Grace Under Fire, page 11
Satan barked and started to lope ahead of them.
“What’s that smell?” She started to run.
Picking up speed, Ryan caught her at the edge of the river. Satan stood barking, rushing backwards and forwards towards two metal drums. They’d been deliberately punctured—huge, gaping holes. A thick liquid seeped into the ground. The odour caught the back of his throat and stung his eyes. They’d been dumped a few metres from his gates on Grace’s land.
“Hold on.” He grabbed her arm. “Stay back. You don’t know what it is.”
“I can guess. It’s reddish yellow and smells like rotten-egg gas.” She shook off his hold and edged closer. “There’s sulphur in it, and it shouldn’t be here.”
“Then stay the fuck back!” he yelled. His gate. He had drums like this. Enough to make him prime suspect. Although his had been empty the last time he’d seen them.
She eyed him balefully but stepped back.
“Satan, here.” Ryan snapped his fingers. The dog came to his side. “Who comes down here?” His brain was calculating possibilities while he spoke. Rochelle? She’d been on his land recently—supervised. His crew knew to report any unauthorised arrivals or movements, plus he was known to use CCTV.
“Dad and I do from time to time. It’s part of our buffer with your property to meet the organic certification requirements. It’s where the properties meet, our closest point. That’s why we chose it.” Her eyes focused on the source of the spill.
“How wide’s the buffer?”
“Twenty-five metres at this point.”
“Then you should be safe.”
Grace glared at him. “We’ll need to notify the certification body, get a fresh inspection.”
“What’s the worst-case scenario?” Dumping chemicals didn’t feel like Rochelle’s kind of crime. Ryan didn’t doubt she bent the law, but there’d be one helluva scandal if Grace lost the farm to sabotage. Rochelle had spent years encouraging collective amnesia about how Ridgeway Wellness Centre had miraculously sprung from prime Anderson farmland.
“It could set organic certification back months”—Grace hugged herself, her voice bleak—“and it’ll cost to clean it up.”
Ryan read the subtext. The delay in certification would reduce her week-by-week takings. The cleanup would be a massive hit. A one-off, but it’d cost hundreds if not thousands of dollars. Fury fisted his hands as he scanned the surroundings. The narrow track they’d walked down was the one Grace and Danny had ridden as teens. On his side of the river, the track was wider. Overgrown but still wider. They’d driven down it years ago to go swimming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used it—the last time any of his crew should have been down this way.
“Have you got your phone?”
“There’s no reception here,” she snapped.
“I left mine in the truck. Use the camera. Get some shots.” If not Rochelle, the field of candidates widened considerably. “How do you want to handle it?”
“I want to make it vanish, but the police need to see it. If I find out who did it, I’ll press charges.” She didn’t have the headspace or resources for a legal challenge, and whoever had sabotaged her back paddock knew it.
“Any ideas?”
She stared blankly at him, surveyed the devastation, and her mouth set in a firm line.
He checked his watch. “Can you get reception from the Ute?”
She nodded.
“Take the shots. Go back and call the cops. It’s bleeding into the river and going downstream. I’ll check further down to see if there are any other dump spots nearby and meet you back at the vehicles.” He didn’t add, “You can fight me then.”
He smelled a fight coming.
* * *
“How long?” Grace snatched off her sunglasses and watched Ryan walk towards her. Her land and water deliberately poisoned. Suspicion was a rampaging bull firing her blood, making her heart race and her hands clammy. “Twenty to thirty minutes,” she repeated the cop’s answer for Ryan’s benefit and turned off her phone.
“It’s meant to look like I did it,” he stated.
“Are you saying you didn’t?” Grace’s muscles stretched tight enough to make her bones hurt. She’d confided in him, about the bank’s position, about how desperate she was for the deposit. Only him.
“I’ve got some old drums, not all of them empty, and the makings for this cocktail,” he said flatly.
“Something you could knock up.” Sunglasses hid his eyes from Grace, but his body braced, not for the first time in their encounters. The poison on the land contaminating the air around them.
