The Fall That Kills You Read online

  Easier said than done. “I guess what I need to know, is this. Can you think of any way that you could see or talk to a man’s ghost, without that bloke actually being dead?”

  This time the pause is so long that I was just beginning to think that she might have hung up. Then I hear her clear her throat.

  “Funny you should ask me that. I can think of a way that might happen. Get comfy. I’ve got a story to tell you.”

  Chapter 4

  On my way out to the police station, it hit me that I should’ve asked Malik for his mobile number. That way I’d be able to call him whenever I knew anything.

  Then again, I don’t know if he even has a mobile. I’ve never seen him use one.

  I’ve never seen him do much of anything, actually. He keeps to himself, mostly to his room at the Inn, and even when I see him leave the Inn I don’t see him go anywhere. How does he make his money? He certainly has enough to pay me, month after month. I’ve wondered before why he doesn’t just buy a house in town, but it was never a big concern of mine. I’d rather his money come to me than have it go to some big bank for a mortgage.

  That was what I used to think, anyway. Now… I have to wonder how a man with no noticeable source of income is rich enough that he keeps the biggest gemstone in the world buried at the top of a mountain instead of selling it off.

  If that isn’t suspicious, it is at least curious.

  My thoughts are slipping more and more toward wondering if the dead man on Hartz Peak was put there by one Malik Brewster.

  How ironic would that be, to have the killer coming to me for help?

  The police station is at the far end of the town, where the paved streets give way to the dirt of Kookaburra Road again. The building is one story tall, made of stucco and brick, and of course it’s painted white like the rest of town. The Lakeshore PD logo is placed proudly on a large round sign out front, a scraggly Monterey pine tree in the middle of the town’s three differently shaped lakes. The Aussie flag snaps smartly from the new pole out front.

  Across from the police station, Oliver Harris’s towing and recovery station squats under an old metal sign that’s been leaning precariously ever since I can remember. The siding hasn’t seen a fresh coat of white paint in years. It’s peeling and chipped and added a sort of rustic charm to the place. Oliver waves to me as I come walking up the sidewalk. I wave back, but he’s busy with a customer’s car and I have no time for a chit chat anyway.

  Just inside the front door of the station is a lobby, where plastic waiting chairs sit lined up against the wall opposite the service window. Wanted bulletins are tacked up on the walls next to public service announcements that haven’t been changed since before my Kevin took over as Senior Sergeant.

  I should talk to him about getting some new material. Pee Wee Herman telling me not to use crack is actually kind of creepy.

  There’s a little metal bell sitting on the ledge of the lobby’s service window. Sometimes there’s an officer sitting at the desk on the other side, but not today. They must all be off working on a case. Or chasing an echidna out of someone’s yard. Or having a cuppa.

  Ah, the exciting life we lead in Lakeshore.

  Bite your tongue, I remind myself. Things are plenty exciting as they are.

  I tap the bell with my palm, and then I wait.

  It doesn’t take long for a familiar face to show up from the back rooms. Constable Arianna Eckert is one of the younger officers in my son’s employ. We’re friends, as much as I’m friends with any of the constables and maybe a bit more as well. For a time, I thought she might have designs on my Kevin, until I realized that was just her way. She’s friendly with her friends. Plus, she has a girlfriend I never knew about until recently, so.

  Her dusty blonde hair is tied up with pins under her cap. The smile she greets me with softens the lines of her usually serious expression. She’s a pretty girl who takes her job seriously. But don’t tell her she’s pretty, she thinks it makes her appear soft.

  “G’day, Dell. Here to see the Sarge?”

  “If he’s not busy.”

  “Not too busy,” she tells me, reaching under the window on her side to press a button.

  The buzzing sound that follows tells me the door to my right is unlocked, leading me inside the department.

  “He’s been on the phone all day,” Arianna tells me now that I’m on this side of the door. “Talking to the Federal Police and the Coroner’s Office and God alone knows who. Think he needs a break, if ya ask me.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how much of a break this is going to be for him, but it’ll certainly be an interruption.”

