Grave regret, p.1
Grave Regret, page 1
Grave Regret
Dawn Grave, Volume 1
Fiona Tarr
Published by Fiona Tarr, 2024.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
GRAVE REGRET
First edition. September 30, 2024.
Copyright © 2024 Fiona Tarr.
ISBN: 979-8224155477
Written by Fiona Tarr.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Thank You!
Books by Fiona Tarr
Chapter 1
Sweat pooled at Dawn’s back, despite the hire car air-conditioner blasting at her face. She watched the temperature gauge climb as the ostentatiously painted backpacker van, with politically incorrect slogans sprawled down the side, spluttered and backfired up the steep incline.
This was the only hire vehicle she could organise on short notice. Early spring in tropical Far North Queensland was touristville, and Cairns was full of southerners trying to soak up the warmth before the rainy season kicked in.
Fighting to keep herself awake, Dawn fiddled with the radio. Static fizzled and screeched back at her.
‘Damn!’
She was travelling right off the back of a major murder case in the middle of nowhere, with only a few hours’ sleep on the plane from Adelaide to Cairns. All to chase up a cryptic message from her sister, in a place she hoped never to see again.
The murder case in desolate Coober Pedy kept her occupied all week and she’d avoided each message Lisa sent her. A tiny shred of guilt knotted in her stomach. As soon as the case was cracked, and her murder suspect in custody, she tried to call Lisa—but there was no answer.
Now, as she drove past the hospital, she was worried something terrible had happened. Shaking her head, she forced the thought from her mind. When Lisa failed to answer her calls, she did what any good detective would do.
She rang the hospital and the local police. She would have rung Lisa’s friends, if she knew any of them.
Turning the rusted Toyota HiAce van down the dirt track off Boundary Street, Dawn braced herself for the vibration the tiny tyres and rutted road were sure to produce. Despite her preparation, the wheel jerked in her hands at the first pothole and the van pulled hard to the left. Steering it back, she cursed under her breath.
The dense bushland closed in around her as the road narrowed. It was amazing how the scrub was still so close to town. The new highway from Mossman to Cooktown saw the remote town growing in popularity. It was only a matter of time before these blocks were cut up and more winter holiday homes covered the hillside.
Turning left into the barely visible driveway brought a rush of memories. None of them good. Forcing down bile, she focussed on avoiding the corrugations and stray branches lying at the edge of the winding track.
A gasp caught in her throat as the homestead came into view. Standing tall on stilts, with timber weatherboards hanging loose and crumbling, was her childhood home. The classic square-pane casement windows were ajar across the front of the balcony.
She parked the van in front of the double-sided staircase with tulip cut-outs and slatted balustrading. A curve crept across her lips, despite her clouded memories.
Composing herself, she scanned the yard from inside the van, before finally putting her hand on the door and opening it. As she slid out from behind the wheel, the moist humid air assaulted her. The result—instant sweaty armpits and frizzy hair.
It was spring, but even spring in Far North Queensland was humid.
So damned humid, she thought.
Dawn lifted her tight-fitting tank top away from her already damp skin and pumped it, trying to let some airflow in to cool her. Failing, she slammed the van door closed with a creak and followed the crushed rock path to the left side of the double staircase, where a rusty iron gate hung open.
‘Lisa! Are you home?’
She mounted the first rung cautiously and waited. No cheery reply came. Slowly, she stepped up towards the long, wide and airy wrap-around veranda. The wooden stairs creaked with each footfall. Glancing down, she noticed they were grey and weathered.
She stopped herself as she reached for the banister rail. The sage green was faded and flaking. The once-white slats, on close inspection, were cracked and daylight shone where it shouldn’t.
Despite not wanting to come here, Dawn found herself fighting back tears. Tears desperate to be shed for a past long forgotten.
‘Lisa. It’s Dawn. I got your message.’
She reached the landing and opened the fretwork gate, jumping as it fell from the hinge with a thud.
Her heartbeat quickened. The place was derelict.
‘Lisa!’
A row of stained-glass wind chimes hung from the veranda, along with a mix of ornaments, including a Native American dreamcatcher and a macramé plant holder featuring a gigantically overgrown asparagus fern.
The swaying chimes tinkled in the light afternoon breeze. The sound did nothing to settle her nerves.
‘Lisa! Where are you?’ She pulled on the carved wooden screen door. It opened without protest to reveal a timber hallway with flaking polish.
Eerie silence greeted her as she crept down the wide hallway. Her stomach churned, while her mind raced, but she suppressed her fears and forced herself to breathe.
