Dirty Fracking Business Read Free

him.
    ‘Dammit! Didn’t you hear me? They murdered my son. That’s all you need to damn-well print.’
    ‘I … I can’t, Sir. Our lawyers won’t let me. I’m sorry.’
    ‘Everyone’s sorry but no-one’s doing anything. Well, I’m going to fix that. Write that in your rag, Steve. Tell your readers that I’m going to exterminate the blight that’s destroying our beautiful valley. Tell ’em that Steve. Tell ’em!’ Paxton shouted, as Faye grasped his arm.
    ‘Let’s go home, Darling.’
    ‘We don’t have a home.’ He choked. ‘All we have is a bloody empty house.’
    Steve watched as they shuffled down the cemetery path and his heart went out to them. He didn’t know if what Paxton had said was true; without scientific evidence he could not run the story. Charlie was the only young child to die in the town for years and it wasn’t as if there was a cancer epidemic running through the community. Maybe little Charlie had just been plain unlucky. He waited a few minutes before following in the Paxtons’ footsteps, anxious not to catch up to them and receive another rebuke.
    As he reached the gate, Steve heard angry voices coming from across the street. He looked up to see Tom Morgan jabbing his finger into the chest of Andrew Brown, the local branch manager of the Federal Bank of Australia, who was strenuously trying to push him away, while furiously shaking his head . Simon Breckenridge, one of the town’s more eminent lawyers, got between them and seemed to be pleading with Morgan to stop. Never one to miss a story, Steve headed straight for them but, when they looked up and saw him coming, they broke apart, taking off in different directions. Glancing behind him he saw Dr George stooped over and dragging his feet along the path. He was prematurely grey, with deep creases in his forehead and sunken jowls that belied his thirty-three years.
    ‘It’s a terrible day, George.’
    The doctor had been deep in thought and looked up in surprise. His face was kind and gentle but his eyes were red and there were still tears on his cheeks. ‘That it is, Steven.’
    ‘I’m sorry; it must have been terrible for you. Charles is certain it was the poisons being pumped into the ground that killed Charlie.’ Steve paused to let his words sink in. ‘I guess you’d know better than anyone whether that’s true or not.’
    ‘Steven,’ Dr George said, giving the younger man a wan smile, ‘when have you ever known me to gossip or to disclose any information about my patients?’
    ‘I … I di … didn’t think …’
    ‘You didn’t think it applied after a patient had passed away? Well it does. You’re going to have to wait for the coroner to deliver his findings. And, Steven, today is not the day to be hunting up a story.’
    ‘Sorry George. I didn’t mean to overstep the mark. Don’t forget we’ve got the final of the indoor cricket on Tuesday night.’ Steve was anxious to change the subject.
    ‘I’ll be there.’ The doctor looked down at his watch. ‘I have to get back to the surgery.’
    Charles and Faye Paxton had made the agonising decision to donate Charlie’s organs, after being told that those not affected by cancer could save the lives of other little children. There was a rider, though: Paxton’s insistence that a full autopsy be carried out and that the doctors give the pathologist a letter from him in which he outlined his suspicions. This was a most unusual request but the medicos were desperate to harvest Charlie’s organs and saw no ethical impediments.
    There were other towns in the Fisher Valley but Paisley was its unofficial capital and boasted the largest pub, a three-person police station and the only courthouse in the valley. Its population was not quite twenty thousand but it also housed the auction yards; farmers, graziers and racehorse owners came from all over Australia for the cattle and thoroughbred auctions. It was a peaceful town in the geographic centre of the valley,