Free Novels 02 Red Dust by Fleur McDonald Page B

believe they have had stock go missing but hadn't reported it because they weren't a hundred per cent certain that they just hadn't mustered a paddock properly or something like that.
    'Gemma Sinclair rang us on Thursday of last week. She didn't state what she required; just that she wanted to talk to us. We haven't followed up on that phone call for three reasons. One,' he ticked the reasons off on his fingers, 'before she rang we had an anonymous phone call. We're pretty sure it was a male voice, but it was muffled. Now this guy must have intimate knowledge of what goes on because he suggested that Adam was involved in getting the information of stock movements and passing it on to someone else. Number two, you blokes were due over within a couple of days and we didn't know which way you wanted to play it with Gemma. After this tip-off phone call, she has to be classed as some sort of suspect. Number three is the principal reason we didn't call her back. It is obvious these sheep have been stolen. They've been taken from the yards, so there can't be any thought of miscounting or not mustering properly. Adam Sinclair is dead, so who's doing it?'
    Dave crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, thinking. 'Good point. We need to focus on who is now doing the stock rustling and then we'll be able to fit Adam into it, if he was involved. Well, I guess we need to get a feel for the area, people and such. Where is stock mainly sold here?'
    'The livestock sales are at Dublin, about threequarters of an hour out of Adelaide, and the abattoirs are in Lobethal, Murray Bridge and here in Port Pirie. Then there are a lot of butchers that kill small amounts of livestock, just to fill their shops and niche markets. There are a couple of big feedlots in the Spalding and Murray Bridge area. They buy in and feed cattle. I haven't been able to track down any lamb feedlots that buy in sheep. They all breed their own.' 'Okay, is there any more info?' Dave asked.
    'No,' replied Ian.
    'Craig'll keep a low profile. I'll get him to monitorhe live market sales and maybe do the rounds ofsome abs. I'll stay here and get a feel for the lay of theland and talk to some of the graziers who have beenaffected,' Dave said.
    'Why are you keeping Craig out of sight?' asked Ian.
    'Just in case we need him to get in with the locals.
    Since he's the younger of us and a bit of a magnet togirls with those biceps of his, he can usually infiltratethe pub scene pretty well. Get the trust of the youngguys around the place,' Dave explained.
    'I'm just the nice guy who gets to have fun withthe natives!' Craig smiled, showing his perfectlywhite teeth, his blue eyes twinkling. Geoff made up
    his mind to keep his nineteen-year-old daughter awayfrom the pub for the next few weeks.

    On Wednesday night, as Gemma was preparingdinner for herself and Patrick, who was due anytime,the phone rang.
    'Hello?'
    'Gemma, it's Dave Burrows from the WA stocksquad calling. How are you this evening?'
    'Fine, thanks. How can I help you?'
    'Gemma, I'm just doing a ring around of a few graziers in your area to see if we could have a bit of a catch-up meeting sometime in the next couple of days. Just to talk through what happened with the young wethers last week. I'd like to come out and meet you all – put faces to names and just ask a couple more questions.' Dave sounded very laidback.
    'Sure, when would suit you?'
    'Could I come out sometime tomorrow, or is that too soon?'
    'Tomorrow would be fine.'
    'How's four o'clock sound?'
    'No worries, see you then.' Gemma put the phone down just as the dogs began to bark, alerting her that Pat had arrived. Should I have told Dave about the wethers in our paddock? she wondered. No, she decided. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the problems to surface.
    'So, sis, what's happening?' Pat's usual greeting came through the door as he pulled off his boots to come into the house.
    'Ah, here you are. How's it going at Mum and Dad's?'
    'I'm not talking work