Glen Pavardy crouched and studied the ground beside the abandoned work Ute. "Did we get a shot of these footprints and drag marks, Sean?"

"Forensics have just finished going over it. We're free to do what we want."

Glen stood and peered at his freckled-faced partner. "Whoever it was, didn't go without a fight." He let his gaze run over the scene, then looked back at Sean. "They've been dragged out of the car." He shook his head in dismay and added, "Lota blood."

"Yeah," Sean said. "I'm thinking we've got ourselves a dearly departed."

Glen studied the inside of the vehicle. "You could be right. Car's full of bloody hand prints. The sun visor has been torn off. I'd say he or she was holding onto it." Glen indicated with his pen. "The same goes for the hand brake, seat and steering wheel. My guess is, that whoever it was, they were alive, bleeding and putting up a fight. If they are dead, they didn't die here." He looked over the roof of the car at Sean. "I wonder if they were shot. Any sign of a bullet?"

Detective Sean Carter shook his head. "It's a work vehicle. There's a lot of tools and shit in the back. Maybe they whacked him with a spanner or hammer, and then threw it into the bush." He walked around to the back of the Ute. "It's been ransacked. Searched is my guess. See those scratch marks and bolt holes. A box was mounted there."

Sean glanced at the team of police officers who scoured the ground and then turned back to Glen. "They've been at it for a while but haven't found any weapon. There are signs another vehicle was parked under that large Red River Gum on the opposite side of the road." He pointed at the ground. "Forensics is pretty sure these drag marks are from boot heals. Maybe he was hit, fought back, was hit again, and then dragged unconscious through the dirt towards the scrub. It's inconclusive because the road's been driven over and the dirt's shifted. They found blood near the tree trunk along with some four-wheel drive tracks. The vehicle headed west, but the marks have been lost amongst others about a hundred metres along the road."

Glen chuckled and scratched his head. "That's a big help. Out here, every man and his dog have got a fucking four-runner." He frowned. "Why are we saying it was a he?"

"The cars registered to a Beau Hawkins." Sean shrugged. "We've just made the assumption."

"Fair call," Glen said as he continued his examination of the vehicle. "Has it been reported stolen?"

"Nope."

"Alright. When we get back to the station, we'll see what we can find on the fucker." He ran his hand through his thick dark hair. "Who found it?"

Sean flipped open his notebook. "A Mrs Sally Trappes. Uniform says she noticed it a week ago. It wasn't until she stopped, took a look inside and saw all the blood stains, that she thought she'd better ring the police."

"Has anyone talked to her face to face?"

Sean tilted his head and smirked. "Nope."

"What the hell?" Glen lifted his hands to the sky. "I guess she'll be our first job."

Sean drove the unmarked police vehicle over the grid and continued towards the blue stone cottage. Chickens scattered as he pulled the four-wheel drive to a stop near a metal corrugated water tank. He stared at the house through the windscreen. "Man, who would live all the bloody way out here?"

The land was dry and rugged with scattered trees and shrubs. In the distance, a line of River Gums indicated a waterway.

Glen chuckled and grinned at his partner. "Mrs Sally Trappes."

A small ruffled grey-haired woman opened the fly screen door. "You the coppers who rung me?" she called.

The men climbed out of the SUV. "Yes. And, you are Mrs Trappes? Mrs Sally Trappes?"

"Yep. That's me. Come on in." She led the way inside the house. "I'll put the kettle on." Sally shuffled around the kitchen table and filled the electric jug. "Take a seat."

Once they were settled Sean opened his notebook. Glen studied the house. "Nice place, Mrs Trappes." Although it was dry and warm outside, the inside was cool with comfortable furniture. Rugs of some age covered the sandstone floor. The armchairs looked deep and cosy, with throwovers and cushions. Timber book shelves lined one wall. The rustic dining table and chairs were built of hardwood. A point twenty-two calibre rifle hung in a locked cabinet above the fireplace. Memories of his grandmother's home flashed through Glen's mind.

"Been here for thirty years, I have." Sally grinned and ran her gaze around the room. "The back of beyond in South Australia isn't to everyone's liking but, I love it."

Glen raised his eyebrows, chuckled and nodded. "Your house is great. Being in the middle of nowhere is the turn-off. I'm a city dweller myself, Adelaide runs in my blood."

She laughed and nudged her head at him. "You can keep your city."

Glen grinned then said, "So, Sally. Ah... can I call you Sally?"

"Oh... I reckon you can." She placed the teapot and mugs on the table, filled each cup, and sat.

"This abandoned Ute you reported on Delaney Road," Glen said. "Can you tell us a bit more about it?"

"Not much to tell." Sally lifted her mug and took a sip. She swallowed the hot liquid before she said, "September third was the first time I noticed it. I remember it because I had a dentist's appointment in town. I just glanced at it, because I thought it was Jack Standen's." She took another sip. "He owns the paddock where it was parked. I thought he must have been checking his fences."

Sally thought some more. "The next time was the eighth. I had to go back in for another filling." She looked from one officer to the other. "Anyway, I thought it was weird that it was still there. On my way back home, I stopped and took a look."

Glen nodded and pushed his bottom lip out. He checked to see if Sean was getting it all down, and then took a sip of his tea before he asked, "How long do you think it had been there?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you." Sally waved her words away. "Coulda been a month for all I know. I don't go anywhere unless I have to. It was coincidental I had to go into town twice that week. That's not normal for me." She added a splash of milk to her cup. "I didn't like the look of all that blood. At least I reckoned it was blood. It was all dried up but I've killed enough chickens to know what old blood looks like."

Glen glanced at the rifle cabinet and grinned. "I hope you don't use the Ruger."

Sally followed his gaze and laughed. "No, use the axe out the back for the chickens, the twenty-twos for the dingoes and foxes."

"You've got a licence for it?" Glen tilted his head and gave her a sheepish grin. "Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask."

"Sure have." Sally went to the bookcase and came back with the document. She smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. "No flies on you, detective."

Glen laughed and studied the licence.

"Do you live here by yourself, Sally?" Sean asked.

"Yep, most times."

"What does that mean?"

"I have family, nieces, nephews, who come and stay sometimes."

Sean jotted some notes. Once he was finished, he looked at Sally and nudged his head. "Any of them been here in the last month?"

"No." Sally blew out a breath and shook her head. Her eyes lit up. "Not coming till Christmas. I'm looking forward to it this year."

As Sean took more notes Glen said, "Did you notice the condition of the vehicle other than the blood? I mean..."

"You mean if it was a mess." Sally cut him off. "Yes, it was a bloody mess. Stuff everywhere. Tools tipped out all over the place. I can't tell you if it was like that when I first drove past it." She studied Glen hard. "Is that what you're asking me?"

"Yes." Glen laughed and winked. "No flies on you, Sally." 

Photo in centre of chapter is a dingo.

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