  She laughs, although I didn’t necessarily mean that as a joke.

  This is the inner sanctum of the police department. Out here there’s the open area where the constables do their paperwork and make their phone calls at the desks. Their dispatch radio is out here, too, although its rarely manned anymore. Not when there’s usually no more than three people on shift at any given time and they can communicate quicker and easier by mobile phone.

  None of the other constables were in the office at the moment and for all I knew they really were all out on patrol already, or else Arianna was the only one scheduled today. There’s a lull that comes over Lakeshore between Christmas and New Year’s, same as with any small town in Australia, I’d wager. This weekend things would pick up with drunken rows and family problems. Kevin would have everyone on duty come Friday and Saturday and especially New Year’s Eve on Sunday.

  Arianna waves a hand down the hallway that leads to the interview rooms and the holding cells, and my son’s office. “You want me to go knock on his door, let him know you’re here?”

  “No, thanks. I know the way.”

  “Okay. Tell him I went on patrol, will ya? Mrs. Nathenby’s dog has got loose again. I swear, if that woman doesn’t start keeping Fido on a leash, I’m gonna write a citation for endangering the wildlife. That mutt has chased just about every roo from here to Hobart and back again. See ya, Dell!”

  I have a little more freedom than most when it comes to wandering around the police station. Most people off the street would never make it this side of the door, let alone be left to wander without supervision. I’m officially listed on a piece of paper in here somewhere as a police consultant, since I’ve helped out with more than one of the investigations here in Lakeshore. At the same time, my son’s the Senior Sergeant, and that in itself lends me a lot more consideration than your average bloke.

  Down the hallway I knocked on the door to Kevin’s office. From inside I can hear him arguing with someone but as soon as I knock, he says, “Enter.”

  He’s a bit surprised to see it’s me, but he waves me in. He’s sitting behind his battered wooden desk, head back, eyes rolled to the ceiling with his desk phone held tight to his ear. His office chair creaks as he rocks back and forth in it. He is the very embodiment of annoyance.

  “Frankly, Nate, I couldn’t care less,” he says. “This one’s adding up to a real bag of rattlers and I’d appreciate it if your office got it done quicker than yesterday. Yes. I know it’s nearly New Year’s. My staff’s down to a skeleton crew as well because I shifted everyone around for the weekend but that doesn’t mean we aren’t— Yes, I know. The Federal Police are lead investigators. I know that, too. Listen, Nate, if ya want me to come down there and do it myself I will, but can we both agree that would get just a tad messy? Why? Because I’m a cop, and I’m not trained to cut open bodies. That’s your department, right? Good. So I can expect something from your guys tonight?”

  He looked at me, and winked.

  “Good, Nate. Thanks so much. Best to Claire and the kids, right? Bye.”

  When he hangs up he taps his finger down against his desk. “And that’s how the game is played.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask him, taking a seat in the chair on this side of the desk.

  “That was Nate Halloway over in Hobart. The Coroner’s Office was going to put off the autopsy of Mark’s brother till Monday. They said they didn’t have the staff and they’re backed up as it is, and all the rest. Now, I can at least expect them to give me a couple details before the sun goes down.”

  “Weren’t you a little hard on him?”

  Kevin shrugs. “Nah. Ever since Nate got that assistant Coroner’s position his head’s been too big for his shoulders. It’s good for him to get knocked about a bit. He’ll bust on me next go round, believe me.”

  “Could he tell you anything at all?”

  “Not much. Enough to know it’s actually murder.”

  If I hadn’t already been sitting down, that would’ve put me off my feet. “How did they find that?”

  “Easy enough, when ya think on it. The trajectory of the fall means he didn’t just step off the edge. Would’ve had to take a running jump to land the way he did, or else he was pushed. So either Craig tried to learn to fly…”

  “Or he was murdered.” Well. There it was. Another murder in our town. “What else did he say?”

