The threatened storm finally hit, crashing and raging over the house, the beating rain on the tin roof drowning Olivia's fitful breathing and sad cries.

By morning, the storm had pa.s.sed. Olivia was now sleeping calmly and a weary Tyndall slipped from the room, giving Minnie instructions to watch over her.

The town was stirring, but everything seemed different in the light of the night's events. When Tyndall reached his home he was met by a tearful Niah, cradling their baby, whom they'd called Maya.

He held her for a moment then drew back and touched the cheek of the sleeping child. 'I've been with Olivia. She's in shock.' He ran his fingers through his hair. 'Have you seen Ahmed?'

Niah shook her head. 'Tuan and Mem Metta come and tell me what happened. I see no one.'

Tyndall stood quietly for a few moments, thinking, then poured himself a strong whisky. 'Run a bath for me please, Niah.'

'You very tired. Need sleep.'

'Later. A few things to be done yet.'

They exchanged brief smiles and Niah went to the bathroom. Tyndall headed for the verandah, where he sat looking, but not seeing, as he pondered the complexities of his world, a world that had changed dramatically overnight.

He was dressing after his bath when Niah came into the bedroom.

'Minnie come with message, John.'

'I'll see her in a moment. See that she's comfortable, Niah.'

'No stay. Leave message. Ahmed down near foresh.o.r.e camp with Minnie's mob.'

Tyndall dressed in work clothes and walked nonchalantly to his deserted foresh.o.r.e camp. He pottered for a few minutes then checked to see if anyone was around before walking quickly by the fringe of mangroves and into the bush. From the upstairs verandah of the shed's crew room he had seen a wisp of smoke from a campfire.

He found the camp in a few minutes, a temporary and shabby collection of humpies made from sheets of rusted roofing iron, sacks and old canvas. The ground was still wet from the night's deluge and the humpies dripped on huddled families. He exchanged greetings in their language and joined a couple of old men sitting on logs arranged under a banyan tree. He offered them cigarettes and they smiled in grat.i.tude and lit up.

After a few minutes Ahmed walked into the camp accompanied by an Aboriginal man with a spear. He squatted down with the group at the banyan tree and silently took a cigarette offered by Tyndall. His face was drawn and sad.

After a few puffs on the cigarette he spoke in Malay. 'Sorry, tuan. I let him get too far ahead of me. I was too slow. Was hard to see what was happening in bad light.'

Tyndall reached out and put his hand on his off-sider's shoulder. 'I'm sure you did your best, Ahmed. It was very thoughtful of you to make the effort to follow Conrad. Glad you got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d anyway. Problem is, it amounts to murder. Did anyone see you?'

'No. Don't think so. Not close anyway.'

Tyndall drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. 'Have you told anyone what happened?'

'No. But this mob know things, you know these fellas. Just know things.'

'Yeah. But they're not going to talk ... not to anyone in the law.' Tyndall stamped his cigarette b.u.t.t into the mud and put his arm around Ahmed's shoulder. 'I'm going back to the shed. In a few minutes you come along. Just act normal. Say nothing about the affair. Just tell anyone who asks that you spent the night with the mob here. Right?'

Ahmed nodded.

Tyndall had a few words with the men under the tree, shook hands and left.

They spent an hour at the shed and the boats, making out to be checking security, then both went into town. The news of the double murder had taken the heat out of the conflict and the warring factions had gone to ground. Shops were opening again and the hotel bars were packed with men exchanging news and gossip. Tyndall knew he would be expected to turn up at the bars favoured by the pearling masters. He also wanted to hear their version of events.

There was little mention of the dead Koepanger, and even less about who killed him. All the talk was about Conrad and all of the men wanted to reinforce their expressions of sympathy with a drink.

It was late in the day when Tyndall staggered to the office quite drunk and fell asleep.

