how much?'

'Seventy.'

'She earns more than you,' the younger detective remarked.

'Yep,' Jason agreed.

'That annoy you?'

'Nope.'

He kicked the ground, frustrated and angered by the line of questions. There was no preamble, no attempt at kindness, just a flat out attempt to stir him up.

'I reckon this is enough,' Jason said. 'I have work to do. The boss doesn't pay me to stand around talking.'

The two police exchanged pointed glances.

'Don't leave town,' the older one said.

Jason watched them leave. When they were out of earshot, he muttered 'wouldn't dream of it'.

He went back to work, but he couldn't help feeling rattled. No one wants to feel they're under police suspicion, least of all for a suspected... a suspected what? Kidnapping? Murder? Fuck. Jock had annoyed Jason, but Jason had never wished ill on anybody.

The shop-lifting charge had resulted from a small but necessary theft. He'd been seventeen, working full time and living out of home. One of his workmates had thrown his work boots onto a main road 'as a joke', where they were quickly run over and rendered unusable. Jason had no money to buy a new pair, but he knew he'd be out of a job quick smart if he didn't wear a pair to work the following day. He rang his Mum but she couldn't help. He rang his father, who could help but wouldn't. So Jason did the only thing he could; he stole a pair from a workwear store.

He'd known before he even entered the shop that he'd be caught, and in some ways it had been a relief to feel the Manager's hand on his shoulder. He'd been living hand to mouth for too long; struggling to pay his share of the rent and bills in the share house, run a car, and keep himself clothed and fed, all on a junior wage. The police had come, a social worker called, and he'd got some help.

The assault charge was just bullshit. He'd been drinking at a pub, sitting quietly at a table having a beer with a few mates, when a bouncer on a power trip told them to get out. To cut a long story short, it was the first and last time he'd tried arguing with a six foot two, heavily built bloke with a good dose of 'roid rage. The fact that Jason had managed to hold his own well enough not only to avoid serious injury, but to end up being charged with assault, surprised Jason more than anyone else.

All in all, Jason felt his criminal history was more than amateur actions of someone young and stupid, rather than the seedlings of a life of crime. He'd had to get a blue card in his mid twenties, when working for a school, and the government department had agreed that a few foolish mistakes shouldn't continue to haunt him.

Fuck, the cops didn't seriously believe Jason had robbed and killed Jock, did they? He wished the answer was 'no', but those questions about his financial affairs surely suggested the answer was probably 'yes'. Christ, Amanda was going to fucking kill him if he got arrested for murder. She'd stress out. Cry. Do all of the things women do. Maybe move back to Brisbane, to Sunnybank, divorce him, and find a Chinese husband, just the way her parents had always wanted her to.

Jason drove home from work in a panic. He'd only just arrived at his modest little house when Amanda rang. She was chirpy and gossipy, telling him all about what they were up to, and asking how he was. She said he sounded stressed. Was he okay? Hungry? Horny? Did he want to order some takeaway and skype her later that night, so he could get some relief?

'I'm just tired,' he lied. 'Don't worry about me. What was it you told that bitch you work with when you told her you were leaving me at home?'

'My husband's fine on his own; I didn't marry a retard,' Amanda quoted.

'There you go,' Jason said. 'I'm fine. It's just been a big week and I'm tired. I miss you, but I don't want you to feel guilty. You keep having a good time, and enjoying yourself. I'll see you when you get back.'

'I love you.'

'I love you, too,' he replied. 'I miss you.'

'I miss you too.' She lowered her voice. 'And I'm really horny. When I get back, make sure you don't masturbate before heading to the airport to pick me up. I need you to be able to get a stiffy almost immediately after we get home, because I'm already ready to go. No foreplay needed. After another three weeks, I'm not going to be able to wait for you to do anything more than pull your pants down.'

Jason grinned. 'Have I ever had a problem getting hard?'

'No, but I'm just making sure you know well in advance what I'm going to do to you.'

'I wouldn't worry. Just listening to you tell me that is getting things going,' Jason remarked, peering at the growing bulge in his pants. 'Fark. Why'd you have to start talking to me about sex?'

She laughed wickedly. 'Just so you can experience the same sexual frustration I'm feeling.'

He laughed under his breath. Amanda giggled, then apologised and said one of her relatives was calling her and she needed to go. They said good-bye and ended the call, leaving Jason shaking his head and smiling like an idiot. He loved Mandy and he trusted her implicitly, but there was an irrational part of his brain at work that had been suggesting that she might get up to mischief while in China. He'd told himself he was being foolish, but self doubt was a difficult thing to entirely extinguish. Her phone call had reassured him.

Half an hour later, the thoughts of sex and his wife and how great it would be when she returned home had been replaced by the nagging fear that the police might come and arrest him.

Jason barely ate or slept that night. He was panicked by the possibility of being targeted by cops. He couldn't afford to be arrested. How on earth would he and Mandy rummage up the money for lawyers? What would his son think? And what if the person who actually did murder Jock went on to kill more people?

