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The dust curled around the edges of the helicopter’s rotating blades as it landed back on earth, light as a feather. Stone went through his usual landing checks until the blades became still, and then unclipped his seatbelt.

Cowboy Craig jumped out of the passenger seat and adjusted his white stockman’s hat. ‘Finn says we’ve got to wear our ID if we’re popping in on people like this. Said it saves them from asking for it later. Or we wear those hot vests.’

‘I’ll take the badge, even if it feels so official.’ Stone flipped open the leather wallets, exposing the federal badge, and clipped it to his belt. ‘Do you know The Vegan?’

‘She’s the town’s activist, right?’

Stone nodded.

‘Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure.’ Craig thoughtfully rubbed his jaw while heading for the dirt track they’d been following from the crocodile farm. ‘As a stock inspector, we’ve clashed a few times in the stockyard when she was protesting.’

‘What did she do?’

‘In town one day, she decided to chain herself to the stockyard’s front gate, with over twenty padlocks. We reckon she bought out all the locks and heavy chain from the local hardware store.’

‘How long did it disrupt the stockyards?’ The Elsie Creek stockyards was a busy place, with a tight schedule to keep. Loaded cattle trucks came from all over to make the train. And cattlemen did not take kindly to being made to wait, not when it came to their livestock.

‘Not long. The Vegan didn’t realise that most stockmen carry some sort of bolt cutters in the back of their utes as part of their jobs fixing fences.

But get this?’ Craig’s grin grew wide. ‘The stockmen only cut down a few chain links, just enough to open the gate, leaving The Vegan to hang there still chained to that fence.’ Craig’s laugh echoed off the desolate scrublands that surrounded them.

‘How long was she hanging there?’ Stone shook his head, the chuckle bubbling from his chest.

‘All day.’

‘No.’

‘Not our choice, mate. The Vegan chose to stay there and protest.’ Craig shook his head.

‘Don’t worry, Lydia, who runs the stockyards, brought out an umbrella and some drinks for The Vegan, so she didn’t die from dehydration.

And then Policeman Porter just rocks up with his camping chair, takes a seat right beside The Vegan and reads his newspaper while having his morning coffee in her umbrella shade.

All while The Vegan is chained to the fence.

’ The laughter echoed around them as Craig wandered back onto the dirt track where tyre tread marks were indented in the red soil.

‘Poor Raven, she does the dumbest things as an activist.’

‘So, you know The Vegan?’

Stone nodded. ‘Raven may have a cranky, combative streak a mile wide, but she wouldn’t steal those eggs. She might have let the juveniles go, but I’d doubt she’d have the skills to get inside the hatchery undetected. But, as I know her, I think you should ask the questions.’

‘Are you saying we play good cop, bad cop.’

‘I’ve always wanted to play the good guy. But it’ll be aboveboard, no conflict of interest, and you have been training to ask questions.’ From his highly skilled lawyer wife.

‘Fine.’ Craig sighed. ‘I’ll do the talking…

Those tyre tracks lead us directly here, and she has a van.

’ Craig pointed to the white van tucked under the shade of some towering gum trees deep in the dried-out swamp where the soupy air was thick with soured water accompanied by a whiff of camp-fire smoke.

The makeshift camp was little more than a scattering of tarps strung between some trees. An old camp chair stood beside the fire pit’s smouldering coal fire, with an iron kettle sitting along its edge.

‘What is the meaning of this intrusion?’ Raven stormed towards them with a slap of her sandals.

Half of her thick dreadlocks were loosely twisted into a messy pile atop her head, while the rest cascaded down her back in long, uneven ropes, swaying with every movement.

Dressed like a relaxed bohemian, in loose baggy pants and a crocheted crop top, she dragged the oversized faded men’s shirt higher up her bare shoulders.

But it was impossible to miss the shotgun she held across her chest, making it clear she wasn’t all about peace in this war.

‘Hello, Raven. It’s just me, Stone, and my mate, Cowboy Craig.’ He wandered around from behind the trees.

‘I thought that was your chopper. Why the visit?’ She sniffed hard as she casually lowered her gun. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not loaded.’

‘Why have it?’ asked Craig.

‘Because I’m a female who lives alone, and it is croc country. And I just haven’t loaded it, yet! I only do that as part of my bedtime routine, right up there with brushing my teeth and loading my shotgun.’ She jutted out her chin at Craig, as if ready to do battle.

