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‘I used to paint bomb the front gate, until I found out Doug, the security guard, was allergic to the stuff. Poor guy had an asthma attack just from being parked downwind. If the paint had touched his skin, I don’t know what would’ve happened.

I completely freaked out when he told me he was a widower with a son to care for.

While driving him to the hospital, I swore I’d never ever use paint in my protests again. ’

‘So you and Doug are good now?’ Craig continued the questioning, and Stone was happy to just listen, and play the good cop.

‘Sure. Doug tells me to piss off, and I tell him he’s a cannibal. It’s a hate-hate relationship where everyone’s happy.’ Raven showed teeth in the most sarcastic smile that Stone struggled to keep a straight face.

‘Do you have much to do with the Rowntrees?’ Craig asked.

‘Besides picketing their front gate? I know Malcolm hates me. I’m pretty sure he’d run me down in his truck on a deserted highway, then toss me in the back to feed his crocs.’

‘Malcolm may have his moods, but he wouldn’t do that to his crocs,’ said Stone. ‘He’d tell you he’s picky about what he feeds them.’

‘Trust you to defend Malcolm, just like he’s always sticking up for you lot.’ Raven shook her mop of dreadlocks.

‘That’s because I’m a full-time sweetheart and only a part-time crocodile wrangler.’ His cheesy well-rehearsed line was enough to smooth out the wrinkles deepening across Raven’s forehead.

‘Go on, Raven,’ urged Craig. ‘What about the rest of the Rowntree family?’

‘The kids ignore me. Celeste pops in now and again.’

‘For what?’

‘Celeste doesn’t mind the occasional cuppa.’ Raven giggled as she jumped from her seat, reefed open the side door of her white van and climbed inside. ‘Feel free to look inside to see if I’ve got any of those eggs.’

‘Go on.’ Stone nodded at Craig. ‘I’ll bet you a carton of beer Raven doesn’t have that crocodile stash.’

‘I’m not taking that bet. But I will look. Finn will ask if we did.’ Craig removed his hat before he leaned inside the open van door. ‘Hey, this is a nice set-up.’

‘I know.’ Stone patted the side of Raven’s work van that had been converted into a cosy mobile home, even if it was cluttered with tapestries and herbal tinctures filling the shelves of her kitchenette, with a stash of cushions piled on her bed.

‘Do you live in here full-time?’ Craig asked.

‘In the van, I do. I just like to change the scenery.’ Raven poked around inside and came back with a paper bag.

‘Here, Stone. When you feel like a cuppa, try these. I found a nice patch of mushies the other day bushwalking out back. If any of the local coppers ask, tell ‘em they’re for medicinal use only as prescribed by the shrink, like I do.’

‘Thanks, Raven. But, you know, I have to at least pretend like we’re investigating.’ They grinned at each other as he pocketed the bag. Good thing him and Craig weren’t real cops, because Craig was trying to hide his own smile, by walking away shaking his head.

‘Craig and I aren’t the bad guys, and neither are you, Raven. But you must know something? Because those tyre tracks led us right here.’

‘Only coz it’s you, I’ll spill…’ Raven closed her van door and folded her arms over her chest. ‘If you must know, someone drove past here. They were acting weirdly, too.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They went down that way.’ She led them to a small group of trees. ‘They rolled up super quiet, too. It was spooky, you know. Two men.’

‘Did you see them?’ A knot of concern twisted in Stone’s stomach for Raven. Sure she was eccentric and combative, and known to do some really dumb things, but her heart was in the right place when it came to protecting animals.

‘No. I was tucked up in bed. I don’t open the van doors at night if I can help it. That’s the first rule of single-female stealth camping 101. But I heard them, even if they were trying to be quiet.’

‘Raven is right. There’s a separate set of tracks that rolls right through here. They got close…’ Craig’s cowboy boots stirred up the powdery dust as he followed the car’s tracks, walking right past Raven’s van, then through the gap in the trees.

Stone and Raven followed.

‘They stopped here, near the riverbank,’ mumbled Craig, head down, as he studied the dirt.

It was cooler under the thick canopy of trees, the ground damp, with the sounds of the trickling water nearby.

‘Guessing by the way the sun hasn’t hit this area to dry out their tracks, I’d say they were here 15 hours ago.’ Craig and Stone looked at their watches.

‘That’d be 1:30-ish… which fits with what Doug said about the night guards going on smoko around 1 a.m. What else can you see?’ Stone asked, ever impressed in Craig’s skills.

‘One of them had workboots with a heavier tread. See?’ Craig pointed to the clear imprints in the damp soil. ‘We need photos for the boss.’

