Jackie Tritt

 

Written by Jackie Tritt

Edited by Betty Dobson

Cover Art by Michael Leadingham

 

 

Prologue

 

The flames consumed everything. They licked the weatherboard walls of Peter Halliday’s shed and nibbled at the timber lining boards stacked in the rafters. They blackened and eroded the kiln-dried hardwood studs that formed the skeleton of the walls. They lapped at the pools of oil on the concrete floor. They went up with a whoosh as they met the flammable fuel that spilled from upturned petrol cans. They melted the soles of the man’s boots and ran along his petrol-soaked jeans and green-and-cream-checked shirt. They blistered his freckled skin and fed on his fat and sizzled in his red, springy hair. They burned the ends of the clump of black straight hair that was gripped tightly in his fist. Their smoke filled his lungs and starved his blood of oxygen.

 

The flames did not die until all the fuel was spent. Until the wood and the oil and the fat had vaporized. Until the walls had collapsed and the iron roof had clattered to the floor and buried the charred carcass. Then they died.

 

—    • —

 

Alan Foster felt uneasy. The heat made his collar prickle. He removed his tie and undid the top button, but it didn’t help. The wind blew hot and strong from the north, rattling the police station door. Constable Lee sat opposite, neat, cool, and efficient. She made him feel big and clumsy—which he knew he was.

 

He tilted his chair away from his desk and stretched his arms, revealing sweaty, dark patches in his shirt.

 

“Hot enough to boil a monkey’s bum,” he said.

 

Jade Lee giggled.

 

“I supposed you’re used to it, where you come from.” he said. “The heat, I mean.”

 

“Oh yeah. I come from Melbourne. Didn’t I tell you that? I did tell you,” she said. “I was born in Clayton. Very exotic.”

 

“Sorry—I must’ve forgotten. How come you look so cool, then, and I’m sweating like a pig? Whoops, pig! Get it? Can I get you a cuppa, then?” Foster was on dangerous ground. He’d been sent a constable who was not only a woman but also of Asian descent, even if she had been born in Clayton. They might be used to this sort of stuff in the city cop shops, but it was a new concept in Pelican East. He felt vaguely uncomfortable about the whole deal. He couldn’t wait for Vandenberg to get back from his summer break.

 

“I’ll get it,” she said.

 

“No, you stay where you are. Now—how do you take it?” He could cope with tea making. Start on familiar ground, Al old boy.

 

The ceiling fan made a pathetic job of stirring warm air from one place to another. He opened the window over the sink and was smacked in the face by a blast of even hotter air. “Must be at least forty out there,” he muttered.

 

The phone rang, and Lee answered it. “Hello, Pelican East Police Station. Constable Lee speaking. Oh, yes. Right. Mmm…okay, I’ll tell him. He won’t be pleased.”

 

So she knows me well enough, does she, to know if I would or wouldn’t be pleased.

 

She stood in the doorway, smiling. “That was Constable Vandenberg, sir. Ringing from Northern Queensland. He’s been cut off by floods. No idea how long he’ll be delayed. Looks like you’ll have to put up with me for a bit longer.”

 

She was right. He wasn’t pleased. Still, he’d have to make the best of it. He jiggled teabags halfheartedly in two cracked mugs with insides that looked like old varnish tins. They hadn’t bothered him before, but maybe the station could run to some new ones—in the interests of health and hygiene.

 

He’d never understood why hot tea on a really hot day made him feel better than cold drinks, but it always worked and today was no exception. He lowered his bulk into his chair and pushed Lee’s tea across the desk to her. He’d been feeling vaguely uneasy all day, and now he remembered why.

 

“How old are you?” he said, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

 

She looked surprised at the question.

 

“Twenty-three. Why?”

 

“You look younger. I thought you’d be younger, just graduated and all.”

 

“I went to uni first. I’ve got a degree in psych. It’s all in my file. Didn’t you read it?”

 

He mumbled some excuse then drew breath.

 

“I was hoping you could help me, because you’re young. And if you know something about psychology then that’s even better.” He looked at her sharply to see if she was listening. She smiled. “You see—we’ve been having a helluva lot of trouble recently with our youngest, Melanie. The other kids all went through adolescence without much more than pimples and the odd fit of the sulks. But Mel, I don’t know—she’s just beyond us. Whoops.” A dribble of tea settled next to the gravy from his lunchtime pie, where his belly distended his shirt. He rubbed at the spots with a tissue.

 

“So, what’s she been up to, then?”

 

“Since she turned sixteen, she seems to think she can do anything she likes, never mind what we think. She does things just to annoy us.”

 

“That’s fairly normal for a teenager, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, I s’pose. To some extent. But she’s taking it too far. Now she’s seeing this petty crim from Dandenong, Gary Spillane. I mean, a policeman’s daughter! I just feel like we’ve lost control. We had a big blow-up this morning. I was as close as I’ve ever been to hitting her.” He concentrated on the stains on his belly.

 

“Why was that?”

 

“Oh, she was prancing round the house cleaning her teeth. That riled me to start off with. Mouth full of white goop, splashing everywhere. Said she was going to spend next weekend with Gary at some music festival over the other side of Melbourne, camping. Of course I said oh no, she wasn’t. ‘How’re ya gonna stop me?’ she says. ‘Lock me in my room? Handcuff me to the bed? Put me in the lock-up?’ Me and Dot, we’re just at our wit’s ends. Don’t know what to do with her. We even think she’s been climbing out of the bedroom window at night to meet him. It’s bloody dangerous, apart from anything else.” He looked as miserable as he felt.

 

The door alarm beeped as a client came through to the watch house counter. Foster partly welcomed the interruption, but wondered what new trouble he would have to cope with.

 

To Be Continued…

 

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Dedication

 

The Burning is dedicated to my family and to the late, loved, Doris Leadbetter, who convinced me to turn this Popular Fiction  assignment into a novel.

…

 

—    • —

 

Biography of Author:

 

A retired science teacher and careers counselor, Jackie Tritt has become a widely published, award-winning writer. The Burning was originally published as a novel in Australia in1998. She has written articles for the major newspapers around Australia and has had many stories and articles published in the Pearson range of magazines for children. Her short stories have appeared in anthologies and e-zines in Australia and the USA and have been successful in many short story competitions, including the Campbell River Competition in Canada. She won the prestigious $5,000 Herald Sun/Collins Award in 2005. She has read her work in many venues and on air.

 

Jackie has completed a second crime novel, Raven’s Cry, and is in the early stages of a third.

 

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