22 – We are being watched

THEY RETURNED TO THE MAIN ISLAND. Jack parked the 4WD at the island’s police station after dropping Churchie and Wally off. Wally advised he’d be leaving the island later that day. All good. They had his details and would contact him if need be.

Technology helped. CCTV recordings and electronic tickets had made the life of an investigator easier. Others considered CCTV an invasion of privacy but those people normally had something to hide. It still astounded him what some people did in front of the cameras. But Jack liked the eyes in the high places. Maybe God was recording events too. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. It was all getting too religious.

Electronic ticketing allowed appropriate authorities to track the movement of people on public transport. Jack had sent off an approved request to the transport authority and was waiting for details on a listing of those who disembarked the 2.45 p.m. ferry at the island.

They made their way to the station’s meeting room.

“Should we focus on that woman as our prime suspect, Jack?” Catherine asked.

“We don’t have any other leads. We’ll follow this one for as long as there’s no reason to discount her as a suspect.”

Jack looked at the plant in the corner. It’d been rejuvenated since the last time they were here. He looked at the map of the island on the wall and visualised a boat leaving the incident scene. Which route did it take? 

“If the woman in question stayed or left the island in another boat there should be no record of her leaving the island on the transit card.” Catherine said.

“Possibly.”

A beep came from Jack’s tablet device. An email from the transport authority. Jack opened the attachment.

“Think we’ll need to align this list with the CCTV footage.”

Using the CCTV footage, they named the people departing the ferry as they swiped their travel cards over the reader.

A few ignored the red lights indicating no credit on their card. Some even tried to cover the indicator in a subtle way. Baddies everywhere, but he knew that.

“Jill Spencer. That’s her name.” Catherine said.

“Good. Let’s record the other names as well. We may need to follow up with some of them.”

“Seemed to be a ferry for the ‘J’s’. There’s another Jill, a John, a Julia, a Jessie. It’s a wonder you weren’t on it.” She smiled and continued to scan the list. “Jack, one small issue.”

“Yep, what is it?”

“Jill Spencer also disembarked on a return trip.”

Jack wandered outside to the back of the police station while Catherine went to make herself a cup of tea. Palm trees and bamboo surrounded the yard. He picked up the scent of the ocean and realised he’d slipped out of holiday mode. He willed it to return. No chance, as he’d now slipped well and truly into investigator mode. 

What did Jill Spencer doing the return trip tell them? Jill Spencer stayed on the island after she supposedly attempted to murder someone? She would’ve known the girl would have been reported missing on Sunday morning. Maybe Sunday afternoon after her friends went looking for her.

Movement. Was that a figure amongst the palms and other greenery surrounding the back lawn? A shadowy figure. Yes. He was curious and it was in his blood to investigate, so he walked towards the shadow, a hooded figure who hurried away. Jack followed. He parted the greenery and found a track snaking through the shrubs and grassland. The hooded figure was ahead and turned briefly to look at Jack. He couldn’t make out the face, only the eyes. He half-expected them to be red and glowing, but they looked yellow.

“Hey, could you hold for a tick.” Jack yelled.

The figure turned off the path and was gone.

Jack rushed and looked down where the person had turned. Nothing. There were a number of other tracks. Just a person out on a walk, wearing a hood to protect themselves from the chill in the air. Maybe someone who was deaf and didn’t hear him. He returned to the police station.

Catherine stood on the back porch, watching him emerge from the greenery. Her hands grasped a cup of tea with steam swirling into the air. She moved the cup to near her mouth and gave some soft blows. 

“Aha! The creature from the deep has returned.”

“Funny.” Jack wondered now if every hooded person he saw was going to be mistaken for a high priestess. 

“Where did you go?”

He came and leaned on a rail next to Catherine. “Just saw someone snooping, so I went and checked.”

“And . . . “

“Nothing,” Jack said. “Do you think the role of a high priestess would be a secret thing?” Jack asked as he watched a pelican high in the sky.”

“If she is a high priestess, I’m sure people will know it.”

“Best we find those people.”

“The media are snooping. Maybe we need to ask their help.”

“Let’s do that. And the pamphlets will be ready for handing out to ferry users tomorrow.”

“Yep. Have a couple of trainees organised for that,” Catherine said.

“Next, the boat. I’ve got the details of a few fishermen that Sergeant Phil thinks may have been fishing close by.”

“Let’s hope their stories aren’t fishy,” Catherine said, with her eyebrows raised.

“That’s bad, Cath. Real bad.”

Jack looked towards the greenery. No shadowy figure. Was this already getting to him?

Jack thought about Jill Spencer. She didn’t seem overly concerned about being caught, assuming it was her who made the return trip. Someone else could have tapped her transit card on the recorder. Or she could have lost her card, intentionally or unintentionally, and the finder had used it.

Those questions could be answered by viewing the CCTV recordings for the return trip. Did they have them?

But being unconcerned could be a trait of someone who believed in magic or magick. Whichever term was relevant. Maybe Jill Spencer could explain the terms.

23 – Something fishy

JACK BELIEVED LOUIS BASS was a real good name for a fisherman. Or maybe a pirate.

Louis’s favourite time for fishing was full moon time and his secret fishing spot had a good view of the estuary parklands—they all had secret fishing spots that everybody seemed to know about. He’d seen them there before, dancing around in a circle—weirdos as far as he was concerned, although it was good entertainment when the fish weren’t biting.

Jack and Catherine stood with Louis near his boat, which was straddled on its trailer in the dirt driveway. The boat stunk. Jack suggested, in a manner not to offend the fisherman, that they move onto the porch. They moved but the smell didn’t go away. The man stank as well. The smell of fish attached itself to everything. This place, and Louis, needed to be drenched in lemon juice. Jack had heard that was why people added lemon to fish, to reduce the fishy smell. He’d always thought it had something to do with flavouring.

They sat in some old wicker chairs. Jack was happy he was dressed casually because his jeans and top would be thrown in a washing machine as soon as he got home. With a lemon, if required. 

“I sat there with my rod in hand and watched a boat drift into the mangroves. I turned my lantern off and sat in the darkness of the mangroves. It was eerie.”