“If it’s lime sulphur, the recipe’s on the internet. So, yeah, I could knock it up,” he agreed. “The ingredients are legal.”
“Legal doesn’t mean they’re not deadly!” Grace flung up a hand. The timing favoured his involvement. Dinner a few nights ago could have given him the idea; this morning she’d admitted she needed help.
“Are you accusing me?” His voice was icepick cold.
“The circumstantial evidence is pretty persuasive,” she muttered. It was too hands on for the “luscious” Rochelle, and Grace’s parents had always insisted Rochelle was opportunistic rather than criminal. Besides, Rochelle might guess Grace was financially vulnerable, but she’d handed Ryan the information for free. She’d broken her cardinal rule, and hey presto—instant disaster.
“Why?” His frustration was tangible.
“Poisoning the land makes it worth less money. The cleanup could push me to the wire, so I’m forced to sell whatever the price.” Even as she catalogued her reasons aloud, none of them fitted Ryan. “You get these few paddocks for a song. Maybe a chance at the lot.”
“That’s crap, and you know it.” He gripped her hands, forcing her to face him. “Has anyone objected to your shift to organic?”
“Yes!” Grace wanted to roar at the senseless waste. “Years ago, when we started.” Her father and she had nurtured the land with painstaking care. Impossible to tell the extent of the damage until she got an organic chemist to test the soil and water. Insurance wouldn’t cover it all.
“When do you think it happened?” He was pushing her to analyse, not react.
Grace pulled herself free, crossing her arms to hold the rage and fear inside. “Last night, maybe the night before. The overnight rain helped spread it.”
“You only told me about the bank’s decision this morning. Unless you think I have an informant at the bank!” He took a few jerky steps away from her.
His back was rigid, clenched muscles straining against the worn work shirt, tucked into equally well-worn jeans. As unmoving as a mountain. She’d lashed out at him because her first instinct had been to ask for his help. A few weeks ago, she wasn’t even speaking to him—she couldn’t afford to lean on anyone. Stupid! Stupid! It made sense to consider the possibility he was the perpetrator.
He whirled to face her. “Why would I suggest meeting you here today if I’d dumped poison in the river?”
“You tell me.” Grace tried to stare through his glasses, a shiver trembling through her. “We don’t have random acts of vandalism this far out of town.”
“You’re making me your prime suspect? That shows a remarkable lack of imagination, Grace.”
Bees buzzed, a light breeze rifled the trees, high clouds swirled, tiny dots on a broad blue sky. Quiet enough to hear branches bumping each other. A perfect day, except for the malicious destruction beside the river and the chasm she’d opened between them. They stood silent, readying for a shootout at the O.K. Corral.
Ryan moved first, opening the toolbox on the bed of his truck.
“What are you doing?” Grace moved closer.
Leaning into the box, he extracted gloves, a trowel and two glass bottles before turning back towards the river.
“Shouldn’t we wait for the cops?” She trailed behind him.
“It’s a crime scene. They’ll probably call for forensics, and we won’t be able to cross the tape.” He stopped short of the site.
“You’re crossing ‘the tape’ now,” she pointed out. Police forensics could take days to report on the contaminants. She didn’t have days.
“We’ve had rain. I can’t see any clear tracks from either direction.” He donned the gloves, pulled the handkerchief over his face and walked a large circle around the site. “Stay back. No point in both of us inhaling this,” he ordered when she made to follow. He approached from the river, his boots in water, then moved fast to scoop some of the contaminated dirt and some of the seeping liquid into the cylinders.
Screwing the tops closed, he retraced his steps. “Move.” He drew her further away, dragged his handkerchief down and sucked in fresher air.
“Are you okay?”
“Thanks for asking.” He gave a half smile, which was more than she deserved, given her knee-jerk accusation. “The police will send out a team and get it tested. We can do it faster. Take whatever remedial steps need to be taken.” He handed her the precious vials and turned back to the vehicles. “They’ll cut that siren when they turn onto the track.” He returned the equipment to his toolbox.
