Stockman’s Stormcloud (Stockmen #3)

Fourteen

Fourtee n

Wearing his oxygen mask, Dex hit the old padlock with the grinder, setting off a cascade of orange sparks to surround his oxygen tank. So what if it wasn’t exactly safe, but they couldn’t find the bolt cutters, and the noise drowned out Porter’s protests about health and safety. Didn’t that make him feel like his old self again, back on the tools, ignoring the copper, while breaking into a storeroom hidden behind the old hay baler.

He had to do something. It was embarrassing enough that Porter had to drive them to the sheds in the police car—all of fifty metres—because Dex struggled to walk the distance. Of course, Dex blamed the oxygen cart for that.

The grinder cut through the heavy metal padlock until it clanged as it bounced on the concrete floor.

Dex dropped the tool onto the bench and gripped the cold steel edge, as his lungs went into a spasm. Breathe, brother.

‘Are you okay, Dex?’ Porter patted Dex’s shoulder.

‘Yeah, gimme a sec.’ Slowly, he inhaled, just like Sophie had suggested, into the stomach, skipping the need to expand the lungs, and slowly exhaled.

Thankfully, Sophie’s breathing techniques helped stop that painful squeeze. He could just picture her little nod of approval. Although, he doubted Nurse Kitty would approve of him playing with the tools like this.

Well, when the cat was away, Dex was gonna play.

Surprisingly, the old handle turned and the door opened with ease, with no creaky sounds of age like the time he’d helped Cap reopen the back storeroom to become Mia’s arts and crafts room.

‘Let’s see if we have lights?’ Inside, Dex felt down the wall and found a light panel. He clicked the switch, but nothing worked in the large dark room that smelled musty with old, mouldy hay and thick layers of dust.

A faint humming came from the old wiring, indicating the lights in the ceiling should be working. ‘The bulbs must have blown.’

‘When was this room used last?’ Porter pulled his large torch from his fancy police belt and lit up the large rectangular room. It held no furniture, just a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, with a few old hay bales dumped to one side, but it was steamy inside.

‘I’ve never used it.’ Charlie poked up the brim of his stockman’s hat. ‘Darcie’s old man locked it up after the murder. The Aboriginal stockmen refused to come anywhere near the area—that’s why they built the new stables further out. And well, mate, a man was murdered in here. As Bree would say, it’s got bad juju.’

Inside the large rectangular room, it was warm enough for Dex’s skin to break out in sweat. At the far end stood a wall of louvres, partially hidden behind a rotten tarp that Dex struggled to pull down. Where was his strength? And that light-headed nonsense had him seeing stars. Breathe, brother. Breathe.

‘Let me get that.’ With one effortless tug, Porter pulled the old tarp down, bathing the entire room in bright light and floating dust particles. He then pushed open the windows, allowing the cool breeze to flow through.

‘Careful, Porter, you’ll get that uniform dirty.’ Dex even chuckled, but then winced from the irritating rib. He just couldn’t heal quick enough.

Porter brushed down the dirt off his police shirt. ‘Ever since the boss went for a roll in the mud with his now-wife, I keep a spare uniform in the car.’ He again pulled out the torch from his police belt and shone it at the room. ‘There’s nothing in here.’

There was a lot of space in the room, that’s for sure. But the size didn’t seem quite right. ‘What was this room used for, Charlie?’

‘It was the old tack room. This shed used to be the stables.’

Porter opened his fancy police file, angling his head at the hand-drawn diagram. ‘According to the notes, the guy died in the middle of the room. Shot in the back. The report claims the shot came through the window.’

‘Shot with what?’

Porter looked over the report. ‘They believe it was a twelve-gauge shotgun. But no weapon was recovered.’

‘The twelve-gauge is common for this area. You know, me and Bree—’

Dex knocked his oxygen bottle over. It clanged heavily on the concrete, tugging on the thin tube that connected to his mask. But it stopped the old man from opening his trap about Bree and her shotguns.

Bree’s shotties were stashed everywhere. No one knew how many there were or if they were registered, because Bree never talked about them. But to protect the redhead, Dex even bent over to place his hands on his knees to try to breathe.

‘We shouldn’t have you in here, mate.’ Charlie was at his side, while Porter picked up the oxygen canister.

‘You alright, mate?’

‘The trolley sucks.’

‘I’ll get Bree to whip you up somethin’ in a jiffy.’

‘I could build one myself.’ Dex didn’t want to bother, now determined to get rid of those damned oxygen canisters as quickly as possible. ‘So, what do you need us to do?’

Porter took a heap of photos with his phone, then pulled out a chunk of chalk and drew on the dusty concrete ground marking an X.