  “What else?” He laughs. “That’s not enough? Well. Craig was found this morning about eight. He’d been dead about ten hours, or so Nate thinks. That’s not official, of course. Just a preliminary estimate.”

  “That means he died about nightfall yesterday?”

  “Sounds like. Death was most likely the excessive blunt force trauma to the body.”

  “So he died from the fall.”

  “Or, he was beaten to death, and then thrown off the mountain.” He thinks about that, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment as he shuffles papers on his desk. “Anyway, if ya came hoping for a rundown of what I know so far, well, I think ya just heard it.”

  “I did, actually, but that was just part of it. Um, I also wanted to ask… have they confirmed Craig’s identity yet?”

  His fingers stopped their drumming. “Now, that’s an odd question. I didn’t realize Craig Anderson’s identity was a question mark. He had his ID on him, sure enough, and Mark Anderson said his brother was coming to Tasmania to do some mountain climbing. Craig’s body is with the Coroner. Something happen to change our minds on that?”

  “Er, yes, actually. I… I had a phone call.”

  I explain what happened, about the call from the ghost who said he wasn’t dead.

  My friend Darcy had explained to me that sometimes a person can die, and then come back to life, and in that brief moment when they are dead their ghost goes wandering. Ever hear stories of a patient dying on the operating table and looking down on their own body? That’s what might’ve happened here, Darcy thinks. That’s where it got complicated, because the body the Police brought in is definitely dead. Like Kevin said, the body’s with the Coroner. The ghost on the phone… said he wasn’t dead.

  After I was done talking, Kevin sat there staring at me for a long moment before he got himself together enough to ask a question. “So if I’m hearing all that correct, there might be another victim up there on Hartz Peak? Somebody who fell and got hurt real bad but isn’t exactly dead yet. Sort of dead? Not quite entirely dead? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “To tell the truth, Kevin, I don’t know. I think it’s a possibility, though. How well did the Federal Police search Hartz Peak?”

  “No stone left unturned, as I understand it. They found the hiking gear that I accused Mark of not having. Craig must’ve brought it with him. It was scattered down the mountain along the track his body took in its fall. So, yeah, they searched really well. They were looking for evidence of a crime, though. They weren’t looking for another victim.” His fingers went back to their tapping. “They would’ve looked up and down that side of Hartz Peak, but not anywhere else in the whole of the Park. Might be another victim out there, I suppose. Might be worth looking into ourselves, eh?”

  “Ourselves? You mean, me and you?”

  “Sure. I feel like a drive. Nice day for a hike, too.”

  I stare at him. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course. Ever know me not to be serious?”

  “So many times,” I say with a smile. “Well, then I guess there’s no time like the present?”

  “Got nothing else on my plate but this. Oh, that reminds me. Missed lunch, I did. Let’s grab some sandwiches to go from Cathy Morris’ Milk Bar. I’ll drive.”

  “Too right, you will. I got here on my own two feet.”

  “Course ya did. My Mom never does anything the easy way. Well. Let me get my keys and tell Arianna where we’re going. Not that far to the mountains. Won’t take us long.”

  “What about the Park Rangers? Couldn’t we call ahead and have them help us?”

  “Nope. Hartz doesn’t have Rangers stationed there. No money in the budget to put rangers into all the parks. Ours goes without. So. It’s just us.”

  “Wonderful,” I say, wondering how many times I’ve heard that one before.

  “One thing I can’t figure,” Kevin says to me. “Why would Craig go climbing Hartz Peak without his brother? Supposedly they came here to spend New Year’s together.”

  “Well, you heard Mark Anderson.” I cling to my seatbelt as the car bounces over a hard patch in the road. “He doesn’t like mountain hiking as much as his brother. Maybe Craig just wanted to climb one on his own.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but he literally had to drive through Lakeshore to get to Hartz Peak. He had to drive right by where his brother and him were going to be staying, and he didn’t even bother stopping to say hello before he went off to die on that mountain right there.”

