The Plot – Chapter 15
The Wrong Culprit
‘Bloody ruined,’ moaned Vince. ‘Again. Looks like I’m just not going to get any this year.’
He stood before his tomato trellis, head bowed over the fruit cupped in his hands.
Jorja didn’t like to see him this despondent.
Neither did she want him spraying broad spectrum pesticide all over his patch, even if it did say ‘organic’ on the label. As a biochemist, she advocated only controls that were tightly focused; as a permaculturist, she knew that a holistic approach was more effective than a blinkered focus on one issue, one solution.
There was also the minor matter that spraying was strictly banned at the Plot.
She could see that the poor man was beside himself and ready for desperate measures.
‘Let’s have a look.’
Gently she took the big, unripe tomato from his hands and examined it. On one side there was a gaping hole. Inside, round beetles could be seen, rather like ladybirds but flattish. Chrysomelida family by the look of it: a leaf beetle, but not one she was familiar with.
That wasn’t surprising, as there were thousands of species, exotic and indigenous.
One clambered out of the fruit. She caught it deftly between thumb and forefinger, pinching its shiny back and swollen belly just enough to prevent it from escaping. It wasn’t wise to squash them: some members of the family could release toxins in self-defence.
She looked at its little head, the long antennae waving around. Quite cute, actually. These leaf beetles’ mouthparts were adapted to eating foliage. It seemed unlikely that they could chew through the relatively thick, rubbery skin of an unripe tomato.
Unless the damage were done by the larval stage? But then you’d expect to see them erupting from the skin, if eggs had been laid inside, or shot holes where the grubs had burrowed in, if laid on the surface. There would be larvae feasting on the juicy innards; there would be frass; then fermentation, once bacteria in the excreta and wild yeasts in the environment got to work. There was none of this.
She looked again at the ragged holes. These were surely made by much bigger mandibles. Mammal mandibles and teeth. You could see where the skin had been tugged away from the flesh.
‘I think you’ve got the wrong culprit.’
‘What do you mean? Look at ’em, all over me poor bloody tomatoes!’ He jabbed a finger in agitation.
‘Take a closer look at this little thing. She hasn’t got the equipment to cause that damage.’
She held up the beetle for Vince to see. It wriggled its legs. The antennae waggled desperately.
‘Well something did.’
‘I think your problem is mice, Vince. Or native bush rats coming up from the railway reserve.’
‘Ah.’ He peered at the little insect dubiously. ‘You don’t think I should give them a dose, just in case?’
‘It wouldn’t do any good.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘These little beetles are attracted to the fruit because it’s already damaged. You’d just be killing them and a whole range of other invertebrates for no reason, and damaging the mini-ecosystem you’ve spent years building up.’
She had to be careful about lecturing him. He was an old man and probably proud, easily offended if his horticultural expertise were challenged by someone a third of his age. Gardening was what he lived for.
She didn’t want her big mouth to talk her out of another place to sleep.
Not that she really believed he’d do that to her. But then, she hadn’t dreamed her so-called bestie would chuck her out on the street, either, just because Ruby’s boyfriend was a lying, womanising little shit.
Diplomacy wasn’t her strong point, she knew. So tread carefully, girl.
‘What I’ll do is take some photos, collect a few samples, take them to the lab. It’s not really my area, but I have a colleague who’ll be able to give us a definite ID.
‘In the meantime, I’d think about some kind of barrier method to protect the remaining fruit.’
She knew not to offer specific solutions: his ingenious mind would come up with something, and he would have ownership of the remedy.
It was pitiful to watch them scrabbling around, it truly was.
Ray clicked off the TV.
‘Clueless plods! “Not suspicious” my arse!’
He had video evidence to the contrary.
That bastard Kapanadze had asked for it, of course. It was gratifying to see your enemies struck down, particularly after they’d insulted you in front of a roomful of your followers and a TV news crew, even if the slanderous words hadn’t made the cut for the seven o’clock news.
At the same time, it was a step too far. A bloke couldn’t just go around serving out justice with a pickaxe handle. Who knew where that might end?
More importantly, what was the point of having insider knowledge, if nobody knew that you knew more than the sheeple?
He’d always known he’d make a great detective. That’s why he’d applied for Victoria Police after leaving school. Only to have his dreams dashed and his parents let down. He’d aced the exam but still got rejected. Some bullshit about psychological unsuitability.
Anything to keep a good man down. Just because he had the courage to stand up for his values. It had been a very minor difference of opinion with the police ‘psychologist’ woman.
So, here was a golden opportunity to put one over on the Jacks, while pointing them in the right direction. Educating them and rubbing their noses in it.
Simply handing over the evidence wouldn’t do. Oh no: they’d take the credit, thank you very much, pat him on the head, then show him the door.
What was needed was a very public tip-off.
Next week in The Plot:
Chapter 16: Join the Dots
Neil considers his next steps. Courtney and Nico compare notes.
Disclaimer: The people, organisations and events described in this story are entirely the product of the author’s imagination; they bear no intentional resemblance to real-life people, organisations and events. Some locations are based on real places, however the City of Corymbia and its localities are inventions of the author.