Page 1 of The Bait

ONE

TALLOWWOOD

Detective August Shawplucked the can of WD-40 from the shelf, flipping it a time or two as he whistled his way to the checkout at the hardware shop.

Winter was almost here, but the weather was warm today, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and his damn office chair was squeaking.

Not that winter had much to do with that. But the can of WD-40 sure did.

Bill had a customer at the counter, but he brightened when he saw August. “Ah, the good detective here might be more helpful than me,” he said. “This gentleman here was wanting to know which access roads into the national park were open.” He pointed to the map they were both studying. “This road in was closed, or so he said.”

August looked at the man. He was short and stocky, had black hair, thick eyebrows, and dark eyes.

“Ah, yeah. Big storm recently made it impassable. They’re doing some grading work on it.”

The guy looked disappointed and annoyed.

“You looking to go camping in there?” August asked him.

“Yes,” he said. “Camping. Was told it was good for fishing.”

He had a thick accent that sounded a little familiar.

“Whereabouts are you from?” August asked with a smile, hoping to sound conversational and not digging for information. “Hope you didn’t have to travel too far.”

“Come from Sydney,” he said.

August didn’t believe that. “Nice.” He turned his attention back to the map and tapped an access road along the western side. “You can enter the park in through here. Bit of a trek to the river though, but you won’t be the only one there. It’ll be busy with the nice weather. Say, what type of fish you hoping to catch?”

The man baulked. “Sorry, English not good.”

“Ah, sorry,” August said, still being cheerful. He tapped the map again. “This road.” He went to the front door signalling for the man to join him. He pointed down the road. “Head left, five kilometres. You’ll see the signs.”

The man gave him a tight smile, took his map, and went to his 4WD. Two other men sat inside it, looking none too happy.

August took in the details of the vehicle, watching it as it slowly drove away.

“Guess we can expect tourists with warmer days like this,” Bill said, ringing up the can of WD-40. “Hope they’re not expecting to catch dinner. Bit early for fishing. But whaddya expect from city folks.”

August nodded and smiled, as unfazed as he could manage, as he swiped his card to pay. “Yep.”

“Oh.” Bill made a face. “I didn’t mean you. I don’t think of you as a city type. You’re a local now.”

August snorted, took his can of WD-40, and walked to the door. “Thanks, Bill. See ya at the pub sometime.”

“Shall do.”

August got into his patrol car and dialled Jake’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Hey,” Jake said. “What’s up?”

“Do me a favour?”

“Sure.”

“Google standard Croatian military-issue boots for me and send me a photo.”

There was a pause, then a drawn-out “Okay.” He heard some tapping on the keyboard. “Sending you the pic now. It says current this year, but who knows? Do I want to know why you need this?”

August’s phone beeped and he opened the image, his suspicions confirmed. “Run this number plate for me.” He gave the plate number and the vehicle details.

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