Free Before It Breaks by Dave Warner

enough for the day and the heat from the paving had dulled. Clement led them to a table away from any other guests and explained succinctly that the matter was considered serious, possibly a homicide. He saw the fear in their eyes and reassured them they were not suspects, though of course he never ruled that out. Before he could get further into stride, the barista arrived, dropping a menu on the table.
    â€˜Can I get you anything to drink?’
    A lilting Irish accent. By God they were everywhere now. Down in the city the gang resurfacing the road out front of his place had all been Irish, women and men. Normally Clement would forgo a coffee at these prices but he wanted to put the tourists at ease so he raised an eyebrow their way. They indicated they were fine. Clement handed the menu back and was about to say forget it but relented and ordered an orange juice. They did good fresh juice here.
    â€˜Could you tell me what time you arrived at the waterhole?’
    Evan took the role of spokesman.
    â€˜Just after the sun went down, six-thirty, maybe seven.’ He looked at Marguerite for support.
    â€˜Around seven,’ she agreed.
    They had not seen anybody else in the vicinity though Marguerite thought she heard some faint music from a radio or iPod around the time they arrived. They had made some dinner from a small cooker they carried with them, chatted, taken a look at the waterhole but kept their distance having been warned of crocodiles. By this time it was pitch dark. They had been driving for quite a few hours and were tired so they climbed up on top of the van to sleep and had drifted off. The gunshots woke them. Evan wore a watch and was able to put the time at one-twenty. The gunshots echoed intermittently for what seemed like about ten minutes.
    â€˜We’d had enough, we decided to go,’ said Evan.
    â€˜I was scared,’ offered Marguerite.
    They had grabbed their sleeping bags, climbed into the van and driven off quickly. They drove all the way back to Broome and spent the night sleeping near the beach, or trying to. They’d come to the resort for breakfast and decided they should notify the police just in case.
    â€˜It’s a good thing you did.’
    Clement was acutely aware of his own hypocrisy. Hours earlier he had been deriding them. Clement’s juice arrived. He gulped it and gave himself brain freeze which wasn’t helped by the bill. They were too polite to press for details on the homicide but he told them the basics, a man’s body had been found in the creek and thanks to them there’d been a relatively short time lapse before its discovery. Clement took them over it all a couple more times but without any change in their recollection. Once they were off the highway on the track heading to the waterhole they had seen no vehicles, nor did they hear any voices or splashing in the water when they were camped, just that faint sound of music. Clement scooped up the bill, thanked them for their time and took address details. They were from Melbourne, which might be tricky if they were needed for any inquest, but Clement urged them not to concern themselves with that for the time being and to try and enjoy the remainder of their holiday. What he didn’t mention was that he would check with Victorian police on their background but there was nothing about them that raised the slightest warning signal. Clement paid for the juice at the desk.
    â€˜How’d you like it?’ asked the Irishman. Clement handed over a ten.
    â€˜Excellent. Working holiday?’
    â€˜Not much holiday.’
    The young Paddy shovelled a couple of coins back. Clement followed the path around to the front of the resort and the main reception area. Just a few hire cars and a couple of vehicles bearing Perth or interstate plates were in the neat carpark. There was little breeze but the smell of eucalypt and jasmine infused the air regardless. Clement entered through automatic