Chapter Four
The four sleuths meandered down the main street of Balmoral, the two women in the middle. No hands were held, no arms linked, but only a fool would have supposed they were anything other than couples.
Dot, being in the centre of the arrangement, described the experience in the general store; and Hugh chipped in at the end, "It was because it was a Monteith, sir – I thought it might be worth mentioning."
Jack agreed. "Almost certainly, though I can't immediately see what the link might be."
He filled Phryne and Dot in on the outline of the case.
"There were two deaths, within a week of each other. First, Mark Campbell. His family has the Ardverikie Station. He was found with a broken neck at the foot of a river bank, by a billabong on the Arverikie grazing. The second was Rory Monteith, found hanged in the Monteiths' shearing shed."
"So," Phryne asked, "both dead on their own land, in country where neighbourly visiting isn't something you undertake lightly. What are the signs that made anyone think it was murder?"
"There weren't any, as such," Jack explained. "Campbell's death was put down to misadventure and Monteith's as suicide. The reason we're here is that, when the reports were reviewed, the deaths of two relatively young men, in such quick succession, in an area where even one such death would be unusual, was thought worthy of a review. We're here to make sure Sergeant Mason knows he has our back-up." He glanced sideways at Phryne and Dot. "Whether he wants it or not."
They had reached the unofficial airfield by then, and all stopped to admire the Moth's security.
In no particular order, Jack snorted, Phryne giggled, Dot bit her lip and Hugh gasped.
"Well," Jack struggled, "it's certainly not going anywhere."
Phryne walked forward and examined the children's handiwork closely; then turned to answer him.
"I'm leaving it as it is. They have wildly overreacted to my instructions, but none of these (she counted silently) fourteen guy-ropes is going to harm her in any way, and collectively they do the job."
She stood silently contemplating her aircraft with a broad smile. There were, after all, few things so satisfying as collective approbation of a Good Cause.
Then turned once more to her husband.
"What now, Jack?"
He looked to his constable.
"Collins, I think that now we've all had the chance to recover from our false start, it's time we got down to some brass tacks with Mason. In the gentlest possible way, we need to work out what he really thinks happened to Campbell and Monteith."
Phryne tucked her arm into Dot's.
"If you two are going to be busy playing police politics, I think Dot and I need to have a nice walk. What do you say, Dorothy? Shall we trundle around the buildings of Balmoral? Not quite up to the standards of its Scottish namesake, I have to say, but on the other hand it's probably a lot easier to get in the door."
Dot admitted to herself (though she'd not for the world have uttered it out loud) that she was mostly relieved to have nothing more challenging in prospect than a bit of a stroll. The last twenty-four hours had been a bit more frightening than she'd like, and she was already missing her twins dreadfully (also something she'd not contemplate mentioning). A walk in the sunshine sounded like Just The Thing.
Poor Dot. She really should have known better, though.