Free Vanishing Point by Alan Moore

edge. ‘The first garage I tried was closing up when I got here on Friday evening. That was Ceduna Roadhouse. I tried several others. They were all either closed or just open for fuel. No mechanics or tow trucks available. None. I asked around and no-one seemed to be able to help. So, tell me, what more could I do? I just had to wait until the garage opened. When it did I went out with the mechanic as soon as possible. It was only when we got out there that we found the Kombi had been moved and Katherine was gone.’
    Murray let the words flow before asking, ‘What did you do then?’
    â€˜I thought maybe Kath had got a lift into town, so once we towed the Kombi to the garage, I did a round of all the hotels, the caravan park, the garages. But no-one had seen or heard of Katherine or Carolyn.’
    â€˜You said that her purse was in the van. Don’t you think it strange that she left it there if she’d been given a ride into town? Wouldn’t she need it?’
    â€˜Yes. It worried me a bit, but, well, sometimes Kath can be careless. If she was worried about Carolyn she may have just forgotten it. Anyway, it didn’t have much money in so it didn’t seem important at that stage.’
    â€˜Okay. We’ll go and check out the van and the place where it was found. I’ll grab some food, collect Tommy and then we can get going.’ Murray stood to go. ‘Tommy’s a local, the best tracker for miles around. If what you’ve told me is correct then we’re going to need someone who can read the dust.’
    â€˜What should I do?’
    â€˜You just hang on here. I’ll pick you up when I’ve got things organised. We’ll go have a look in at the garage first. Would you like a cuppa?’
    â€˜No thanks, just a drink of water.’
    â€˜Okay. Sally’ll see to that.’ He nodded to the secretary and they left the room together. Alec was left to his own devices until Sally returned a few minutes later with a glass of cold water.

A lec, Sergeant Murray and the tall skinny Aboriginal man, Tommy, strolled unannounced into the workshop of the Ceduna Roadhouse and Garage in McKenzie Street. Most people simply used the garage as a refuelling stop but the sign outside indicated a full mechanical workshop. The dark interior and cluttered workbenches were in stark contrast to the clean green and white walls of the exterior. Malcolm Harrison, the owner and mechanic, was leaning over the mudguards of an old Holden with his head hidden in the engine, his bent body backlit by the light inside the engine cavity. In response to their arrival he extricated himself from a tangle of cables.
    â€˜G’day folks. I see you’ve brought the police with you this time.’ Harrison looked at Alec, then Sergeant Murray. He ignored Tommy who was walking a few steps behind.
    Murray pointedly introduced Tommy. ‘This is Tommy. He’s from Koonibba and is our tracker. He’s the very best and he’s going to help us find out what happened. First, I want him to look at Alec’s vehicle, especially the tyres. Okay?’
    â€˜No probs,’ said Harrison. He did not shake hands with any of the visitors, displaying his grease-covered hands by way of explanation. ‘Over there.’ He tilted his head in the direction of the Kombi.
    Tommy nodded, removed his battered Akubra hat and went down on his haunches to look carefully at the wheels.
    Murray turned to Harrison and asked, ‘Tell me, Mal, what’s the story with this van?’
    Harrison wiped his hands on a greasy rag as he responded. ‘Well, Mr Thompson here came in Saturday early afternoon. Mary was here and she told me that he looked pretty buggered. Arrived just as we were closing. We were running late. As you know, we’re trying to stay open seven days but can’t get staff, a real shame with the growing tourist industry. Even Saturdays are a problem