Page 17 of Rough Stock

Obviously, Bree had left out the part about Izzy wanting to sell the place when talking to Finn. But Craig was going to grill Bree for the dirt later.

‘What condition are your holding yards in?’ Finn asked.

‘Good. I mean, it needs some work, but it won’t take much to bring it up to standard. It’s got solid fencing, plenty of watering points, and ample shade and grazing crops in each paddock—with plenty of room in between.’ The more he thought about it, getting paid to babysit other people’s stock might be that sweet gig he was searching for.

‘What happens to an animal if no one claims it?’ Of course, the lawyer at the table would ask the hard questions.

‘That’d be left up to the quarantine station manager.’ Finn shrugged, while barely sharing a sly grin at Craig. ‘Most livestock will be branded, and we both know Bree does a great job of keeping the local stock brand register up to date. Hey, I hear Bree’s making a cattle brand for Dustfire to match the sign. A legacy brand, too.’

The thought made Craig’s heart skip. As a master brand maker, Charlie had taught Bree to forge those rare, time-honoured cattle brands—the kind passed down through generations. He’d always promised to make Craig one for Dustfire someday.

But that day never came.

And Charlie was gone.

Damn, he missed that old man.

‘Craig, I know you are well skilled at looking after all sorts of animals. You also have a unique set of skills, especially with the case I’m working on now, that I need your help. It’s why I’m here instead of approaching you later when you’re feeling better.’

‘I’m fine.’ Ignoring Izzy’s frown, Craig rested his elbow on the table. ‘What’s going on?’

Finn swiped across his tablet’s screen, then turned it around to show a set of images. ‘Some livestock were reported stolen overnight.’

‘That’s rare they got to report it, when it happens a lot more than you know.’

‘I’m aware of the crime stats.’

‘I’m not.’ Of course, the lawyer would ask, to no doubt store the information into her cunning little memory bank to use later.

‘In Australia, over sixty per cent of rural crime—in particular stock theft—never gets reported to the police, because the victims believe we can’t do anything about it.’

‘Why is that?’ Izzy examined the images with keen interest.

‘Sadly, most of the time the farmers don’t realise they’ve lost stock until it’s too late to do anything responsive.’

‘Izzy…’ Craig patted her shoulder to soothe her inquisitive lawyer side, no doubt racking up the questions. ‘I get what Finn is saying. Most farmers don’t realise any stock is missing until it’s mustering time, so they’re not able to provide any details of when and how the crime was committed. When all their hard work is stolen like that—it’s heartbreaking for some. I’ve known men who have walked off their land, because the stolen livestock was the only thing stopping the banks from calling in their mortgages. Many have suicided over it, too. Livestock is a big deal to those landowners. It’s their livelihoods.’

‘Sadly, the crims who steal their stock get away with it most of the time,’ said Finn.

‘Mongrels.’ Craig scowled with heat.

The criminal lawyer at the table said nothing, grabbing another biscuit.

‘But the bull reported as missing, I believe you know.’ Finn showed Craig a large image on the tablet’s screen.

‘No way.’ Craig’s eyes widened at the picture.

‘What?’ Izzy asked, with a mouthful of crumbs.

‘It’s Wraith’s Wrath.’

‘Who?’

‘Wraith. He’s a rodeo bull.’

‘You’re not talking about the bucking bull that did that to you?’ She waved a hand over his body.

‘The same. Finn, when did this happen?’

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