Vanished, James Delargy [i like reading books txt] 📗

‘Fella also said that he would work to pay some off.’

‘The travel?’

‘Guess so.’

‘Work for you?’

‘Guess so.’

‘And that was it?’

The scrubber shrugged again. ‘Said he would be around for a few days if I changed my mind.’

‘And you didn’t?’

‘Still here, ain’t I?’

‘Any idea where he might be staying?’

The scrubber thought about it. ‘Fella didn’t say.’

127

Emmaline

So, Ian Kinch had offered to work in return for passage abroad. And the suggestion, as far as she could tell from the boat scrubber, was that he was travelling alone.

The approach had been four days ago. Testing out the cost of transport. The offer to work some off meant he was running short of cash. Maybe he had looked for some short-term work to make the difference up. If so, his options were narrow.

Cape Tribulation wasn’t really much of a town as such, named by Lieutenant James Cook when he ran the Endeavour onto the reef damaging the boat. It was a disparate series of eco lodges, tourist resorts, backpacker hostels and other accommodation tucked deeper into the rainforest. Supporting this were some cafes, restaurants and a couple of convenience stores. They scoured the local businesses for any trace of Ian Kinch, his name and photo presented to the staff.

The Daintree store was the only hit, the teller, a bright-eyed guy with clumped brown dreadlocks, absolutely certain that he had served Ian Kinch.

‘When?’

The guy shook his head as if this part was hazy. ‘I want to say three, no four, days ago.’

Emmaline pressed on. ‘How certain are you that it was him?’

‘As certain as you are standing there.’

‘And how much weed do you smoke?’ asked Oily, who was checking the shelves as if Ian might be hiding amongst the tinned tomatoes.

The teller looked almost offended. ‘None. You can call in your sniffer dogs if you want. I ain’t got anything to hide,’ he said, standing back and spreading his arms.

Emmaline glared at Oily, who returned to snooping around the store. This was an interview not a shakedown.

‘So you’re certain?’

‘My head’s clear, Detective.’

‘Good. So you remember what he bought? Did he use card or cash?’

The teller looked up, staring at the tin roof for guidance.

‘Some long-life,’ he said, pointing towards the cartons of milk without opening his eyes. ‘Cereal. Tim Tams. Beans. Bread. Bacon. Chocolate bars—’

‘Peanut butter KitKats?’

The eyes flashed open, as if in wonder at her guess.

‘Nah,’ he shook his head, ‘we don’t sell them. Cherry Ripes. Mars bars.’

‘Nothing else?’

The head shook again. ‘Nothing.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

‘You don’t want to search me for dope?’

‘Not today,’ said Emmaline. ‘Bigger fish to fry.’

‘Learn anything?’ asked Oily, as they stepped outside. After the pleasant chill of the store, her skin started to prickle.

‘The beans and bacon did.’

‘Why?’

‘They need cooking.’

‘Which tells us?’

‘Where they’re staying there is a cooker. They can’t afford catered accommodation so they must be in one of the self-catered lodges.’

‘Or sleeping in the Holden,’ said Oily, looking at Emmaline and shuddering. In this humidity, that would have been a nightmare.

128

Emmaline

With Ian sighted in the area the next stop were places of possible work. Knowing his area of expertise, Inspector Liang had swarmed the outdoor pursuits and adventure centres like the mosquitoes that seemed to follow Emmaline around. She reckoned she had swallowed about a million of them already. At a conservative estimate.

The business advertised on Ian’s kayaks, Daintree Kayaks, wasn’t listed, seemingly having gone out of business last year. Riley’s Canoes hadn’t seen or heard of Ian Kinch, but as Riley, married to the dreadlocked store assistant given the beach wedding photo on the wall, noted, she was new to the business this summer, as told by the brand new sign and fresh equipment that hung off her shelves.

Odion at Daintree Adventures had a group waiting to go out and was keen to get away as the daylight would be fading in a few hours. He had heard of Ian Kinch but hadn’t seen him since last year.

Johnny, the owner of the Tribulation Experience also knew of Ian Kinch. But again, hadn’t seen him recently. Wondered how he was. Emmaline thought that odd as a visit from the police should have warned him how Ian was. Not good news. His vibe was one of a good-natured and sun-beaten old surfer in his late forties who seemed to have no care in the world. He even offered to take her and Oily out on the waves to look for Ian, but as bad as things might have been for him, Naiyana and Dylan, Emmaline doubted they were living on a kayak.

By 3 p.m. most of the businesses in the area had been questioned. Emmaline left Liang to check out the horse riding centre and the surfing canopy, which offered zipline experiences through the trees.

She tried Canyaks, a kayaking place at the far north end of town. It was run by an enthusiastic husband and wife team.

The wife fielded Emmaline’s questions, her husband scrubbing down a kayak out the back behind the counter, the view looking out over the bay. She stood at the counter with a wide smile on her face, evidently content. Someone who couldn’t see themselves doing anything else, anywhere else, thought Emmaline. Happy. The twinge of jealousy strangled her. That this woman had found a place she didn’t feel the urge to escape from.

‘I know Ian,’ she said, not even looking at the photograph.

‘When did you last see him?’

She appeared to glance over her shoulder at her husband, the sun-bleached curls hiding her expression for a moment. Had something passed between them? A subtle warning to shut up?

She turned back. The smile had turned into a grimace.

‘About three days ago.’

‘Here?’

She shook her head. ‘In town. Trying to hawk some work. He seemed desperate. I wanted to help but there’s barely enough work for the two of us, never mind a third.’ Again, she looked over her shoulder. Her voice hushed to a whisper. ‘I like Ian. He’s been up here for more years than I can remember but