Free Beware of the Dog by Peter Corris Page A

flapping my arms and taking deep breaths of the icy air.
    The sun came up and it got slightly warmer immediately. The Cruiser started at the first turn of the key. I backed out of my shelter and began to search for the fire trail. There was a deep frost but only a light mist. The exhaust was sending up clouds of steam. I spotted the narrow, muddy trail and turned onto it. A small creek trickled over rocks and followed the track for a few metres before changing course and running downhill. I stopped at a point I judged to be directly below the Lamberte place. The tree cover had been thinned over the years under the power lines and I had a good view of the country above me. Glass winked in the sunlight to the left. I drove on another twenty metres and swept the hill with the binoculars. I was slightly past the house and a hundred metres below it. Above me was a jumble of rocks that seemed to join up with the rocky shelf on which the cabin sat.
    I parked between two big trees; the exhaust steam faded away and the bush noises took over—bird calls, the wind in the trees, running water. My teeth were chattering and my fingers were stiff with cold inside the thick gloves. Wanda’s soup was still warm. I drank almost all of it and ate several slices of bread. I boiled water on the primus and made instant coffee. Then I slung the binoculars around my neck and began to climb the rock pile. It was steeper and harder than it looked from below. After a few minutes I was hot and discarded the parka. The hiking boots were well used, comfortable and gave a good purchase on thedamp rocks. A sheer-faced, ten-metre-high boulder forced me to move to my left and when I went round it I found myself on a ledge about seventy-five metres west of, and slightly above the Lamberte cabin.
    There was light timber between me and it, but the powerful Zeiss glasses gave me an excellent sight of the back of the house. I squatted and regained my breath. The position could hardly have been better. I could see the track all the way up to the road. Near the house there was a cleared space where cars could be parked; wood was stacked under the jutting eaves and the barbecue area was handy but a safe distance from the building. The water tank was in view and beyond it, connected to the house by a cable, was a small shed which almost certainly housed the generator. The cabin was nicely sited, with a view out over the valley. I couldn’t see it, but I’d have been willing to bet that the place had a front deck, possibly cantilevered out over the rock shelf. No self-respecting architect could do otherwise.
    I scratched under my chin where the stubble was beginning to itch and thought about my next move. If Lamberte met with anyone up here and any weapons were displayed, I’d be able to get pictures. It was a pity that I didn’t have any bugging equipment. I had the gear at my place in Glebe but that was no doubt being watched around the clock by the constabulary. Lamberte was due to arrive today and I’d have to be at the Post Office when it opened to hang around to see whether he picked up the package. Doing that without attracting attention to myself was going to be tricky. It was nicer out here, with the birds whistling and the steam rising off the rocks as the sun climbed above the trees.
    I stared down at the house and again I was tempted. What harm could it do, a little look around? From what Verity Lamberte had said it didn’t sound as if the place was used all that often. So what if I disturbed the kindling box or left the Trivial Pursuit set slightly off line? Who’d notice? I’ve never owned a country house or a weekender, but I was pretty sure that if I did I’d make certain the lights were out and the stove was off and that’s about all I’d worry about before the next visit. A place to slob about in, leave things lying comfortably around. Wasn’t that the point?
    I was measuring the distance and