Grace moved ahead as the police stepped from their flashing vehicle. “Hi, Bill, she addressed the senior cop. “I’m guessing you know Ryan.”
“From way back.” The officer grimaced as if he’d rather forget whatever happened “way back.” “Morning, Ryan. This is Pete.” He gestured to his off-sider. “What’s happened, Grace?”
Donning her glasses, she led the police towards the river, the smell threatening to gag her with each step. Ryan followed more slowly. Her feet dragged as doubts about the justice of her accusation grew. They’d been talking about Danny. She’d stomped on the fragile friendship she’d been forging with Ryan with all the finesse of a herd of wildebeest. Ryan wouldn’t do this. Insight cut through the noxious stench. Emotional closeness scared her, so she’d rather strike first than be hit from behind by the return swing of the gate.
“Looks like it was dumped from the other side.” Bill raised an arm and pointed to the tracks they could see. “That’s your place, isn’t it, Ryan?”
Bill’s readiness to cast blame made Grace wince. Her crossed arms and scowl when the cop had arrived hadn’t helped. Blue Sky had been attacked for a reason, and the who as well as the why were critically important.
“You know damn well it’s my place, Bill.” Ryan sounded annoyed rather than guilty. “I have drums like this in an unused shed. I haven’t cleared all of them off the property yet.”
“I imagine every farmer in a hundred-kilometre radius has some,” Pete said neutrally.
“Is it yours?” Bill asked.
“You mean, did I dump it here? No.” Ryan’s voice stayed level, but tension radiated from him. “Is it part of my store? I did inventory before I locked the shed. It won’t be that straightforward. My drums were empty when I locked them away.”
“Anyone got access to the keys?”
“You know the drill, Bill. We keep a key board in the common area so whoever needs to collect something from a shed doesn’t have to waste time.” He shot a glance towards Grace. “I operate on trust with my team.”
The words flicked Grace like a lash.
“Everyone has access,” Bill noted. “Pete, can you tape the area?”
“It’s not such a big stash anymore. I’ve been working my way through the backlog when I have time, getting the EPA to assess and recommend disposal. You’re welcome to check before you start a larger search.” Ryan’s offer confirmed his innocence to Grace, and damn—maybe she should cut out her tongue. Ryan added, “It could help in identifying whatever it is, its age, maybe its toxicity.”
“That’s mighty cooperative of you.” Bill’s tone became more conciliatory.
“Drums labelled like some on my property. Dumped at the bottom of a lane leading from my place to the river. This was designed to implicate me in a malicious damage charge. Or at the least cause me major embarrassment,” Ryan recited her assumptions.
“Designed to damage your relationship with the Andersons.” Bill looked from one to the other, his interest roused. “Why would anyone do that?”
“I’m buying the farm,” Grace said.
“I heard rumours.” The cop studied her intently. “How widely is it known?”
“Hell!” Grace rolled her shoulders, remembering her little bit of self-promotion. The bush grapevine travelled at lightning speed. Add social media, and no secret was safe. “I gave a talk to the country women’s association the other day. Anyone could put two and two together and get four.”
She’d broadcast the news she needed money. She glanced at Ryan. His stance seemed to scream “about time.”
“Could be the whole state knows.” Bill grimaced. “I told my wife there’d be fallout from the new milk contracts.”
A reasonable assumption, but not the truth, and in his folksy, low-key way, he was pushing for the truth. “They’re selling because of Mum’s health,” she admitted.
“So, it must be sold, whatever the price?” Bill rubbed his chin, as if giving the idea serious consideration, his gaze straying to Ryan with a curiosity he didn’t bother to mask.
Ryan stood hipshot beside her, seemingly calm, quiet. Rage was a fellow traveller to both of them, a constant companion since Danny’s death. Ryan concealed his, while she exploded in messy rants. She could feel how tightly wound Ryan was, as if he’d whispered his frustration in her ear. Being so attuned to him was disconcerting in its intimacy. She’d hurt him with her instant suspicion.
