“He worked with the Forestry
Department as an ordinary worker for over thirty years. That’s why we are here
in the Danbulla State Forest. We’ve just been talking to the Forestry blokes at
the barracks up the road. The interesting thing is that we were just on our way
to Robsons Creek because of something they told us.”
Roger was amazed, and his face must
have showed it because Inspector Sharpe nodded and said, “Yes, one of them said
he was driving back from Tinaroo on Saturday just before lunch and he saw Mr
Krapinski come out of the jungle just beside the bridge at Robsons Creek. He
was carrying a shovel. The man stopped to talk to him. They’d worked together
for years and he just asked casually how he was getting on in his retirement
and what he was doing with the shovel.”
“He said Mr Krapinski was very
abrupt and unfriendly and just got in his car and drove off. The forestry bloke
was a bit miffed but thought that maybe Boris was digging up plants, which he
shouldn’t do in a State Forest, so he forgot about it till we called this
morning.”
“So now you can see why, when you
mentioned Robsons Creek and two men with guns searching the jungle, my ears
pricked up. It all looks very odd.”
Roger asked, “It was murder was
it Sir?”
“Yes. Shot in the head. We didn’t
get the bullet but we got the one out of the tree. And yes, there were two
different guns fired at the murder scene.”
“Gosh!” Roger said. His mind
raced with possibilities.
Peter broke in. “You said the man
lived in Atherton Sir?”
“Yes. He lived alone. His wife
died some years ago. We searched there yesterday afternoon. That raised our
suspicions too, didn’t it Sgt Crowe?”
The hard-faced, solid Detective
nodded and sucked his teeth. “It certainly did Sir.”
Inspector Sharpe explained. “We
got there at about four p.m. but we were too late. Someone else had beaten us
to it. The place had been searched. And I mean searched! All the carpets rolled
up, cupboards emptied, wall panelling ripped off, floorboards torn up.”
“What were they looking for?”
Graham asked.
“We don’t know. But whoever they
are they must want it pretty badly. They must have spent hours ransacking that
house.”
The Detective Sergeant snorted.
“And the bloody neighbours never heard or saw a thing!”
Peter cut in. “Whatever they were
looking for, it must be hidden in the jungle back at Robsons Creek.”
“A treasure maybe!” Roger cried.
He could not keep the excitement out of his voice. This was so interesting!
Inspector Sharpe smiled.
“Maybe.
Whatever it is, it’s worth committing murder for. We
are going there now to organize a full-scale search.”
“Can we help?” Roger blurted out.
“Roger!” Stephen and Graham both
cried.
Inspector Sharpe laughed. “Thanks
son, but you’ve been a big help already. You’ve got a hundred kilometre hike to
do. How much have you done?”
“Only about twenty kilometres,”
Graham answered.
Roger felt annoyed and deflated.
He didn’t want to walk a hundred kilometres. He wanted to solve this
mystery. Then he remembered. “Oh Sir, we also found this badge. The blond man
dropped it.” He pulled out the badge and passed it to the Inspector. While the
three Detectives examined it he described how it came into their possession.
Inspector Sharpe looked very
thoughtful for a minute. He pursed his lips and tapped the badge into his left
palm. “I will take this. We might get a fingerprint off it.”
Roger flushed with shame. ‘What
an idiot I am!’ He hadn’t thought of fingerprints.
Inspector Sharpe saw his
crestfallen look. “It’s alright Roger. You’ve been a big help. Now, finish your
lunch and have a nice hike. See you later.”
He turned and walked back to the
police car with the other two detectives. Roger realised he was still
holding his half-eaten tin of peaches in his left hand and felt a bit
embarrassed. What a goose he was at times!
The police drove off and the boys
sat down and fell into animated discussion of all they had just been told.
“Told you they
were foreigners!”
Peter said.
Graham laughed. “Well you’d know,
with a name like Bronsky!”
Peter bridled. “That was my
Grandad. Anyway he was a Russian, not a Kosarian. And besides, what would the
Aborigines call you, you Scottish reject!”
Stephen stopped the dispute.
“Where’s Kosaria?” he asked.
“Eastern Europe somewhere; the
Balkans,” Peter replied.
“It’s one of those little
countries squashed in near Serbia, Bulgaria and Greece,” Graham added.
They all accepted this without
dispute knowing that Graham had an encyclopaedic memory for such things.
“Isn’t it interesting?” Roger
asked. “I think it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever been involved in. I’d
love to be there when they find the treasure.”
“Treasure!”
Graham snorted. “Old Boris
probably got bumped off for playing around with his neighbour’s wife.”
Peter laughed.
“At
his age!
Ha ha ha! That’s what’ll happen to you. How’s Rosemary getting
on these days?”
Graham scowled. Rosemary, who was
in Year 10, was obviously a sore topic with him at that moment. “Come on Roger,
eat up. Time we were moving.”
Roger bristled. “Just because
Rosemary dumped you for that yob Nigel in Year 12 you don’t have to take it out
on me by marching me to death.”
Graham sucked his teeth and
muttered but said nothing. Peter and Stephen grinned. Roger kept on eating,
deliberately taking his time.
Ten minutes later they hoisted on
their packs and started walking. Roger looked back in the direction of Robsons
Creek. How he wished they were walking that way! He would even walk fast if he
could be there in time to help solve the mystery. With a sigh he turned his
back and set off after the others.
The road ran wide and straight
for a kilometre. It was hot and dry and a passing 4WD full of tourists threw up
the dust. Within a hundred paces Roger was perspiring and all his aches and
pains had come back.