Sergeant O'Leary knew what he needed ... a few shots of brandy. It had been a nasty twenty-four hours. Three killings, one a white man and that was bad. A lot of injuries, mainly to Asians and that really wasn't a concern, some minor property damage, and a lot of scared whites. Thank G.o.d someone killed the b.u.g.g.e.r who did in Hennessy. Asian, according to the j.a.ps. Probably a Malay. Not that it helped much even if they were right. Town was full of them. And they'll all have an iron-clad alibi.

O'Leary was an Irish adventurer who had found his way to Australia via a stint with the police force in colonial India, serving the white raj. He had been a city policeman in Fremantle and Perth before taking a post with the mounted police in the north-west. He'd gone north largely out of curiosity and a love of adventure, but found the outback was addictive. He often talked about leaving, but never got around to doing it. Holidays in the south had always left him yearning to get back to the town he now called home. After ten years and a couple of promotions he was respected by whites as a tough but wise administrator of the law. He was feared more than respected by the Asians and Aborigines.

Paperwork was not his strong point. Sean O'Leary worked hard at applying the law in ways that reduced paperwork and court appearances. His boot and fists helped enormously to this end. And it was the paperwork a.s.sociated with the recent events that bothered him. It could not be eliminated, but it could be limited.

Tyndall awoke to find Sergeant O'Leary at his desk, feet up and drinking whisky.

'I was going to give you five more minutes, enough for another drink, then I was going to wake you from your beauty sleep. Fact is, John, I needed a few quiet moments to reflect on this and that. It's been a hard day again.'

Tyndall dragged himself to a chair. 'Do you mind?' he asked, reaching for the bottle.

'Not at all, mate. It's your whisky after all.'

'Is it?' said Tyndall vaguely. He poured a half gla.s.s and raised it to the policeman, who raised his gla.s.s in salute. They both drank.

'On duty or off duty?' asked Tyndall casually.

'Off duty, despite the uniform.'

The two men were much alike, though O'Leary was old enough to be Tyndall's father. They came from the same country, and it was this link to the Emerald Isle that had brought them together as occasional drinking partners at hotels, in the office after work, or sometimes in each other's home. O'Leary used Tyndall to keep in touch with what was happening in the pearling scene. Tyndall knew that, but it didn't bother him. He knew how to be discreet.

'How did Mrs Hennessy take it?' O'Leary enquired.

'Poorly. As you'd expect. It will take some time for her to get over it.'

'Aye, it will t'be sure. A terrible thing is the murder of a white man. But at least we're spared the agony of the killer's trial. He got what he deserved.'

'I'll drink to that.'

They both raised their gla.s.ses, then O'Leary leaned forward and poured them both another drink.

'Rather odd, don't you think, that Koepanger having his throat cut at the scene. Suggests that someone was following him ... or Hennessy.'

Tyndall stiffened slightly, and tried to cover his reaction by taking a long swig of his drink. But O'Leary had noticed the reaction. 'Maybe. Hadn't thought much about it.'

'The j.a.ps tell me that it was an Asian. Probably a Malay.' The policeman sipped at his gla.s.s. 'Ahmed around?'

Tyndall was now on his guard. He answered neutrally. 'Yep. Turned up for work this morning. Checked the shed and boats, then I sent him off.'

'Toby Metta tells me that he gave Hennessy some pearls before the murder. They weren't on the body. Now what do you make of that?'

'Sounds like robbery. d.a.m.ned big loss,' said Tyndall, trying to sound genuinely upset.

'Of course. And you were going to mention this business of the pearls to me, were you not?'

'Of course. Another drink?'

The gla.s.ses were filled in silence.

O'Leary carefully examined the contents of his raised gla.s.s, then looked across the rim at Tyndall before drinking. 'It could cause me an immense amount of paperwork if those pearls turned up in certain quarters. To say nothing of the immense waste of government funds on trials and all that.'

Their eyes met. 'I don't think there's any chance of those pearls causing a problem for you,' said Tyndall quietly.

The sergeant finished his drink with a long gulp and smiled. 'That's good, John. In a way we might say justice has been done then.'