Reaching the kitchen, at the far end, she scanned for any sign of a struggle. Her sister wasn’t known for her tidiness, but nothing lay broken on the floor. Clean dishes were piled in disarray on the sink. A frying pan on the stove, empty.
The unvarnished kitchen table was covered with jars of fruit preserve, an overflowing fruit bowl, bottles of vitamins and cut native flowers, with a pair of secateurs and gardening gloves abandoned alongside.
A tingling sensation made Dawn turn, but no one was in the kitchen. Peering down the long central hallway, she found it empty.
Meticulously, she searched from room to room. The tiny classic windows let in very little light, but a soft breeze blew through, making the sheer curtains in the next room she entered billow gently.
An iron bed took centre stage in what was once her parents’ bedroom. A picture on the wall told Dawn her sister now slept here. There were no fancy cushions arranged on the high-set bed. In fact, it wasn’t made. A mosquito net, tied in a huge knot, hung from the high ceiling.
Dawn checked every room efficiently and found no one. Taking the front stairs two at a time, she rushed back down to check the garage under the house.
The picket-slatted doors weren’t locked. Dawn pulled one open and peered into the under storey. There was no car. A rusted bicycle hung from the floor joists above. A long bench with disused tools occupied the right wall.
Her sister still wasn’t home. She wasn’t answering her calls, and the police had no idea where she was.
Striding towards the van, Dawn jumped when her mobile phone rang in her pocket.
Retrieving it with fumbling fingers, she checked the screen. A local number, but not one she knew. She answered.
‘Detective Dawn Grave speaking.’
‘Detective. This is Senior Sergeant Martin from Cooktown police.’
Dawn’s stomach tightened.
‘Yes?’
‘You called this morning, asking about your sister, Lisa Grave.’
‘That’s right.’
She wanted to scream for Sergeant Martin to pull his finger out and get on with it, but she knew he was simply going through standard procedure.
‘Lisa’s car has been found.’
She waited. Her mind flashing with a crash scene. Just like the young constable’s brother back in Coober Pedy, only a few days ago. Was she too going to be visiting the scene of a car accident?
She forced herself into professional mode. It was her go-to when stress threatened to trigger a panic attack.
‘Sergeant, where was the car found?’
‘Out at Archer Point.’
Her stomach did a flip.
‘And my sister?’
‘I’m sorry Detective Grave, but your sister wasn’t with the vehicle.’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘Hang on. On your way from Adelaide?’
‘No Sergeant. I’m at my sister’s house now. She’s not home. It’s been left unlocked, and something feels wrong.’
‘Leaving the place unlocked isn’t that unusual. Lisa’s house isn’t exactly one you’d trip over unless you knew where to find it.’
The sergeant was right. She’d been living in the city too long. No one ever used to lock their house in Cooktown.
‘I’ll be at Archer Point in half an hour.’
‘Hang about Dawn.’
She said nothing when he used her first name. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t stop him. Sergeant Martin knew her father, and he’d known her since she was a baby.
‘The road out there is crap at the moment. I’m guessing you’ve got a hire car. Why don’t you come to the station. I’ve got a local ranger here. He found the car. He’ll take you out to meet Constable Jamison on scene.’
‘I’ll be five minutes.’
She hung up, shoved her phone in her pocket and yanked the van door open. Within seconds she had the motor started and was backing the van out. She didn’t bother with her seatbelt as her mind raced with regrets.
Why didn’t I return Lisa’s call sooner?
Chapter 2
The police station, like most buildings in Cooktown, hadn’t changed. The height of the palm trees lining the path was the only indication of the passing of twenty years.
The drive into town sparked memories she had spent the past two decades trying to suppress, but then there were some that made her smile. Like her first time sneaking into the RSL for a beer with friends. Swimming in the river and praying a croc wasn’t on the hunt. The first time sailing a dinghy in the bay.
But the few happy reminders weren’t enough to wipe out everything else. Shaking her head, she forced the turmoil in her stomach to still, before pushing the station door open.
A man in his late fifties waited at the front counter. His eyes warm, his smile unforced.
‘Dawn. You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘You’re a good liar Sergeant Martin.’
‘Call me Ross. You’re not a kid anymore.’
‘You were always Constable Martin. Sergeant now. When did that happen?’
‘Not long after you left town. Detective, hey?’
His eyebrows lifted.
‘Life throws this stuff at you.’
He nodded.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made Dawn turn. Standing with his back against the foyer wall, Akubra held to his chest, was a park ranger whose dark brown eyes studied her.
Sun-bleached blond and red streaks mottled his curly mop of hair and seemed out of place against his dark complexion.