  He was pointing out the window at the looming rise of Hartz Peak. We’d driven almost the whole way now, and where the road wasn’t dirt it was gravel, and where it wasn’t either it was a collection of ruts and potholes. The chicken sandwich I’d just finished was bouncing around in my stomach like a mass of wet cement.

  “More than that,” he continues, “he told his brother he was going to be late. He was intentionally misleading everyone about where he was.”

  “So what does that mean?” I ask him.

  He waits to ride over a bad bump, and then he shrugs. “Seems like the man had his own agenda. Like he had a reason to be here he didn’t want anyone else to know about.”

  Immediately, I thought about the Enoch Diamond. Was it possible that Craig knew about it before he ever came to Tasmania? Maybe he was going to steal the diamond all along.

  “I think I need a snack,” Kevin says, slowing down and pulling the car over to the side of the road as we got close to the last—and only—store, well it was a tiny milk bar really, between Lakeshore and the Hartz Mountains. “Want anything?”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t believe you. That sub you ate was twice the size of my sandwich. Just as long as my forearm. How can you still be hungry?”

  He gives me a little smirk. “I’m a growing boy. What can I say?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  When he pulls up and parks, I follow him in because I want to make this quick. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s not much time for us to figure this out. There might be someone up on the mountain who’s hurt and on the very edge of death. Then, there’s also Malik Brewster’s missing killiecrankie diamond. Mark Anderson, as well, because his brother’s mysterious death started all of this.

  I check the screen on my phone, just to be sure I haven’t gotten a call. If that ghost tries to contact me again, I want to be ready for it. I’ve got exactly one bar of service. Not unusual for out here. Not a lot of mobile towers in this neck of the country.

  Inside the little store Kevin makes quick work of selecting a candy bar and an iced tea, humming the whole time. He enjoys this kind of work. Out in the field, tracking down crime, saving lives and making the world a better place. If life were a storybook, my Kevin would be wearing a cape and catching bullets in his teeth.

  The clerk doesn’t even look up from his magazine as he takes the money, makes change, and hands over a receipt. Kevin takes his snacks, and I figure we’re on our way again.

  Only we’re not. Kevin is still standing at the counter, still humming, looking at something up above the clerk’s head.

  Rapping his knuckles on the counter, he gets the clerk’s attention, finally, and then points at the monitor screen hanging from the ceiling. “Excuse me. The store is monitored, right? Cameras recording inside?”

  The clerk is a young man who I thought I recognized from Lakeshore. Frizzy red hair. Blotchy skin. Wispy scruff around his chin. He looks up at the monitor now, and then back at Kevin, seeming to only just now realize he’s talking to the Senior Sergeant of police himself. “Uh, yeah. ‘Course. We keep track of what goes on out here. Everything proper.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.” Kevin leans his elbows on the counter, starting to open the wrapper of his candy bar. “Got cameras outside? Facing the road?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “See, I just knew we were going to be the best of friends. I’m going to need to see the recordings from yesterday. Sunrise to sundown.”

  I come over to stand next to him, looking up at the monitors myself. “Kevin, what are you doing? We need to get to the mountain.”

  “Sure do, but this very smart man here is going to show us the surveillance of the road first. We’ll be able to see who went up to the peak, and who came out.”

  “Oh, hey. That’s pretty smart.”

  “Too right,” he says, taking a bite of his Chokito bar. “My Mom didn’t raise no fool.”

  The clerk watches us, his head swiveling back and forth like he’s at a tennis match. “Uh, Sergeant, don’t ya need a warrant for that?”

  Kevin takes another bite of the candy bar, chewing slowly. “I suppose I could take the time to get a warrant, sure enough. I could post one of my officers outside that door and keep the store closed until I get back here with a warrant. How d’ya suppose your boss is going to react to losing all that business? Might take me hours, too. Maybe even a whole day. You’re not doing anything for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

  I swear to you, I saw a bead of sweat slip out from under his hair and trickle down his cheek. Whatever plans he had for the night must have been pretty important. He didn’t want to miss them.