'Without paperwork.'

'Aye lad. Without paperwork.'The following day Ahmed appeared at Tyndall's office where he was sorting through Conrad's papers and files. Tyndall looked up and Ahmed reached over and placed the bag of pearls on his desk. The men exchanged a glance but said nothing. Ahmed turned and left the office and Tyndall put the pearls in the safe.

The funeral of Conrad Hennessy was a miserable affair. Rain fell in a relentless, solid sheet. The red clay sides of the hole into which Conrad's coffin was lowered, slipped and collapsed in a slimy ma.s.s, covering the sodden flowers on top of the casket.

Olivia held on to Hamish's hand and the bewildered little boy kept casting anxious glances towards Tyndall, Minnie, Ahmed and Yoshi, still unsure of why his daddy wasn't there. Niah stayed at home with Maya and waited for Tyndall, knowing he would be with Olivia. But for once her jealousy of Olivia was tempered by sympathy.

In the evening, when Tyndall had seen Minnie settle the sedated Olivia into bed, he went to the Lugger Bar, drinking until he could barely stand.

He staggered into the cool night air that momentarily cleared his head, but all he could think of was Olivia's tragic face. Of all people it seemed unjust that a decent man like Conrad should meet such a brutal and unnecessary end. The business would survive but the hole in Olivia and Hamish's life was dramatic.

Lurching across the road, he entered the shadowy park opposite the Continental with no idea of where he was going. But within a minute Ahmed was at his side.

Tuan, I have sulky. You go home now. No Sheba Lane.'

'I don't know where I'm going, Ahmed. It's all b.l.o.o.d.y dreadful.'

'Yes, tuan.' Ahmed took his arm and guided him back across the road as Tyndall continued, 'Poor Olivia. We're going to have to look after her and the boy. Oh my dear Olivia ... ' He muttered and shook his head as Ahmed helped him into the sulky where he soon slumped across the seat and fell asleep.

At dawn Olivia awoke as the effect of the medication wore off, her head heavy, her tongue thick, throat dry. Without disturbing Minnie, she dressed a sleepy Hamish and, taking his hand, walked through the silent muddy town where the humidity hung like a wet steamy blanket. She walked slowly, sometimes carrying Hamish as his legs tired, until she reached the small bluff where Conrad was buried. There she stood by the red mud of the freshly covered grave. It overlooked the sea that stretched so far from this sun-drenched sienna soil by a turquoise bay to his homeland of white cliffs and soft mist. What a long journey their life had been, yet how short had been their time together.

Memories of London crept into her mind; of dusk seeping into her father's shop on a winter afternoon and of Conrad bent over account books. Their simple marriage ceremony, where her widowed father confidently and proudly placed her in Conrad's care. So soon after came her father's death and, at her urging, their bold decision to make a new life in Australia for them and the child she was carrying. Conrad had always told her, 'As one door closes, another opens ... '

She thought of little James, buried down the coast and wondered if he should be here beside his father. Their brief struggle on the land emerged in her memories, and then the fortuitous partnership with Tyndall which had changed their lives.

'Where's Daddy?' asked Hamish suddenly.

'He's in Heaven, darling. But this little place is where we come to talk to him. He has gone away, but to a wonderful place.'

Tears rushed from Hamish's eyes. 'Why Daddy go away?'

'Oh, my darling boy. He didn't want to go away and leave us ... ' Olivia knelt down and hugged him fiercely. 'Sometimes G.o.d asks the angels to take special people up to Heaven. He knows you and I will be strong and good and we have Captain Tyndall and Minnie and Ahmed and everybody to look after us and one day we'll all be together again ... '

Hamish still cried. 'I want my daddy ... '

Olivia tightened her arms about him and tears came to her eyes as she whispered. 'So do I, darling ... ' In a moment or two she pulled away, wiped her son's tears and her own.

Seeing his mother's sadness, Hamish grasped her hand and together they walked sadly back home.