‘That’s where he died, was it?’ Charlie asked while Dex leaned against the wall .

Porter nodded. ‘I’m guessing it is. But to be sure, I’ll pass the tape through the window, and I want you to stand on this spot for a reading.’

‘Sure, mate.’ Charlie grinned, bouncing on his toes as the policeman walked outside.

Dex looked over the long, simple, but empty room. The dust was like fine red powder spread across the concrete floor, leaving their track marks. The cobwebs were thick and yellow with age. But the room was warm.

‘ What the hell are you lot doing in here! ’ Bree glared at them from the open doorway in her welding apron, holding her long leather gloves against her hip.

‘Calm down, kid. We’re just helping Porter do his investigation.’

‘Can you grab the tape measure, Charlie?’ asked Porter through the open window. ‘Oh, hey, Bree.’

‘Porter.’ She nodded as she approached Dex.

‘Don’t start lecturing me.’ Dex pulled down his mask to speak in a hushed whisper. ‘I just saved your butt from Charlie spilling about your shotguns.’

Bree paused her anger. ‘Porter needs to get away from here.’

‘Why?’

She dragged Dex by his shirt’s sleeve, the squeaky wheels of his oxygen trolley left lines in the dust, as they shifted to the far side of the room. ‘What’s wrong with this room?’

‘Nothing. First time anyone’s been in here. I broke the lock.’

‘And I have the key.’

His brow shifted. ‘Charlie said there was no key because no one came in here.’

‘As much as I love my grandfather, he can’t keep a secret. Charlie has no idea what I’ve got in here.’ Bree leaned back against the wall and tapped on the corrugated wall panel.

That’s when it hit him—the room was smaller than it should be. ‘There’s a false room?’

Bree barely nodded, watching the policeman take measurements with Charlie.

‘What’s in there, drugs? No. I would have seen the lights. Or smelt it.’ But this room was steamy, like an airy sauna.

‘Mate… Buddy… Declan…’

Oh, it must be big for Bree to suck up like this. ‘You have a secret.’

Bree glowered at him. It’s obvious she didn’t want to share.

‘Tell me. Because Porter has asked me to do the measurements of this room. And I’m not gonna lie to the poh-leece when there’s nothing in it for me.’

She growled at him.

It only made him smile wider.

‘What do I drink and sell in the car park where people lay bets on strangers to duke it out with their fists?’

‘Gin. That you drink by the jugful.’ It was good gin, too.

What the flip!

The false room was where she kept her illegal still!

All the while, Bree smiled at the policeman like nothing was wrong. Cool as a cucumber.

Damn, that girl was cold and cunning.

Dex laughed, keeling over in pain, as the happy tears formed, desperate to suppress his laugh that was wreaking havoc on the ribs.

‘Oh, Declan, are you okay, sweetie?’ Bree was full of false woe.

‘Fine.’

‘Shut up and play along, Stormcloud.’ She muttered harshly under her breath. ‘Dex needs to go back to the house. How did you get him out here?’

‘Porter drove us,’ replied Charlie.

‘Well, Porter, you can drive him right back. Now .’ Bree placed her hands on her generous hips. ‘Then you can come back tomorrow. I’ll even sweep this room for you, so the dust doesn’t irritate Dex’s lungs, or my grandfather’s sinuses. And I know you suffer from hay fever, Porter. I don’t want the dust and cobwebs upsetting your system either. How is your hay fever?’

‘Haven’t had any issues, not since you gave me that tonic.’

‘I’ll make you some more. You can collect it tomorrow.’

‘More witchy woo-woo nonsense.’ Dex rolled his eyes.

‘The kid does make a fair point.’ Charlie scuffed his boots at the dusty floor. ‘We should let her clean up, so we’ve got a clean slate.’

‘Thanks, Bree, that’s very considerate of you.’ Porter nodded through the window. ‘But I doubt I’ll be out this way, not for a few days.’

‘Well, I’ll either drop the tonic off at the station, or I’ll have some in the fridge when you do grace us with your presence. In the meantime, can you bring the car around for Dex?’ Bree asked.

‘Sure. Back in a jiffy.’

‘And what’s up with this dumb oxygen trolley?’ She wrestled with the oxygen tanks and did something to the wheel. ‘It’s buggered.’

The clever cookie was using the same tactic as Dex, except to distract her grandfather from poking around the room.

‘You should whack something up for the lad to make it easier for him to get around,’ said Charlie, coming up beside them. ‘These little wheels got bogged in the stones out front of the cottage.’

‘You’re right, Charlie, Bree should make me something.’ Dex smirked. Finally, he had something over the redhead, and now she owed him, big-time.