One Boy Missing(65)

Moy realised this was going nowhere. Preston would probably describe everyone he’d ever met in the same terms. He thanked him, left his number and rang off.

THEY RETURNED TO Gawler Street, and the last clean-out of the house before the agent came to inspect it. Moy swept and Patrick followed behind with a mop. When they were finished they sat on the front porch and opened a bottle of Coke. There were no cups so they took turns swigging. Patrick spilled it down his chin and his T-shirt and broke up laughing. Then he snorted and spat out the remains.

‘You okay?’ Moy asked.

‘Went down the wrong way.’

Mrs Flamsteed walked from her yard and crossed the road, carrying a shopping bag with something heavy in it. She asked how they were, and how the move went. Then, ‘Would you like me to keep up the meals?’

‘No, thanks,’ Moy said. ‘I think I’ll be okay now.’

And she looked happy, as though her duty was done, and she could move on. But then she was taken by another thought. ‘I was wondering if you could look at this?’

‘Of course,’ Moy replied.

‘We were having a plant sale. We, I mean the Country Women’s. I have a friend who collected some plants from another…friend.’ She shook her head, unsure. Looking at Patrick, she wondered whether it was an appropriate topic. Then she decided. She took a plant from the shopping bag and showed Moy. ‘Doug reckons it’s a…’ She stopped, unable to say the word.

‘It is,’ Moy confirmed.

‘Right.’

He waited, savouring the moment, wondering whether he should act out some sort of official concern.

‘So?’ she continued.

‘They’re a hardy plant,’ he said. ‘Stick it in the ground in full sun, plenty of water.’

She almost stepped back. ‘In our garden?’

‘Why not? One won’t hurt anyone, and it’s not like…’ He smiled at her, waiting.

‘But they’re illegal.’

‘No, you can keep three.’

‘Is it marijuana?’ Patrick asked.

‘Dope, weed, ganja,’ Moy said.

Mrs Flamsteed was unsure. ‘Maybe I should just pop it in the bin? I thought you might want to investigate?’

‘No,’ Moy said. ‘You keep it.’

She placed the plant back in the bag and said, ‘Righto, well, maybe I’ll return it.’

‘You should sell it,’ Patrick suggested.

‘That would be illegal, wouldn’t it, Bart?’

‘You’ve only got one.’

Mrs Flamsteed smiled. ‘Well, look after yerselves,’ she said, turning, walking back across the road.

Patrick looked at Moy. ‘Is it really legal?’

‘Of course not but…she’s getting on.’

There were birds, and a light breeze through a sheoak. ‘Listen…’ Moy said.

‘What?’ Patrick asked.

‘No more grain trucks.’

‘Have they finished?’

Moy stopped to count the days, weeks and months. He remembered their own harvest and how cold and wet it was when it was over. ‘I think so.’

The Coke was nearly gone when Patrick said, ‘I think we ran down this street.’

Moy looked at him. ‘You and Tom? No, you wouldn’t have passed anywhere near here.’

‘Are you sure?’ Patrick was studying the footpath and trees. ‘We just kept running, and we thought we’d lost him.’

‘You hadn’t?’

‘We turned a corner and saw his car, and he saw us. Then we were off. He did this big skid and turned and came after us.’

Moy handed him the bottle. ‘But he didn’t catch up?’

‘We ran through the park and hid in the wheels of the train. He stopped in the car park and got out and looked. He saw us, but I was running and when I looked he’d got Tom and I just kept going…’ He stopped, still wondering if he’d done the right thing. ‘I went into town, into that laneway, and hid between the bins.’ He looked at Moy. ‘I suppose he told you that?’

‘Who?’

‘The man who came out of his shop.’

‘Yes, that’s what he said.’

‘After he put me in the boot we drove for a minute…and Tom, he was just telling me to be quiet.’

‘How long were you driving?’

‘I don’t know…maybe half an hour. It was dark and smelled like petrol. Then we got to the farm and he locked us in a shed.’

‘What farm?’ Moy asked.

‘I think it was a farm. There were pigs. It was a couple of hours before Tom found a spot where I could get out.’

‘Was there anyone else at the farm?’

‘There was an old man. They were arguing because he was asking why the other guy had brought us there…why he’d hit Mum…and…And the one who brought us was saying he had to, that he thought he’d…’