After passing through another
belt of jungle they came to the Forestry Barracks; two lines of sheds and huts
facing each other across a hundred metres of open grass. There were several
vehicles parked there but the boys saw no-one.
The road then began to climb
quite steeply and curved right. They passed into shade with the tree canopy
meeting overhead. The leaves on the trees and bushes all looked drab with a
coating of dust. Roger soon slowed to a crawl. Graham kept stopping and looking
back impatiently. That annoyed Roger but he made the effort to keep plodding
on.
The road wound around several
curves and continued to climb for half a kilometre. To Roger’s intense relief
he saw sunlight ahead on a level space. Here a side road went off to the right
and the main road doubled sharply back on itself to the left.
“The Python Road,” Peter said.
Graham nodded. “That’s the one we
went down to get to the lake during the exercise last year.” The friends
briefly discussed the exercise while they paused to get their breath back and
to have a drink. Then they resumed marching along the main road.
The road ran almost level along
the crest of a ridge. The ground dropped away steeply on either side. Large
trees again formed a cool tunnel of shade. Roger wanted to ask for a halt to
catch his breath but kept silent. Slowly his breathing slowed to near normal
and the sweat began to chill on his soaked shirt.
From time to time Roger got a glimpse
out through the trees of other jungle covered ridges and of distant mountains
but he didn’t have the energy to pull out his map all the time in the way Peter
and Graham did. He had faith they wouldn’t get lost. They were good at
navigation. Roger felt a twinge of envy. ‘They are good at lots of things. And
they aren’t all pudgy and unfit!’ he thought wistfully.
Graham called to the others.
“There’s that old timber road we followed last year when we went to capture the
fort.”
Roger looked up and saw an
overgrown logging track going up a rise on the left. It vanished into the
forest. The main road went right, snaking around the side of a steep hill with
moss covered cuttings on the left and a drop into the green tangle on the
right. The rainforest down there looked most uninviting.
Once again the others halted to
wait for Roger. He wasn’t far behind so they said nothing but the looks on
their faces hurt. Roger pursed his lips and forced himself to walk faster.
The road curved left, then right,
then left. As they trudged around that curve Roger thought his heart was going
to stop. He found he was walking in a state of such mental turmoil that later
he could only remember snippets.
There was the black car!
And not two men in black with
guns but four!
The men were standing in a group
looking at a map spread on the bonnet of a red and white 4WD. Two of the men
were the pair they had met previously. Another had a round face and glasses and
had a shotgun slung over his shoulder. The fourth was much older with a hard,
hatchet face and close-cropped grey hair.
At that moment the man with the
glasses saw them. He gave a guilty start, (or was that just imagination?) and
went to unsling the gun. All the others turned in surprise and Roger saw the
blond man put a hand out to stop the man with the glasses. He shook his head
and said something but the boys were still too far away to hear.
Roger felt an urge to turn and
run. Instead he just plodded on behind the others. He wanted to call out to Graham
to tell him to act naturally but by then they were too close.
He found himself muttering “act
naturally, act naturally!” and had to make a conscious effort to will himself
do so. He didn’t know whether to look at the men or not but found it impossible
to look away.
Graham waved. “G’day. How’s it
goin’?” he called to the men. Roger was filled with admiration for the tone of
breezy nonchalance Graham used - or did he not understand the situation! These
are the killers! And there are four of them - with guns, or at least two had
them. The older man and blondie appeared unarmed.
The older man wore knee length
leather boots, obviously highly polished despite
a sheen
of dust. The men looked hard at the boys and for a moment, as they came up to
them, Roger feared ... he didn’t know what. He just feared!
Then the blond man gave a smile
and said, “Hello boys. How goes the hike? It is hot is it not,
ja
?”
“Too bloody
hot!”
Graham
replied with a grin.
“Nefer mind.
It is down der hill from here,”
the man said.
By then the boys were level with
them. To Roger’s intense relief Graham didn’t stop. As he passed the men Roger
managed a feeble grin but he was panting for breath and his heart seemed to be
hammering at a hundred times his normal rate.
The one called Bruno said
something in the foreign language and the other three laughed. It was an
unpleasant sound and Roger felt a flush of embarrassment and anger. He was sure
they were laughing at him.
Graham just kept on walking. The
road had a couple of curves in it but not enough to hide them from the men for
several hundred metres. There had been a spur on the right with a timber track
along it where the men were parked but after that there were high cuttings on
the left and a steep drop on the right.
“Keep walking, act normal!” Roger
whispered urgently. He was managing to keep up with the others.
“Calm down Roger,” Peter called
back. Stephen turned his head to look back.
“Don’t look back,” Roger hissed.
They trudged on. The road began
to go slowly downhill. At a sharp bend to the left Roger risked a glance. The
men were out of sight.
“Stop here! They can’t see us
now,” he called.
The others stopped and turned to
face him.
“It’s them!” Roger gasped.
Peter grinned. “No!”
“Don’t clown Peter! It’s those
men. And did you see?
All in black, and with guns.
We’ve got to tell the Inspector!”
“Calm down Roger,” Graham said.
“How are we going to tell the Inspector?”
“By telephone?”
Graham shrugged and gestured at
the surrounding jungle. “It’s a fair way to the nearest phone.”
“How far?”
Roger demanded.
Graham looked at his map.
“Five or six kilometres.
Not till we get out of the Danbulla
State Forest.”
Roger’s heart sank. Then he
brightened. “There must be one back at the Forestry barracks.”
“Sure to be. But how are you going
to get back there? Are you going to cut through the jungle on a compass course
or walk back past those men?” Graham asked.