It was dark and cold.  A bitter wind blew around him as he traipsed along the dirt track.  There were high hummocks growing in the centre of it indicating the track hadn’t been used in a long time.  These brushed against his legs as he walked; startling him each time this happened.  He could taste the sharp metal of his anxiety in the back of his throat.

Overhead, the trees on either side of the track bowed and straightened in the wind.  These almost looked like hands reaching across the sky.  The noise of the wind through the trees reminded him of the sound of blood rushing through arteries.  Each step he took crackled under his feet as though he were walking over tiny bones.

The track widened and forked left and right.  As he neared the fork, he could hear something moving along the track behind him.  As he stopped and turned to see what it was, his ears caught a muted buzzing sound that became increasingly louder.  Then a fetid smell attacked his senses, so strong his eyes began to water.  He pinched his nose shut and closed his eyes.  The noise cut out as he did.

When he opened his eyes, he was looking up at the ceiling of his bedroom.  There had been no transition between the dream he’d obviously been having and waking, except that the buzzing noise started up again.  This time he knew what it was.

Rogues sat up and grasped around in the dark for the buzzing phone.  The digital clock glowed a bright green 4:33.  He groaned and answered the phone.

“This better be good, Marcus,” he growled as an answer.          

Marcus was the desk sergeant and was one of those people who couldn't make a decision by himself.  Rogues had been called any number of times late at night by Marcus to find out it was something he should have been able to handle himself.

"Ah, g'day Rogues, sorry to wake you mate.  But I had a call from one of the Laney boys.  He'd been down at Iron Cove to do some fishing and he found something.  I've called the coroner and he said to let you know too."

"What did he find, Marcus?"

"Another boy, Rogues.  Another dead boy."

_____________________________________________________________

The road to Iron Cove was the only road.  Iron Cove was a popular beach for fishermen as the deep water channel cut very close to the shoreline here, which meant fishing could be done off the beach itself.  The best fishing was usually on the turn of tides, when water coursed through the deep channel, carrying small bait fish and bringing predatory fish up to feed.  It was also a fairly well guarded local secret.  Generally, the only people found on this beach were locals.

This piece of information played in Rogues head as he drove towards the beach.  He pulled into the rough car park in front of the beach and parked between the coroner's car and a dusty red Charger.  The Charger belonged to one of the Laney boys but Rogues couldn't remember who.

The Laneys were a local family of infamous status.  The four boys had been responsible for more of the trouble in the area than any other ten families combined.  It wasn't that they were bad, but more exuberantly dumb.  They drove their cars too fast, got drunk and picked fights and had been arrested numerous times for numerous drunken antics.

But at least Marcus had the foresight to tell which ever Laney boy it was to stay here until he was interviewed.  Rogues got out of the car and walked down the path to the beach.  The sun had yet to clear the horizon and in the predawn light, Rogues could see torch lights bobbing at one end of the beach. He headed in this direction.

As he got closer, he could see Dom the coroner, on his knees in the sand, examining a painfully small body.  A yellow cordon had been established around the body and a few curious locals, including Danny Laney, were standing off to one side.  One of the uniforms, unknown to Rogues, pulled him up as he approached but Dom looked up when he heard the uniform.

"Hey, let him through.  That's Detective Inspector Rogan."                                        

The uniform apologised and held the tape up for Rogues to duck under. Another uniformed officer stood nearby, talking to the locals.

"Hey Rogues, long time no see."  Dom chuckled at his own joke and then shook his head, as if berating himself for his lack of humour.

"No offence, Dom, but I was hoping I wouldn't be seeing you for some time to come.  What's going on here?"

"Ah, well, from what I can tell so far, it looks like the same sort of injuries as Aiden Wilson but you know I'll have to autopsy him to confirm this."

"Shit…  Do we know the kid's name?"                                                                        

"According to Danny Laney, this is Al and Denise Tomas' boy.  He didn't know the lad's name, though."

"Thanks, Dom, I'll check it out.  How close are you to finishing here?"

"Probably another half hour or so.  There isn't much to gather, though.  Damn weird shit this, if you don't mind me saying."

"Is that your professional opinion, Dom?"  Rogues didn't wait for the coroner to respond but heard him guffaw.  He walked across to where the group of locals were standing around.  Danny Laney stood off to one side holding a big beach rod and wearing a fairly pissed off expression.

Rogues called him over to the cordon.  Danny Laney was in his early 20s but had a hard face, the sort that had done a lot more than his age indicated.  He was a builder's labourer when he could find work and had the hard muscled look of someone used to manual labour.

