realizing that the soggy ground would suck me down.
‘Watch out!’ Summer’s dad warned, too late.
Fifty metres further along the lake’s edge, a fisherman flicked his line over his shoulder and then jerked it forwards, letting his reel unwind. I heard the whirring noise above the squelch and suck of my boots in the mud.‘Actually, I’m out here looking for someone!’ I turned to confide in Jon Madison. ‘Do you know Henry Jardine?’ But this time it was me who was too late – Summer’s dad had taken off in the opposite direction and didn’t look round.
‘You’re looking for Henry?’ The fisherman up ahead had overheard my question. ‘You’re out of luck. He’s not here.’
Shoot again! I didn’t have any backup to my crappy plan. ‘Are you certain?’ I checked with the old guy with the rod.
‘Trust me,’ he grunted. ‘I see everyone arrive and leave. He’s not here.’
So what could I do except turn around and squelch back towards the car park? My feet were already wet and the mud was oozing between my toes inside Laura’s boots. When I reached dry land, I sat on a rock to unlace them, not even looking up at a newly arrived fisherman who passed close by. The boots and socks were laid out in a row to dry in the sun when I heard the old guy in the distance call out a greeting to the newcomer. ‘Hey, Henry, did you talk with the girl?’
Now I looked up. I saw the back view of the new arrival – a middle-aged man in a grey T-shirt, wearing the long rubber waders that fishermen use, with a canvas packslung from one shoulder and carrying a rod in his right hand. I sprang up from the rock and ran barefoot after him.
He turned towards me, obviously expecting trouble, concentrating his disapproval on my feet. Then, as I arrived, he looked me up and down. ‘Do I know you?’ he demanded.
‘No. Yes! Well, not exactly. I was a witness at the Summer Madison shooting.’
‘Honey, do you see me in uniform? Does it look like I’m on duty?’ the deputy sheriff grunted, getting ready to walk right on.
I ran to block his path. ‘You’re Henry Jardine, right? You knew Dean, the cop who was killed in a road crash?’
This halted Henry in his tracks. He didn’t let down this guard though – he kept his eyes narrowed. His drooping, dark, western-style moustache hid his mouth and stopped me reading his mood. ‘What’s Dean Dawson got to do with anything?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. He was a friend of yours?’
‘So?’
‘I … knew him. He shared a few theories with me about Summer’s death. And no, before you ask, I don’t have anything new to tell you about his crash.’
‘And I’m still out of uniform,’ Henry reminded me. Buthe hung around long enough to show he was interested in what I was doing there.
‘It’s about Zak Rohr,’ I told him.
Jardine swatted a fly that buzzed around his face. ‘Zak who?’
‘Rohr. You caught him setting a fire with two other kids, remember?’
‘Oh, the Rohr family – they’re a great addition to the Ellerton community.’ He gave a hollow laugh and was about to walk on again. ‘What happened to your shoes?’ he asked as an afterthought.
‘They’re on the rock back there. Listen, I talked with Zak. He had nothing to do with the fire.’
‘You’re the girlfriend,’ Jardine recalled all of a sudden. ‘Phoenix Rohr had a girlfriend. He was planning on meeting you the night he got stabbed. Wait, I got the name on the tip of my tongue … Davina … Darina. Yeah, Darina!’
I could have praised Jardine’s powers of recall, but decided against it. Instead, I let my shoulders sag at the mention of Phoenix’s name.
‘So now you’re trying to help out the kid brother,’ Jardine went on more kindly than I’d expected. ‘But go figure – maybe he doesn’t deserve your help.’
‘I talked it through with him – the older kids—’
‘Jacob Miller and Taylor Stafford,’ Jardine interrupted.
‘It was down to them. Zak was a pure
‘Watch out!’ Summer’s dad warned, too late.
Fifty metres further along the lake’s edge, a fisherman flicked his line over his shoulder and then jerked it forwards, letting his reel unwind. I heard the whirring noise above the squelch and suck of my boots in the mud.‘Actually, I’m out here looking for someone!’ I turned to confide in Jon Madison. ‘Do you know Henry Jardine?’ But this time it was me who was too late – Summer’s dad had taken off in the opposite direction and didn’t look round.
‘You’re looking for Henry?’ The fisherman up ahead had overheard my question. ‘You’re out of luck. He’s not here.’
Shoot again! I didn’t have any backup to my crappy plan. ‘Are you certain?’ I checked with the old guy with the rod.
‘Trust me,’ he grunted. ‘I see everyone arrive and leave. He’s not here.’
So what could I do except turn around and squelch back towards the car park? My feet were already wet and the mud was oozing between my toes inside Laura’s boots. When I reached dry land, I sat on a rock to unlace them, not even looking up at a newly arrived fisherman who passed close by. The boots and socks were laid out in a row to dry in the sun when I heard the old guy in the distance call out a greeting to the newcomer. ‘Hey, Henry, did you talk with the girl?’
Now I looked up. I saw the back view of the new arrival – a middle-aged man in a grey T-shirt, wearing the long rubber waders that fishermen use, with a canvas packslung from one shoulder and carrying a rod in his right hand. I sprang up from the rock and ran barefoot after him.
He turned towards me, obviously expecting trouble, concentrating his disapproval on my feet. Then, as I arrived, he looked me up and down. ‘Do I know you?’ he demanded.
‘No. Yes! Well, not exactly. I was a witness at the Summer Madison shooting.’
‘Honey, do you see me in uniform? Does it look like I’m on duty?’ the deputy sheriff grunted, getting ready to walk right on.
I ran to block his path. ‘You’re Henry Jardine, right? You knew Dean, the cop who was killed in a road crash?’
This halted Henry in his tracks. He didn’t let down this guard though – he kept his eyes narrowed. His drooping, dark, western-style moustache hid his mouth and stopped me reading his mood. ‘What’s Dean Dawson got to do with anything?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. He was a friend of yours?’
‘So?’
‘I … knew him. He shared a few theories with me about Summer’s death. And no, before you ask, I don’t have anything new to tell you about his crash.’
‘And I’m still out of uniform,’ Henry reminded me. Buthe hung around long enough to show he was interested in what I was doing there.
‘It’s about Zak Rohr,’ I told him.
Jardine swatted a fly that buzzed around his face. ‘Zak who?’
‘Rohr. You caught him setting a fire with two other kids, remember?’
‘Oh, the Rohr family – they’re a great addition to the Ellerton community.’ He gave a hollow laugh and was about to walk on again. ‘What happened to your shoes?’ he asked as an afterthought.
‘They’re on the rock back there. Listen, I talked with Zak. He had nothing to do with the fire.’
‘You’re the girlfriend,’ Jardine recalled all of a sudden. ‘Phoenix Rohr had a girlfriend. He was planning on meeting you the night he got stabbed. Wait, I got the name on the tip of my tongue … Davina … Darina. Yeah, Darina!’
I could have praised Jardine’s powers of recall, but decided against it. Instead, I let my shoulders sag at the mention of Phoenix’s name.
‘So now you’re trying to help out the kid brother,’ Jardine went on more kindly than I’d expected. ‘But go figure – maybe he doesn’t deserve your help.’
‘I talked it through with him – the older kids—’
‘Jacob Miller and Taylor Stafford,’ Jardine interrupted.
‘It was down to them. Zak was a pure
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