Stone grabbed his phone and started zooming in on the boot prints. ‘What about the other guy’s tread?’

Craig crouched down and picked up a stick that he used to point at a clear set of footprints. ‘The second guy wore a softer soled shoe, not boots. And he’s a light walker.’

‘A what?’ Raven wrung her hands with worry. It made Stone realise how close these creeps had parked near Raven’s van.

‘It’s a term I use for someone who is used to walking quietly. Softly.’

‘Like someone working in the hatchery?’ Because they had to be as silent as a newborn nursery at midnight in that place.

Stone then noticed a scuffle in the dirt. ‘Did something happen here?’

Craig crouched down, his fingertips traced over the lumps and slides in the dirt as if reading the story in the soils. ‘I’d say they dropped a sack, or something like a nylon bag and dug around inside.’

‘Did you hear anything else, Raven?’ Stone asked.

Raven wrapped her over-shirt tighter around herself as if suddenly cold.

‘I heard a splash, like they’d dumped something in the creek.

Before you ask, it was late, and I’ve been here long enough to know it’s prime croc-feeding time.

Which is another reason why I don’t open my van doors at night.

’ Raven took a big step back from the bank.

‘But I do get the odd yahoo or two feeding the local swamp puppies, hoping to scare me off.’

‘Is that why you didn’t want to say anything?’ That knot in Stone’s stomach twisted tighter over Raven’s situation. No wonder she carried a shotgun.

‘I’m not exactly the town’s favourite friend to ask to a barbecue, living smack in the centre of cattle country now, am I.’ Raven peered over the bank’s edge and screwed up her nose. ‘Bloody litterbugs they are… You can go fetch that. I’m not. Coz we all know there’s a lurking saltie close by.’

From the edge of the riverbank Stone and Craig spotted a light gym bag. A tree root snagged one of its handles to keep it just above the muddy waterline.

Raven screwed up her nose. ‘I’m not sticking around to see what’s in there… Last time I saved some puppies, and the vet found ‘em good homes.’ With dreadlocks swinging, she stomped back towards her van.

‘If it was anything tasty, the salties would have ripped into it by now.’ Sliding his hands into his pockets, Stone stood beside Craig and said quietly, ‘I have a sneaky suspicion that the thieves came here to set up Raven. Living down the road and driving a van does make her an awfully convenient patsy.’

‘I agree. The thieves’ tracks run off that way…’ Craig pointed to the gap returning them back onto the main goat track. ‘We need to follow them.’

‘I’m with you. But if the Duchess were here, she’d be demanding we get that bag first.’

‘You’re the crocodile wrangler, you go poke around.’ Craig folded his arms over his chest.

‘I could strap you into the sling and lower you down from the chopper to give you a rodeo ride you’ll never forget.’

‘I’ve retired from rodeo, and isn’t the sling banned for a bit?’

‘For egg collecting. This is rubbish collecting.’ Stone narrowed his eyes at the simple sports bag. ‘Hang tight, I’ll get my fishing rod, and we’ll hook it out.’

Pretty soon they had fished out the gym bag, which landed on the ground with a thud.

‘According to Amara’s crash course on playing pretend police, one of us takes a video of the other one opening the bag for evidence.’ Craig adjusted his hat while the bag drained of river water.

‘Maybe I should have brought Romy with us. She’d know how to videotape all the right angles.

’ With a figure that had all the right angles, too.

He could just picture the pretty little filmmaker tucking her sandy-blonde hair neatly behind her ears, crouching in cargos tucked into boots, to start filming.

Compact. Easy and fuss free. And if he was lucky, she’d peer up at him, showing her warm brown eyes, and smooth sun-kissed complexion, with that small, crescent-shaped scar on her chin.

She was a woman who liked her stories, and he’d bet there was a story to that little scar, too.

‘Romy’s cute.’

She was more than cute, but Stone wasn’t going to admit that.

‘Romy isn’t one of your typical backpackers, is she?’ Craig squinted at Stone, even though his eyes were shaded by his hat. ‘That drone she had was state-of-the-art, and probably worth more than my ute.’

‘My crocodile leather boots are worth more than your ute, mate.’

‘You know what I mean. What is Romy’s story?’

Stone sighed, staring at the slow shifting river she’d love to film. ‘Romy came out here to film a documentary, argued with her director, quit, and caught a lift with me.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘Sitting at home, keeping Finley company.’ Even if Stone was tempted to check on Romy every five minutes, he had to remember she was just another backpacker who’d eventually leave. They always did. It’s why he liked backpackers—they came with short-term expiry dates to live their lives elsewhere.

‘You’re very calm about having strangers in your house like that. Izzy and I are still wary of anyone coming down the driveway.’