Two sh.e.l.l openers making an early start observed her brief pilgrimage and one remarked, 'She'll be on the next boat back to the old country. Sell out to Captain Tyndall, no doubt.'

'She's no ordinary woman that one, matey. You heard how she mucks in down at the shed, takes food to the sh.e.l.l openers from time to time. Never heard of that sorta thing before. Still this town's no place for a widow like 'er with a kid.'

For the next two weeks Olivia stayed mostly in her bedroom. The wooden cyclone shutters obscured the outside world, air flowed through the funnel-shaped wind scoop on the roof. In the dim stillness of the room she fought to come to terms with the tragedy that had shattered her life. Visitors were turned away. Only Minnie had right of entry, padding quietly in with food which Olivia barely picked at. Hamish was led in at regular intervals to sit with his mother. He didn't really understand what had happened to his father or their ordered life.

For the boy the best part of these difficult days was at sunset when the familiar tall and swaggering Tyndall came through the gate carrying little Maya. Tyndall sat on the verandah and sent Minnie to ask Olivia to join him. She repeatedly ignored his request, so he sat and drank a rum, as he had so often with Conrad, and watched Hamish play with the baby girl he had come to adore.

Finally, one evening, Tyndall finished his sundowner, put down the gla.s.s with some force and, telling Minnie to watch the children, strode through the house and tapped on Olivia's bedroom door.

'It's time, Olivia. Time to come out.'

There was silence but he knew she was listening.

He banged on the door. 'Time, Olivia.'

'Please leave me alone, John.'

'No, I won't. It's time you came out and got on with your life. For Hamish's sake. And Conrad's. I miss him too, Olivia.'

There was a m.u.f.fled noise.

'd.a.m.n it, woman. I'm not talking through this door. I'm coming in.'

'No! Please go away.' Her voice was hoa.r.s.e and tired.

Tyndall wrenched the door open and stood in the doorway, blinking in the near darkness. 'G.o.d, woman, what is this?' He went to the windows where the shutters showed slits of dusk light.

'Please, leave me be,' pleaded Olivia in a weak but tense voice that was teetering on the edge of hysteria.

'Throw something if you want.' The shutters banged open and a rush of last yellow light, perfumed by the tropical shrubs, surged into the musty room. With it came the giggles of Hamish and Maya. He turned to face Olivia.

She sat hunched in a chair, her hair falling lank and dull down her back. Her face was drawn and pale and she hugged a cotton wrapper across herself.

Tyndall pretended not to notice her appearance and spoke to her with firmness. 'Olivia, I expect you to be down at the camp and office tomorrow morning. There's a mountain of paperwork and you will have to take over Conrad's administrative duties. It's all beyond me. d.a.m.n cyclone of paper seems to have hit the place. We need to plan the coming season. I was thinking of sailing north.'

The outburst achieved its intended effect, particularly the radical suggestion of sailing north. His luggers always went south.

'Why north?' Olivia demanded.

Tyndall sighed inwardly with relief. While she would continue to mourn, he knew he'd sparked a reaction and soon enough she'd be out of this coc.o.o.n of grief. However, his demeanour didn't alter. 'I've heard rumours of new grounds. I might go check it out.' He turned to leave and said casually over his shoulder, 'Perhaps you and Hamish might like to come along. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow.'

He left the room, quietly closing the door, then leaned against it and expelled a long breath. Olivia had looked wretched and his heart ached for her.

Olivia stared at the closed door, a sudden flood of anger welling in her. Typical Tyndall Typical Tyndall, she thought with some anger. Didn't ask if she wanted to go to work, just tells her Didn't ask if she wanted to go to work, just tells her. She paced the room a little, went to the window and looked out at the technicolour sunset, then decided to have a bath.

Soaking in the water her annoyance dissolved in a rush of affection for Tyndall's rough kindness. She knew he was right, there was Hamish and the business to think about. Conrad was gone, the life they'd had together was gone. It was no use wallowing in self-pity and sadness. She had to go forward, alone.