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

there was something about him this time, a desperation. I’ve seen it before. Like he had gone troppo.’

‘Troppo?’

The woman smiled wanly. ‘Spent too long hiding out from civilization and gone… a bit loopy. We’ve got caught out with it before. A guy we employed a few years back. He took a truck one evening with half our kayaks and gear. Drove off and flogged it down the coast. We lost a couple of grand. That’s when I learned to pay attention to people. There are those who are desperate for work and those who are just desperate. Ian looked desperate. Troppo.’

Admitting this brought a sadness to her eyes. Emmaline could see that she cared. Maybe too much.

‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

‘No, but try Tribulation. That’s where I bumped into him. Coming out of it.’

Emmaline furrowed her brow. ‘The Tribulation Experience?’

‘That’s the one. Used to be called Daintree Kayaks but Johnny wanted something snappier for his new location. He and Ian are pretty tight. He might have passed him a few hours, for old times’ sake.’

Emmaline was out the door in a flash. Tribulation Johnny had said nothing about seeing Ian recently.

If Johnny was startled by the police arriving at his door for a second time, he didn’t show it. He carried on taking an inventory of items in the shop, marking them down in his book.

‘Change your mind about a tour of the coast?’ he asked, with a cackled laugh.

‘Have you changed your mind about when you last saw Ian Kinch?’ replied Emmaline, hoping the directness would knock the dried bullshit from Johnny’s demeanour.

Johnny paused briefly before returning to the shelves. ‘I haven’t seen him since last year.’

‘That’s not what we hear,’ said Oily.

At this Johnny turned, his eyes narrowed as if waiting to hear what the police had before saying any more.

‘He was spotted leaving this place, three days ago.’

Still Johnny didn’t speak. So Emmaline decided to swing again.

‘You do realize why we are after him, Mr McLaughlin?’

Emmaline watched some of Johnny’s breezy disposition fade with the seriousness in her voice.

‘He is a suspect in three murders, plus the disappearance of another two people.’

Johnny’s mouth fell open as if to speak but shock prevented him.

‘That’s why we are keen to contact him.’

‘Three murders?’ asked a stunned Johnny.

Emmaline nodded. ‘So I’ll ask you again: have you seen Ian Kinch recently, Mr McLaughlin?’

There was a quick nod.

‘Where and when?’

‘He didn’t say anything about…’ Johnny trailed off. ‘Here. He came in looking for work. A few hours, cash in hand. I’ve known Ian for years. He comes up here every summer… Three murders? And Ian killed them?’

‘That’s what we want to find out, Mr McLaughlin,’ said Oily, inching towards the back exit to prevent any desperate attempt to escape.

‘That’s why we need to speak to him,’ said Emmaline, covering the front door.

But it didn’t look like Johnny McLaughlin was in any shape to flee, taken aback by the shocking revelations about his friend. He shook his head. ‘Ian wouldn’t… He’s a nice guy.’

‘There might be things about your friend that you don’t know,’ said Emmaline. ‘Happens all the time. When was he in here?’

‘Three days ago. I gave him a couple of hours’ graft. Haven’t seen him since. I guessed he had gone out on the waves.’

‘Did he say where he was staying?’

Johnny closed his eyes, thinking. ‘Said it was a little around the coast. Not quite in town.’

‘In his car?’ asked Oily.

Johnny looked at him oddly. ‘You don’t sleep in your car here. You’ll either boil to death with the windows up, or be bitten to death with the windows down.’

‘Did you get a name of the place?’ asked Emmaline.

‘No, but there’s only one place I can think of.’

129

Emmaline

All Tomorrow’s was a business that hired out huts and cabins. It was based just off the beach and towered over by Mount Sorrow, the peak masked by a ring of low cloud as if shielding it from the horrors of the world below. The main office too was a hut, the one window peering through the trees for a beautiful, if obstructed view of the white sands beyond.

The owner was clad in a dress that was practically see-through, so much so that Emmaline struggled to keep Oily’s attention focused on the case. Her name was Summer Haze. It suited her attire and her personality, bubbly and eager to help.

Emmaline asked if anyone by the name of Ian Kinch had rented out a property. Checking the records on the tablet, Summer shook her head.

‘What about Ian King?’ asked Inspector Liang, seemingly not bothered by the mosquitoes at all. In fact, of everyone in the room it only seemed to be Emmaline that they were targeting. Her and her sweet blood.

Again, Summer checked. Again a no. Followed by a half-smile that oozed pity. For herself. For not being able to help more.

‘What about in the past?’ asked Emmaline.

Re-energized, Summer set about getting an answer. A few taps later and her smile said it all.

‘Yes, an Ian Kinch has been here before. For the last three years. Usually Ponting or Waugh. Good, quick access to the beach.’

It made sense that he would book under his real name. This was his getaway from any misdeeds. His separation of personal and public life.

‘Are any of the cabins occupied at the minute?’ asked Liang.

‘They all are. It’s summer!’ said Summer with excitement.

‘Did this guy rent one?’ asked Emmaline, again passing her phone with Ian’s photo on it. Her de facto screensaver at the moment.

Summer shook her head. Again disappointment washed over her face as if Mount Sorrow was wielding its malevolent influence again.

‘But I only work day on, day off.’

‘Who works—?’ said Oily, finally getting the courage to speak. Emmaline cut him off.

‘Anyone pay in cash?’

Summer looked it up. And nodded. ‘A Mr and Mrs Jessop. In Waugh. I wasn’t on shift. Come to think of it I haven’t seen either of them leave the cabin.’

Two of them. Suggesting Naiyana was alive.