"G'day, Danny, how's it going?"

"I'd be alright if those bastards let me get my line wet.  But they told me I had to wait for you."

"Well, thanks, Danny, I appreciate you waiting.  How about we take a walk to your spot.  I've got a couple of questions I'd like to ask."

The disgruntled man grunted a response and walked back to where he'd left a bag and a small esky.  He picked both up and made his way along the beach, away from the crime scene.  He threw a 'are you coming' glance over his shoulder at Rogues, who jogged to catch up to the man.

"So, what time was it when you found the body, Danny?"                                          

"I don't know.  I got up about 3:30.  The tide was turning around 4, but I wanted to get here and get set up first."

"What did you do when you found the boy?"

"What do you think I did?  I called youse up.  But I had to go back to the main road and find a phone box."

"Did you see anyone else down here at the time?"

"Nah, didn't see nuffink or nobody."

"What about other cars?  Were there any leaving the beach as you were coming down or any parked here?"

"Nah, didn't see nuffink."

"Are you sure, Danny?  It could be a real big help if you did."

"Fuck me, how many times do I have to tell ya?  I didn't see nuffink, not a fuckin' sausage."

"Alright, Danny, you know I have to ask, but I'm not trying to piss you off.  I'll let you get to your fishing, okay?"

"Doesn't fucking matter.  The tides in and the fish'll be gone by now."

Rogues shook his head.  The man was not a happy camper or fisherman, whatever.  He turned to go back to the crime scene but then remembered something else.

"Hey Danny, don't take this the wrong way but can you tell me where you were last Wednesday night."

"Are you really trying to piss me off, Rogan?"  Rogues caught the look the man gave him and shrugged his response.  "I was in the fuckin' tank, wasn't I? That fuckin' bastard Marcus Bourke had me in there for drunk and disorderly.  On a fuckin’ Wednesday night, for fuck’s sake.   I had a few for me mum’s birthday and still get arrested.  Fuck me, you bastards never let a man forget, do ya?"

Rogues couldn’t help but smile.  "Sorry, Danny, but I didn't know.  I was busy on Thursday morning and you must have been let out by the time I got there.  Where were you celebrating your Mum’s birthday?”

“At the Royal.”  The Royal Hotel was the favourite haunt of the Laney boys and the only pub in the district to have not banned them from entry.

“Did your Mum have a good night anyway?”

“How would I know?” 

“But I thought you just said you were celebrating her birthday.”

“I said I was celebrating her birthday.  Didn’t say I was celebrating with her, though.  She is too bloody old to be going to a pub.”

This times Rogues couldn’t help himself and laughed out loud.  “Jeez, Danny, you’re all heart, aren’t you?”  Rogues walked back to his car, shaking his head and giggling to himself, leaving the other man standing on the quickly brightening beach to wonder what he’d said that was so funny.

______________________________________________________________

By the time Rogues got back to the station, the morning shift had just started.  Marcus Bourke was still behind the counter though, looking decidedly bleary-eyed.  There was a pile of paperwork on one side of his desk and it definitely didn’t look complete.  Marcus looked up and gave Rogues a half-smile before stretching back in his seat and stifling a yawn.

“Hey, Marcus, can you tell me if Danny Laney was in the tank last Wednesday night?” 

“Yes, he was the mongrel.  One of the patrols picked him and that Patrick Laney up about midnight.  They were pissing all over the Digger’s Memorial near the bottom pub.  Paddy ended up spewing all over the flaming holding tank.  The bloody placed reeked for hours.  Is there a problem there, Rogues?”

“No, mate, I just wanted to corroborate Danny’s story and tie up a loose end.  Thanks, Marcus, now, why don’t you go home?”  Marcus looked up at Rogues as if he’d slapped him in the face then gestured at the paperwork on his desk.

“I have to try clearing some of this before I do otherwise the boss’ll have my guts for garters.”  Rogues smiled his sympathy and headed for his office.

After a quick check, he found the address for Al Tomas.  Al also played on the same football team as Rogues did years ago, although they were never friends.  In fact, Rogues remembered him as being a bit of a bully and loud mouth.  These days, he and his family owned a small general store near one of the local caravan parks. 

Rogues jotted the address on a post it note, picked up the phone and called the front desk.  Marcus answered on the first ring.

“Marcus, do we have any female officers on duty at the moment?”

“You going to go talk to the Tomas’, yeah?”

“That’s right Marcus.  Who’s on?”

“Ah, Constable Perry is on duty but out on patrol.  I could give her a call and have her meet you at the Tomas place.”

