My Island Homicide by Catherine Titasey Page A

her bloody phone beeped.

Chapter 7
    The station was silent and I debated whether to work or go home. I was on call so anyone ringing the station number would be diverted to Cairns and then I’d be contacted in an emergency. Shay’s advice was playing in my head. Treat yourself to something nice .
    â€˜Fancy a walk?’ Jenny appeared in shorts and a T-shirt.
    â€˜Now?’ I searched my database of excuses. ‘It’s only 5.30.’
    â€˜Do me a favour, please.’ She patted her belly. ‘I had a medical this afternoon and . . . the outcome, the upshot is . . . I . . .’
    â€˜Is something wrong?’
    â€˜Yes. I am too fat. I have to lose at least 15 kilos and need to start exercising. I went home and changed and then thought you might like to join me. I’ll show you Millman Hill.’
    I didn’t have anything better to do. ‘All right.’
    â€˜I’ve got my car so I’ll drop you home and wait while you get changed.’
    I grabbed my new Asics joggers, which I pulled on as we headed to Millman Hill. The exercise wouldn’t hurt and I could do with losing a few kilos. As we drove down the main street, past the Royal Hotel, the black and white dog appeared from nowhere and raced along with us. I leaned over to check the speedo.
    â€˜That dog’s doing 30 kays.’
    â€˜He’s a fast bastard. I’ve clocked him at 35 for over a kay.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t he be behind a fence or picked up by the dog catcher?’
    â€˜Sweetheart,’ said Jenny, ‘this is TI. Council rarely enforces dog laws. When they have impounded dogs, the owners have broken into the compound at night and got their dogs out.’
    â€˜No way!’
    â€˜Yes way. And while we’re on the subject it’s a frigging struggle, half the time, trying to enforce the Queensland Criminal Code when we’re up against sorcery, apathy and alcohol-induced memory loss. The only way to stay sane is to laugh about it.’
    As we passed the Torres Shire Council building, I had to laugh. A skinny white dog was sitting at the entrance.
    â€˜What’s so funny?’
    â€˜You’d think the one place council would remove stray dogs is from their front door.’
    â€˜I know that dog. People sit on the benches outside the council chambers to eat lunch so the dog hangs around for the food.’
    â€˜It can’t be doing too well if it’s that skinny.’
    â€˜Yeah, the other strays have worked things out.’
    Jenny pulled up at a dead-end road and announced we were in Summers Street.
    â€˜That’s the track we take.’ She pointed up to Millman Hill, covered in dry rainforest and thick stringy grass that almost obscured the track.
    â€˜Doesn’t Melissa live in this street?’
    She pointed to the last dwelling. ‘Right there.’
    The highset government house was similar to many of the highset government houses I’d seen in my short time on TI: fibro exterior, steel posts, small front verandah and downstairs storeroom, all in pastel shades. There was nothing personal about this building or the one next to it or the one next to that. There was a dinghy and a dark blue four-wheel drive under the Ramu house. The yard was well mowed but devoid of trees or a garden.
    â€˜The houses here look the same,’ I said, ‘without personality, without gardens.’
    â€˜Yeah, it’s a government-owned island, federal, state and local.’ She pointed to the houses on Robby’s side of the road and named the government department that owned each one. ‘I won’t even bother going through the other side of the street.’ We started along the track up Millman Hill. ‘Housing is offered as an incentive to get skilled people like us to work here. What isn’t for people like us is housing commission. There aren’t many properties owned privately.’
    â€˜Why can’t we find our own