“If I can’t get the finance the farm goes on the open market.” Not news she wanted to share, but Bill was studying cause and effect.
Bill let his gaze travel across the open space, the spiked drums, the nearby river, the buffer of trees. “Someone wants it on the open market.”
“If you’re looking for motive, I’ve made two offers for the property,” Ryan interrupted. “I could have dumped this shit to cost Grace and her parents money they don’t have to drive the price down. A nice addition to my spread—at the right price.”
Grace’s temper tantrum had fizzled out, leaving her miserably ashamed of herself. Whipping off her glasses, she faced Ryan, trying to communicate an apology without words.
“That would be out of character.” Bill was laconic. “I know your mum. I know your history. I check the people who move into the district. Just enough to know if I need to keep an eye out. You don’t even have a parking ticket.” The last was said almost in disgust.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Some of the rigidity left Ryan.
“Any special reason why you’re down here today?”
“Sheer luck,” Grace blurted, struggling to make amends. “I invited Ryan to have a look at the poppies.”
Bill looked from one to the other with new interest. “Of course you did.”
“Rochelle Harkiss has also made offers.” And while an unlikely candidate herself, Rochelle did consort with unconvicted criminals like Smithhouse. Grace edged closer to Ryan, branding him an ally.
“We’ll keep this quiet. Make a few discreet inquiries.” Bill nodded to the junior officer circling the dump site with police tape, a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. “I’ll speak to Pete. You’re close enough to town for others to have an eye on the property, developers, light industry. Anyone expressed interest in mining?”
“Over my dead body,” Grace muttered.
“Are there more sites?” Bill asked.
“I checked a few hundred metres in both directions. Didn’t find anything. This one’s enough,” Ryan answered.
“It’s serious enough to threaten my organic certification.” Grace shoved her hands inside her pockets. Rising fear was a cold shroud settling on her shoulders.
“Whoever did this took a risk.” Bill scratched behind one ear, surveying the damage. “Has your property been unattended in the last few weeks, Ryan?”
“All my crew were at the field day.”
“Mum and Dad only talked of selling on the Saturday night of that weekend.” Grace baulked at the idea of premeditation.
“It’s common knowledge your mum’s been sick. Ella was up that weekend as well. She’s been up more than usual lately. Could be people think it’s because she wants to show off her baby? Could be people have been watching and adding up a number of coincidences?” Each new scenario Bill painted opened a Pandora’s box of unknown evils.
“You’re convinced they’re linked?” Grace bit her lip. Her impulse reaction to blame Ryan had released the immediate rage. In a bizarre way accusing him made the problem manageable. “You think someone wants to force me out?”
“I’ve got a lot of thoughts. Most of which I’d rather keep to myself until we get a few facts to support them.” Bill dragged out his investigator’s notebook. “Got any CCTV at your place, Ryan?”
“Cameras to protect the new equipment I’ve bought.” Light bounced off Ryan’s glasses, and Grace desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, what he wasn’t saying. “Nothing to pick up movements to the old shed.”
“Checked the CCTV recently to see if they’ve been any unusual comings and goings?”
“Not for a few days. Satan lets me know if anyone’s around at night. We haven’t been disturbed.” Ryan rubbed his chin. “To be honest, that’s when I’d expect trouble if it was coming.”
“Satan one of your crew?” Bill looked up from his notebook.
“You could say that.” Ryan pointed to the dog beside him. “Meet Satan.”
Bill surveyed the three-legged dog, and his eyebrows rose. “Check it out, and if you find anything, let me know. Somebody driving onto your place with an excuse ready if they’re caught works. If they held on to the stuff for a rainy day, pardon the pun, then they didn’t need to go back via your place but could have come in from this side. I’ll need to ring your dad, Grace, to check a few things. The property’s still in his name.”
“Give me a few hours to tell him myself.” Grace grabbed this new chance to make amends. “And let him know Ryan was here.”
“I’ll get forensics in as soon as I can. You’ll want to know what it is.” Bill signalled to Pete. “Let’s head back.”