“That’d be good, Marcus, thanks.”

_____________________________________________________________________

By the time Rogues pulled up in front of the small shop, Constable Perry was sitting in her patrol car, across the road from the shop.  He gave her a quick wave as he got out of the car and waited for her to join him.

She was a tall, slimish woman probably in her early 30s.  Rogues was pleasantly surprised by both her handshake (firm but not crushing) and her smile (warm but not familiar).

She introduced herself formerly and called him by his rank as well.  He promptly told her to forget it and call him Rogues.  She smiled again and said he could call her by her first name, Lisa, too.

After giving her a quick briefing on the situation, Rogues and Lisa crossed the footpath and went into the shop.  It had an old-fashioned bell above the door, which clanked and clattered as it closed behind them.  The shop was a lot smaller inside than it looked and they of them crowded the space between them.

Denise Tomas, a frail, short and prematurely greying woman, came out of the back room.  Instantly, her face showed concern.

“You’re not here to see Al, are you?  He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?  What are you here for?”  More questions poised themselves at her lips but Rogues shook his head.

“Denise, is Al here?  We need to talk to both of you.”

The women looked one way then the other then disappeared through the door.  They could hear her talking to someone out the back.  The response she got sounded less than pleasant.

“Dammit, woman, can’t you do anything by yourself?  A man can’t get five minutes to hisself these days.”  Al Tomas, a podgy, unkempt man about the same height as his wife, bustled through the doorway.

“Oh, Rogan, it’s you.  What can I do for you?”  His eyes hardly looked at Rogues, instead moving up and down Lisa, eyes lasciviously taking her in.

“Well, actually, we’d like to speak to both of you, if you don’t mind.  Do you have somewhere we can all sit down?”

“What the hell is going on, Rogan?  You can tell me here.”

Lisa spoke up before Rogues could say anything.  “Detective Inspector Rogan and I would like to talk to you about something of grave concern.  It would be better if we didn’t do it here.”  She shot Rogues a quick glance to see if she’d overstepped her mark but he nodded so she continued.

“If you have a quiet place we can sit and talk, it would be much better for all concerned.”

Denise Tomas’ face appeared around the doorway, looking even more worried.  “Al, let them come out back.  Turn the sign and let them come out back.”

They quickly established the body was undoubtedly that of Mitchell Tomas, Al and Denise’s only child.  Al Tomas’ reaction was one of mild surprise and then embarrassment at his wife’s display of grief. 

Denise, as one would expect, was absolutely stricken by the news.  Her husband snorted his disgust at her display and when she reached out to him for comfort, he almost slapped her hands away.  Unsure of what to do, she hugged herself and rocked back and forth in her seat, tears streaming down her face.

Her husband, still looking absolutely disgusted, admonished her.  “God, woman, pull yourself together.  It’s not like the boy was actually ours.”

Rogues looked sharply at Lisa then back at Tomas.  “What do you mean by that, Al?”  Lisa went and sat next to Denise, taking the stricken women in her arms and holding her as she sobbed.

“I mean, he was adopted, wasn’t he?”  Nodding to his wife with his head, he continued, “she is barren, so in a moment of stupidity, I agreed to adopt one just to keep her off my back.”  Rogues noted the emphasis Tomas put on ‘she’ and wondered if this indeed was the case.

“How old was Mitchell?”

“He was thirteen.  But he was real small for his age, too small to play football, that’s for sure.”  There, in a nutshell, was the crux of Tomas’ problem with his adopted son; if he couldn’t play football, then what was his worth.  Rogues felt incredibly sad and sorry for poor Denise.  Al, on the other hand, he wanted to have a quiet ‘word’ with out the back but knew it would probably do no good anyway.

Instead he said, “Well, we’ll need you to come and make a formal identification, if you don’t mind.  And the sooner the better.  I can leave Constable Perry here with Denise, if you’d like.”

Denise, upon hearing her name, looked at her husband then back at Rogues.  “No, no, I’d like to come and see my poor little boy…”  With the last word, she broke down again. 

“Oh, look at you?  You can’t go anywhere in that state.  No, you can stay and look after the shop.  I’ll go have a look.”  Denise started to say something further, but he shot her a look that said ‘don’t argue with me’.  

Rogues couldn’t help himself.  “Surely you don’t want to open the shop now.  As you said, Denise is in no state to go out.  In my experience, it might be better if she does come and be with you, that way you’ll have each other.”

Tomas’ laughed to himself but didn’t say anything further.  It took all of Rogues self-control not to smack the arse right there and then.