Jason didn't think he was a bad man. He wasn't perfect, but he didn't screw over his clients, or mess with the competition. Sure, sometimes in winter, when funds were tight, he didn't declare the odd cash job or two, but he was small fry compared to multinationals with headquarters in Bermuda who didn't pay a cent in tax. The ATO could survive without the few hundred a year that he probably should have paid them.

He had to clear his name. He couldn't go down for murder. But what was he to do?

The answer came to him the following morning as he was halfway through the first job of the day. He, Jason, a.k.a. Wingnut, would find the murderer. If he could locate the person responsible for the dastardly deed, then his name would, by default, by cleared. Amanda was due back in three weeks. That gave him three weeks to investigate, find the culprit, and ensure that the police made an arrest.

Anyone who has spent large tracts of time on a piece of machinery or in a factory performing a monotonous task knows that after a while the mind begins to wander. Your actions become automated and you begin to think about all sorts of things that you wouldn't otherwise have the time to consider.

Not everyone can cope in that situation. For some, being left alone with their thoughts is a nightmare, a chance for mental illness and anxiety to fester and grow, but Jason was a rational person and spending eight hours cutting and slashing wasn't an exercise in mental strength. It was instead a time to think and reflect.

By the time his second job was complete, he'd created a list of suspects. There was Robbie, the electrician. Wingnut understood the agony of extended periods of tight finances, though thankfully, his days of poverty had been limited to his late teens and the shortest skerrick of his twenties. He could see how and why a man in Robbie's situation might be tempted to take a gun and force the money Jock owed out of him.

Murder, however, was a stretch too far. Try as he might, Jason simply couldn't imagine the tradesman, regardless of how desperate he might be, extending his actions to murder.

The second suspect was Shelley. Jock's dislike of women was well known, but Jason had known a number of men who had the same attitude towards the fairer sex, and he'd noticed a curious similarity between them all; they hated regular, Western women but they had a lot of tolerance for submissive Asian beauties and sex workers. They liked women who were willing to pander to them, regardless of what the pandering was costing them.

Jock had once crossed paths with Amanda, and the Scotsman had later remarked to Jason that he must've been pissed off when his wife grew fat and loud.

'That's the way she was when I met her, and that's the way I like her,' Jason had replied in the tone of voice that told Jock that saying anything further might be detrimental to his wellbeing.

Jock's expression told Jason that he felt he was a fool, and Jason had had to force down his anger, but as Jason mowed, he realised the exchange had showed him something valuable; Jock, like so many other misogynists, wasn't asexual, and that he felt a certain type of woman was still worth his time and effort.

Shelley would have been right up Jock's alley. Pretty, well-kept, desperate, and accustomed to earning cash by taking her kit off. Was it possible that Jock had seen the woman working on Luke's farm and somehow had a private conversation with the woman about what services she might be willing to offer a lonely primary producer such as Jock?

Not only was it possible, Jason thought, it was highly probable. Shelley could well have slipped into Jock's house early on Monday morning, fucked him, robbed him and taken off down the road.

But that again didn't explain why both Jock and Erin were missing, did it? Nor did it explain the bullet holes.

Jason was fairly confident Shelley wasn't a country girl, and the chances of a suburban Sydney woman being able to shoot were extremely remote. Furthermore, what motive could she possibly have for murdering Jock and his dog, and what would she do with their bodies? Throw them in the back of the panel van and start driving? That was a faint possibility, but the sheer weight of Jock would have proved a challenge for the woman.

The third suspect – or suspects – were the previous owners of Luke's farm. Jock had managed to force them off their land, and that was no laughing matter. Five acres wasn't a huge property, but nobody goes to the effort of planning, tilling, planting, spraying, irrigating, fertilising and harvesting without getting emotionally involved.

What had Luke told him? That the wife had used round-up to spray a dick in Jock's lawn? To an outsider that might sound dramatic, but Jason would have done far, far worse if he were the former landowner. At the very least he would have mixed a broad spectrum residual herbicide in with the glyphosate to help retain the pattern even after Jock had sown new grass.

Was it possible the couple had spent the past few years stewing on their anger? Growing more and more angry at Jock, and the damage he had done to their farm and their lives? Two people could have easily murdered Jock and disposed of his body, and a blatant theft would be a good way to throw detectives off their scent.

Jason was confident there were three suspects: Robert, Shelley and the former owners of the property. One of them was surely responsible, and he was determined to find out who it was, and in doing so, clear his name before Amanda returned to Australia.

~~~~~~~~~~

'Jason,' Luke remarked, opening his door. 'What are you doing here?'

'I want to speak to you about Jock,' Jason explained. 'The cops came around yesterday when I was at the O'Sullivan's. The way they spoke to me it was kinda like they reckon I'm a suspect.'

'They spoke to me, too,' Luke said. He held the door open. 'Come in.'

Jason walked inside Luke's house. It was beautifully renovated, and everything inside was neat, new and clean. It was a good step up from Jason's small three bedroom home. Someone had invested a lot of money in the place.