Read Online Dead Men Don't Order Flake by Sue Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Sue Williams
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ignored that. ‘You need to talk to her. Also: whatabout this Will Galang? His death got anything to do with Natalie?’
‘You mean the bloke who died on Jensen Corner?’
‘What? Exact same spot as her?’
‘Exact same spot as a lot of people.’
‘Did they know each other?’
‘Doubt it. He wasn’t a local. Anyway, good thing you called, Mum. Have you got any old photos of Leo Stone? School photos, maybe?’
‘What do you want them for?’
‘I’m not at liberty…’
‘Well, I’m not at liberty to release my photos.’ I pressed my lips together.
He sighed. ‘You know as well as I do that there are legitimate concerns about this man’s identity. And/or his activities in the Congo. I’d have thought you’d want to help.’
‘Dean, you’re wasting your time. He is Leo Michael bloody Stone. And, listen, you’ve got bigger things to worry about—i.e. the probable murder of Natalie Kellett. You need to reopen that investigation. Seriously.’
A pause.
‘You still there?’ I said.
‘I am the person who decides when I reopen an investigation, not my damn mother.’ He hung up.
12
My car was back in action and home by one o’clock: delivered in person by Marty of Marty’s Smash Repairs. Not sure how I’d managed to get the Sunday royal service: presumably Leo pulled some strings. I spent a quiet hour in my back room, battering some whiting. After my two-customer lunchtime rush, I decided to go out.
I drove past a clump of mallee wattle, a shower of yellow beside the road. Sped past the Solar Logic site. Ex-site. That solar joint was pretty much the sole topic of conversation locally for a while. The biggest solar thermal plant in the world, right here in the Mallee: dawn of a new economy for the region! So the Hustle Post had trumpeted. They got in early, dubbing it ‘Hustle’s Solar Flagship’. In fact, the site’s actually 553 metres closer to Rusty Bore. Vern got out there and measured it. It’ll put Rusty Bore on the map , he said more than once; a lot more than once. You’ll see .
We saw all right. What happened was we got a new lot in government. A rapid swathe of cutbacks to anything mentioning the word ‘renewable’. World’s biggest solar thermal farm scaled back—first to a pilot plant, then a feasibility study. Finally, Solar Logic shipped themselves and their solar farm off to China. Hustle’s solar flagship was scaled back again, this time to an empty patch of orange dirt.
For a while, there was a shred of hope the place would become a community solar farm: first of its kind of Victoria. Especially when Vern announced that Rusty Bore was aiming to be Victoria’s first carbon-neutral town. Announced to whoever came into his shop, that is.
I swerved around a goat wandering on the road, remembering it was thanks to Showbag and his goats that the community solar farm never took off. I can’t believe so many people listened to his doom about ‘solar sickness’. His evidence was goats with headaches. For real , he said, Blackie holds her head to one side whenever she’s near a solar panel. What a joke.
The wheat paddocks sailed by. Twenty minutes later I was in Hustle, pulling up outside the Garden of the Gods Extended Care Nursing Home.
Taylah was busy on the phone at reception, winding a strand of long dark hair around a pen. Behind her, a TV screen flickered. Words flashed onto the screen: Self-obsessed, drug-ravaged gym junkie destroying lives . I stood at the desk and waited.
‘Nooo,’ Taylah’s voice was low and breathy with incredulity. There was some moist clicking as she worked her Spearmint Extra. She glanced up. ‘Hold a tick, Glenny.
‘Hey Cass, I suppose you’ve, like, heard?’
‘Heard what?’ I said absently, looking around for the register to sign in.
‘About Leo Stone faking his death.’
The phone rang and Taylah pressed a button. ‘Hello, Garden of the Gods Extended Care? I’m sorry but we’re in the middle of a fire
‘You mean the bloke who died on Jensen Corner?’
‘What? Exact same spot as her?’
‘Exact same spot as a lot of people.’
‘Did they know each other?’
‘Doubt it. He wasn’t a local. Anyway, good thing you called, Mum. Have you got any old photos of Leo Stone? School photos, maybe?’
‘What do you want them for?’
‘I’m not at liberty…’
‘Well, I’m not at liberty to release my photos.’ I pressed my lips together.
He sighed. ‘You know as well as I do that there are legitimate concerns about this man’s identity. And/or his activities in the Congo. I’d have thought you’d want to help.’
‘Dean, you’re wasting your time. He is Leo Michael bloody Stone. And, listen, you’ve got bigger things to worry about—i.e. the probable murder of Natalie Kellett. You need to reopen that investigation. Seriously.’
A pause.
‘You still there?’ I said.
‘I am the person who decides when I reopen an investigation, not my damn mother.’ He hung up.
12
My car was back in action and home by one o’clock: delivered in person by Marty of Marty’s Smash Repairs. Not sure how I’d managed to get the Sunday royal service: presumably Leo pulled some strings. I spent a quiet hour in my back room, battering some whiting. After my two-customer lunchtime rush, I decided to go out.
I drove past a clump of mallee wattle, a shower of yellow beside the road. Sped past the Solar Logic site. Ex-site. That solar joint was pretty much the sole topic of conversation locally for a while. The biggest solar thermal plant in the world, right here in the Mallee: dawn of a new economy for the region! So the Hustle Post had trumpeted. They got in early, dubbing it ‘Hustle’s Solar Flagship’. In fact, the site’s actually 553 metres closer to Rusty Bore. Vern got out there and measured it. It’ll put Rusty Bore on the map , he said more than once; a lot more than once. You’ll see .
We saw all right. What happened was we got a new lot in government. A rapid swathe of cutbacks to anything mentioning the word ‘renewable’. World’s biggest solar thermal farm scaled back—first to a pilot plant, then a feasibility study. Finally, Solar Logic shipped themselves and their solar farm off to China. Hustle’s solar flagship was scaled back again, this time to an empty patch of orange dirt.
For a while, there was a shred of hope the place would become a community solar farm: first of its kind of Victoria. Especially when Vern announced that Rusty Bore was aiming to be Victoria’s first carbon-neutral town. Announced to whoever came into his shop, that is.
I swerved around a goat wandering on the road, remembering it was thanks to Showbag and his goats that the community solar farm never took off. I can’t believe so many people listened to his doom about ‘solar sickness’. His evidence was goats with headaches. For real , he said, Blackie holds her head to one side whenever she’s near a solar panel. What a joke.
The wheat paddocks sailed by. Twenty minutes later I was in Hustle, pulling up outside the Garden of the Gods Extended Care Nursing Home.
Taylah was busy on the phone at reception, winding a strand of long dark hair around a pen. Behind her, a TV screen flickered. Words flashed onto the screen: Self-obsessed, drug-ravaged gym junkie destroying lives . I stood at the desk and waited.
‘Nooo,’ Taylah’s voice was low and breathy with incredulity. There was some moist clicking as she worked her Spearmint Extra. She glanced up. ‘Hold a tick, Glenny.
‘Hey Cass, I suppose you’ve, like, heard?’
‘Heard what?’ I said absently, looking around for the register to sign in.
‘About Leo Stone faking his death.’
The phone rang and Taylah pressed a button. ‘Hello, Garden of the Gods Extended Care? I’m sorry but we’re in the middle of a fire
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