‘Michael. This is Dawn Grave. Dawn, this is the ranger I told you about.’
He stepped forward, hand extended, eyes drilling hers, expression unmoving.
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Lisa’s sister?’
‘The very same.’ Dawn shook his hand firmly.
‘You ready to head out?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. Dawn watched his retreating back, turned to Sergeant Martin and shrugged.
‘I’ll be back later. I want to meet you out at the house. Something’s not quite right.’
‘See what you find out at Archer first, hey?’
Dawn nodded, then turned to leave. Michael waited by the door, holding it, foot tapping impatiently.
‘You’re in a rush for a local.’
She couldn’t help noticing Ranger Michael didn’t seem to have the usual local Indigenous casual approach to life.
‘I’ve got work to do.’
Another anomaly.
She said nothing as he let the door go after she passed through and quickly overtook her on the way to his vehicle.
A white Toyota troop carrier with a turquoise logo on the door featuring a dugong and the words Yuku Baja Muliku Ranger wrapped around it, made her stop a moment.
‘You’re not with National Parks?’
‘We contract in the homelands.’
He pressed unlock on the keys, lights flashed, and he opened the driver’s side door without another word.
Dawn suppressed all the questions running around her mind as she pulled herself up into the passenger’s side. It seemed some things were different about Cooktown after all.
‘Where exactly was the car when you found it?’
‘Parked under the trees at First Beach.’
Michael started the car and backed out, as he pushed the vehicle into first, his eyes scanned Dawn’s face.
He was expecting her to ask more questions, but her mind was racing. They’d visited Archer Point a lot as teens. Fishing, swimming, sunbathing, but as far as she knew, neither of them had been back since ...
She sighed deeply.
‘Everything okay?’ Michael watched her from the corner of his eye.
‘My sister is missing. How can everything be okay?’
‘Sorry. I meant, are you okay?’
Now he decides to make small talk.
‘I’ll tell you when I see the car.’
The Archer Point Road lived up to the warning. Her campervan would have shaken to pieces on the corrugated, rutted road. The two creek crossings, despite the usually drier time of year, were still too deep to get anything but a four-wheel drive through.
A police vehicle came into view as they turned into the First Beach parking area. A large commercial bin framed the cyclone-wire fenced entrance. Trees hung low over the area, creating shade, but making parking difficult.
A No Camping sign caught her attention.
‘Since when has camping not been permitted?’
‘Since white fellas decided to piss and shit and leave their rubbish in the bush en masse.’
‘Understandable then.’
A tall, lean constable in police blues strolled towards the vehicle as Dawn opened the door. Another wave of humidity brought instant perspiration from every pore. She noted the constable’s wet armpits and decided her deodorant was going to get a pounding on this trip.
‘Ms Grave. I’m Constable Jamison.’
‘Call me Dawn.’
She accepted his outstretched hand and shook it firmly.
‘This her car?’
She didn’t wait for an answer. The mustard-coloured Isuzu was the only vehicle in sight.
‘Ah.’ The constable followed her. ‘I don’t think you should touch anything.’
‘No! Really?’
She didn’t hide her sarcasm. Then thought better of it. Maybe the constable didn’t know she worked with the police.
‘Sorry. Is there any sign of foul play? A struggle? Was the vehicle broken into?’
The constable frowned.
‘I’m with SAPOL. Detective Sergeant Grave.’
‘Oh.’
He stood up straighter. Dawn craned her neck to maintain eye contact.
‘I only got here twenty minutes before you. I’ve called the State Emergency Services, so the SES volunteers will help us check the area. The Yuku rangers are getting a boat in the water.’
‘You think she went for a swim—out here—alone?’
Dawn circled around her sister’s vehicle, eyes scanning as she made sure not to disturb any evidence.
‘We don’t know. It’s not croc or stinger season, but there’s a local fella about three and half metres long. Lives in the next beach around, at the creek entrance.’
‘My sister has lived here all her life, Jamison. There is no way she would have gone swimming out here alone, anytime of the year. Besides, we’ve got history here. I don’t understand why she came out to this place at all.’
‘History?’
Michael’s question made her jump. She’d forgotten he was still there.
‘Long story.’
Michael waited. His dark bushy eyebrows knitted together. She waved her hand dismissively and turned her attention back to the vehicle.
‘Something sinister has happened here Constable, and it’s not a swim session gone wrong. My sister left her house in a hurry. Check her phone records. Check CCTV footage. She’s been taken from here. Believe me.’
Jamison scuffed his feet in the dirt. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Grave.’
‘Call the sergeant and stop messing with my crime scene.’
‘There’s no reception out here.’
