Death on Dangar Island

Tuesday Morning

The sound of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No 1 brought Israel out of sleep and into the dim light of dawn. He reached over and flicked off the alarm. When he closed his eyes again something lurked there, a small shard of memory, a sense of something dark.

He groaned, rolled out of bed and took the phone off its charger. Then he glided through the quiet house and picked up his birding gear by the door before slipping out into the murk. It was a relief to be outside, to smell the gum trees and hear the birds.

A delicate balance of sound and motion lured him up to a small patch of grass in a stand of gum trees. He unfolded his camping chair, pulled out his binoculars, settled in and prepared to set his mind free.

There wasn’t much exciting on show this morning and the remnants of his dreams squirmed in his subconscious. The sudden sighting of a (really quite rare) mangrove gerygone soured his mood further. He took what pleasure he could from the moment but he also chastised himself for not picking the bird out earlier. It was as if the creature materialised right in front of him. He’d caught no movement, nor heard any squawk or cry to arouse his attention. Keeping his mind focused on the present was proving difficult this morning.

At length he stood, stretched, and picked up his folding chair. It was time for breakfast.

When he got back to Carinya, Israel checked the time. It was late enough to shoot off a quick text to Sam and let him know the police were going to visit him over the next couple of days. It would give him enough time to ‘tidy up and that’.

After breakfast, Gary and Israel trooped up the path to Jon Morris’s house on the hill.

Jon himself opened the door, his face a study in concern. ‘Good morning, Professor. Welcome back. Did you sleep well?’

Israel shrugged and gave a broad smile in response. ‘Good morning, Jon.’ He gave a broad theatrical sweep with his arm. ‘Please allow me to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Gary Warburton.’

Gary looked slightly embarrassed, despite having been introduced this way in the past. ‘Nice to meet you Gary.’ Jon shook hands and beckoned them in. David was framed by the doorjamb over Jon’s right shoulder. The faint smirk on his face dissolved as he moved to introduce himself.

‘Right, let’s go and fire her up, shall we?’ Wearing a full ensemble of expensive casual wear, he ushered Israel and Gary towards the balcony.

Israel flexed his hands with excitement. The Statuss still lay out of sight, over the edge of the horizon. He watched Gary closely, anticipating the look on his face when he first laid eyes on it.

The big man walked to the balcony railing and looked down. Israel observed an almost imperceptible relaxation of facial muscles and a distinctive glazed look in his friend’s eyes. Though dazzled by the impressive machine below, Gary quickly shook off his paralysis and piled question after question on its owner. He wanted to know the make and the model, where it was built, what speed it could do, how much fuel it used, and more. Israel listened long enough to learn the boat was made by a company called Princess.

As they waited for the inclinator to creep up the side of the cliff and collect them, Israel pulled out his phone and checked it briefly. He’d set it to silent but it had buzzed in his pocket and he couldn’t resist a glance. It was his Sudanese friend Ashok again, chasing him up about his little ‘problem’. Israel slid the phone back without replying. He glanced upwards and smiled to himself as a pair of rainbow lorikeets skimmed low overhead, their wings humming in unison. He watched as they dipped downwards and hugged the canopy of the trees on a low-level bombing run.