We were trapped. The amount of piss and shit most be from all these men but even then it was so much they must have been saving it in containers for d...ys of something. The men started pissing in on us. Some shitting and puking. Already the bowl was so full that I could not stay flat on the bottom without drowning. Four naked women locked up in a bowl just big enough for us to fit in but hardly giving us space to move. And the piss, shit and puke kept coming. The bowl was higher than the rack. "Well, I think I got what you want to know, Dieter. It ain't all bad, either. It turns out Harley McDougal is not as good as his reputation. He was with Merilee Jenkins four times. Each time he took her to the Catbird Club and tried to loosen her up with booze. I guess Ms. Jenkins doesn't drink much, because he didn't manage to get her drunk."He struck out the first couple of times with her, so he decided he needed to help her along with some "E" and maybe some Meth. The plan was to spike her. I held her and told her it would be okay and she said it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t ever be okay.I said “Don’t be silly, it will work out, you will find a fine man one day”Then she blurted out the words that changed everything“How can I ever find the right man when my bitch of a sister has him?”WTF? I thought“What do you mean” I said“You!” she replied “She fucking has you”She looked at me with those big brown eyes. I didn’t think about it,. ”“OK. I want to go over the Charleville detail plats.”The surveyor’s maps showed the tracks running into Charleville, arcing to the south (towards Cunnamulla), and a siding to the south bending east. The station was beyond the siding, and there were sheds and a house indicated (or sketched). The river was a bit further west. Hmmm. Quilpie would be another 150 miles west. Perhaps a bit more. But was that the station master’s house? In Mitchell, the station was on Oxford, but the station master’s.