Free Bay of Fires by Poppy Gee Page B

with a boyfriend. Hall understood her family was deeply religious, so this was possible. Others surmised she had been raped and filmed for pornographic purposes and her body buried on a remote and impenetrable bush block owned by one of the local dubious motorbike clubs. A few thought she had fallen into a mineshaft while bushwalking. Everyone had a theory, but no one knew for sure. Despite a massive search, not one of her personal belongings had been recovered, not her surfboard nor any of her clothing. She had one bank account with the Commonwealth Bank, and it had not been touched. Uncertainty fueled speculation. Hall didn’t know which story he believed; all he knew was that it made good newspaper copy.
    “I don’t know what happened to Chloe Crawford, and I can’t explain why Anja Traugott was murdered,” John repeated.
    “Serial sex offender,” Pamela muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
    Don put a hand on Pamela’s arm, which she shook off.
    “Don’t shush me, Donald,” she said.
    As John continued, Hall noticed Sarah for the first time that evening. She was sitting on a picnic table, drinking beer out of a bottle and peeling off the label. Tanned and almost as tall as he was, she looked capable of skippering a maxi-yacht. When she saw Hall looking, she rolled her eyes. She was laughing at everyone. He wasn’t sure if she was laughing at him, too, so he just nodded and looked away.
    At the beginning of his speech, John had made eye contact with everyone. Now he kept glancing over the top of the crowd, his gaze returning to his audience briefly before being drawn back to something on the rocks. Hall turned to see the distraction and realized many others were doing the same. The fading light made it hard to see clearly the hunched figure causing the murmuring. Against the gray ocean, Hall could make out what looked like an old man holding a stick. A woman’s voice rose above the whispers. “Roger Coker makes my skin crawl.”
    “Boo!” Sam said, right in Hall’s ear. His breath was hot on Hall’s neck.
    Hall didn’t have a chance to tell him to back off. From that point, everything happened quickly.
    Dogs barked, women screamed, and everyone scattered. The Labradoodle was flat on its back as a black dingo-like dog snarled on top of it. The cause of the trouble, a plate of barbecued meat, was upturned on the grass. As the dogs fought, someone stepped closer to break it up, but the black dog lunged, a chain attached to its neck swishing across the ground. The man jumped back. The black dog dove onto the plate, gobbling up the sausage and seafood. The Labradoodle barked and the black dog lunged and bit its neck. Everyone screamed.
    “Do something, Donald!” Pamela handed Don a metal barbecue spatula.
    “No,” Jane shouted as Don hit the black dog.
    He belted the animal’s back several times with the metal instrument. It made a hollow whack and pierced the skin. Blood spurted across black fur and the dog cried.
    “Enough, you piece of shit,” Jane told Don as she scruffed the dog’s neck.
    “Control your animal!” Pamela yelled.
    “Who do you think you are?” Jane called over her shoulder as she dragged her whimpering animal out of the park.
    Don looked confused, standing there holding the spatula with his mouth open as though he didn’t know what he was doing. Everyone slunk away, and Pamela turned on her husband.
    “What were you thinking, Donald?”
    “You gave me the bloody spatula.”
    “That was psychotic. She’ll press charges.”
    “Shut up. Just shut up.”
    Jane let the dog go as they walked up the hill. It trotted along by her side, its tail down. Her handbag slapped against her leg, forgotten. From the rocks Roger Coker watched the spoiled gathering. The man was motionless, as much a fixture on the landscape as the granite boulders and scraggly banksias.
      
    “They’re a bunch of dickheads, if you haven’t worked it out yet.” Sarah pressed a beer into Hall’s