Stone arched a brow. Shotgun, check. Toothbrush, check. Hairbrush—clearly retired to the dreadlock department. ‘You shouldn’t camp so close to the water if you’re so worried about the salties, Raven.’

‘Do I tell you where to live, Stone?’ Her eyes widened as she pointed to their badges. ‘Since when do you work for the feds?’

‘How do you know what type of badge this is?’ Craig was like Stone, they’d never seen them before, not until they started working for the Stock Squad.

‘The feds have arrested me plenty of times. I know one when I see one.’

‘Arrested for what?’

‘Protesting. They arrested me for stopping that land clearing at that uranium mine in Kakadu. And then there was that sit-in up at Darwin when the defence force bulldozed a nature reserve, wiping out the breeding grounds of the endangered Gouldian finch, just to build houses for their staff of warmongers. Oh, and I got arrested for blocking the gates to the cargo ships to try and stop the live exports in Darwin harbour. Hey—’ Raven pointed a grubby finger at Craig. ‘You were there.’

‘I was.’

‘So, what do you want here, then?’ Shading her eyes with her hand, she squinted at Craig.

‘Some crocodiles went missing.’

‘Really?’ Raven peered down the road in the direction of Saltscale. ‘Rowntrees, huh? How many?’

‘45 juveniles and almost 100 eggs.’

‘Struth.’ Her eyebrows disappeared under her bird’s nest of ropy hair.

‘What do you know about the break-in, Raven?’ Stone asked.

‘Nothing… Is that why you’re here? You think…

Nah. You couldn’t.’ She took a few steps back, her brow ruffling.

‘What the hell would I do with eggs? I’m a vegan.

It’s not like I’m gonna scramble them with my tofu.

And I know them eggs have got to be specially cared for, or they’d lose them.

You know I don’t have that kind of set-up, Stone. ’

‘I know. It’s just that the tyre tracks led us here.’

‘So you’re thinking it’s me?’ Raven’s bangles clattered as she popped one hand on a bony hip, with the shotgun at her side.

‘If it was me, I’d set them free, then skedaddle.

Not sit here and contemplate the meaning of life.

And how would I get into that croc farm when their security is tighter than a bank?

’ Raven’s many dreadlocks shifted in waves as she shook her head.

‘Good to see, they really raised the bar by hiring you two knuckleheads.’ She rolled her eyes, hoisting her shotgun over her shoulder and casually strolled back to her camp.

The back of her shirt displayed the hand painted bold words— Stop the Slaughter .

‘I know you didn’t take them, Raven, we’re just hoping you might know something.’ Stone followed Raven, as Craig did his tracking thing by studying the soil’s indents that led Craig towards Raven’s dusty white van.

Nah, it couldn’t be that easy. Could it?

‘So why are you bothering me, then? Or did you do some ESP telepathic thingy to know I’ve just made a wicked brew, and this is your excuse to crash the party?

Want some?’ Raven pointed to the kettle sitting beside her low campfire.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t. Not if you’ve got that fancy badge on, cos you’ll be tripping for days on this brew. ’

Craig cleared his throat. ‘Have you seen any unusual activity in the last 24 hours, Raven?’

‘Besides you lot?’ Raven plonked onto her camping chair and poured herself a cup of tea that released a slightly musty aroma with a hint of damp soil. Some people did coffee, beer or wine this late in the afternoon—Raven did mushrooms.

‘As an activist,’ said Craig, ‘is this why you’re camped so close to the crocodile farm?’

‘In case you don’t realise this, Cowboy, it’s all Crown land this side of those croc farms, which means it’s free camping for me. Plus, the ranger and the pigs—present company excluded—don’t bother me out here…’ She scowled at them over her mug. ‘Until you lot showed up.’

‘And what do you do as an activist against the crocodile farm?’

‘Because they breed those poor beasts just to skin them for rich people’s handbags and their vanity!’

Craig adjusted his hat. ‘We know why you do it, Raven. I just want to know what you do as part of your protests at the crocodile farm?’

Raven paused, glancing at Stone who gave the nod that it was okay to answer Craig’s questions.

‘Well, I tried to take photos of animal cruelty—’

‘All those croc farms are spot-checked regularly to ensure they meet strict ethical and humane codes—that are stricter than a kosher abattoir,’ explained Stone. ‘We’ve talked about this, Raven.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Leaning back in her chair, she put her cup down to cool on a rock she was using as a side table.

‘What else do you do as a professional protester?’ Craig’s questioning had improved a lot, being trained in the art of friendly interrogations.