Sapphire Falls

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘If that happens to you, my dear, try to think clearly. More clearly than I did. Fact is, Davy wasn’t coming back and neither is your Charlie.’ A sad smile crossed her lips, but she was pulled back from reminiscing when a series of car horns blared around her. ‘Oh that’s my boy! Good goal, Myles!’ she called, clenching her fist and pumping the air with excitement. ‘Tell you what, if that boy had wanted to play AFL, he could have! Shame he got so caught up on the farm with his father.’

  Fiona touched the older woman’s arm. ‘I’d better find Jo. She’ll be looking for me soon.’

  ‘Yes, off you go, love. You be strong and hang in there. Brave. That’s what you are.’ Sylvia nodded to her, then focused her attention back on the oval.

  Fiona wandered off, watching people as she went. The calls of the footy players filled the air, as did the thud of their boots on the field and the sound of their bodies colliding with each other.

  Smelling hot chips, her stomach suddenly rumbled. She needed to find Jo. There was hot chocolate in the thermos and she’d also packed some sandwiches, but a bucket of chips and gravy would be much more satisfying.

  She took out her mobile phone and saw a text message from Kim. Butterflies filled her stomach as she stopped, letting the crowds walk around her. Her fingers hovered over the phone before she finally opened the message.

  All is wonderful here. Long story, but I don’t have breast cancer. Will fill you in when I’m back home. Hope you and bub are well. Xxx

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she was about to put her phone away when a Facebook message from William popped up.

  What’s this about Mum having a boyfriend???

  Fiona giggled out loud. Quickly she typed: What’s the problem with that? She’s happy.

  I need more information. Preferably, height, weight, whether he has any debts and a secret life!

  Not likely, he’s the local doctor.

  But you can’t be sure …

  Shit-stirrer!

  She slid her phone into her pocket and checked the scoreboard. Booleroo was in front by two goals. There were still three quarters to go.

  ‘Fee! Over here!’ Jo was waving at her from beneath a sunshade, where a group of young farmers was sitting. She groaned silently. As much as she loved Jo, she hung out with people who were so much younger than her, and Fiona didn’t fit in. She hadn’t before, and there was no chance she would now that she was a widow and pregnant. Taking a deep breath, she walked over and pasted a smile on her face.

  ‘I was just going to get some chips,’ she said, once she’d greeted everyone. ‘Did you want some?’

  ‘Oh yeah!’ Jo said enthusiastically. ‘Yum. Reckon they’ll hit the spot.’

  The canteen was on the other side of the oval. She walked around it, half watching the footy and half watching the people around her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona realised there was someone walking towards her. It was Ian Tonkin and she had nowhere to hide.

  ‘Fiona, I was hoping to see you here,’ he greeted her.

  She kept walking. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry, Ian.’

  ‘Sure. Won’t hold you up a minute.’ He fell into step alongside her. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’ve had a phone call from the company that has already bought two farms in the area and is looking to expand its property holdings. BJL Holdings is paying absolute top dollar and they want to make an offer on your place. They’ve picked you and a couple of others out.’

  ‘I don’t want to sell.’

  ‘I understand, but if you’d just consider their offer—another two farmers have decided it’s an offer they can’t refuse. I don’t think we’ll see prices like this again.’

  ‘Who else has sold?’ Fiona stopped and looked at him.

  Ian held up his hands. ‘I can’t tell you yet. It’s not common knowledge.’

  Fiona put her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, let me tell you this once and for all. You could offer me a million dollars per hectare and I wouldn’t take it. This is my husband’s heritage and needs to be passed on to his son. I’m the custodian.’ She leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I’m not selling.’

  An amused look crossed his face. ‘Have it your way, but let me tell you what a mistake you’re making. In fact, I’m certain you’ll change your mind in the end.’

  Without a word Fiona turned and walked away. She couldn’t help thinking he had just made a veiled threat. The rest of the day passed in a blur—she couldn’t keep her mind off who was selling and why. And what was this company he was talking about? BJ something? In this area land didn’t change hands very often and suddenly, in the space of a few months, four farms had been sold.

  She thought about mentioning it to Mark—after all, he should know what was going on, but she hadn’t seen him since they’d weighed lambs together. He obviously hadn’t found out anything else or he would have phoned.

  Leigh might know something. He was the mayor. She made a mental note to ask him when she saw him next.

  Later she watched Leigh present Sylvia’s grandson, Myles, with the Leigh Bounter Medal and thought back to the time when he had been in hospital with no one visiting. Charlie had told her about it in detail.

  He’d been popular to a point, but Leigh had tended to brag, especially about his football prowess. He did like to big-note himself. Most people liked him in small doses. Charlie had such a large heart that he’d hated the thought of him being in hospital in Adelaide by himself. Leigh’s parents had visited, but only a few times—they both had to work and even a family emergency didn’t stop them. Very few footy-club members had made the trip to Adelaide; they didn’t want to get caught up in the emotion of it all. Everyone knew Leigh wouldn’t be able to play footy professionally again. How he would cope with that, no one wanted to find out.

  That was, until Charlie had encouraged them to go. Geoff had helped too, but it had been Charlie who had done the hard work.

  He’d put carloads of folks together, got a roster system happening when Leigh came home—it had all been down to Charlie. If he hadn’t done it, Fiona doubted whether Leigh would have had as much help as he did.

  Leigh changed after that. He was loyal to Charlie and realised his bragging hadn’t helped people’s attitudes towards him. He was a different man these days, and she knew she preferred this new Leigh to what she understood the old one to have been like.

  How hard it must be to stand up and present a medal for a sport he loved and could never play again, to watch younger versions of himself, with glowing eyes and eager hands, grabbing the opportunity to play.

  It must be awful, she decided, as she watched him walk from the field.

  Chapter 15

  Picking up the phone, Dave made the call he knew would be the toughest.

  ‘Fiona Forrest speaking?’

  ‘Fiona, my name is Detective Dave Burrows, from the Barker Police Station.’

  There was a long silence, and he was surprised when he heard a smile in her voice.

  ‘Dave? You’re Kim’s partner, aren’t you? It’s nice to talk to you. Oh, wait! Is everything okay?’

  Dave cursed inwardly. He’d forgotten that Kim had befriended her a couple of weeks ago. He knew they’d been exchanging daily text messages.

  ‘Uh, yep, that’s me. And everything is just fine. With Kim,’ he added.

  ‘Okay.’ She drew out the word, obviously intrigued as to why he was calling.

  ‘Fiona, I’m sorry to bother you, but would it be possible for me to see the shooting scene? I understand it’s on your property.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘There’ve been a few small problems with the investigation and I need to clarify some questions I have. What I’d like to do is come and have a look myself, then bring Leigh and Geoff out to walk through what happened that night.’ He heard her swallow and rushed on. ‘I know this is distressing for you. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible.’

  ‘Of course,’ sh
e answered in a small voice. ‘But it’s been done before. Done straight after the …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ He heard her take a breath.

  ‘When do you want to come?’

  ‘Today, if possible.’

  The road leading to where the accident had taken place was a small two-wheel track. Fiona had given him a map and pointed him in the direction of the hill.

  The file was on the passenger seat, but Dave didn’t look at it until he arrived. The area was still cordoned off with tape and it was obvious that Fiona didn’t use this paddock for anything. He suspected she hadn’t been back here since that night. Charlie, on the other hand, after the accident, could have spent hours up here, or no time at all. He would have to ask Fiona.

  He looked around. The sky was clear and blue today, and he could feel the sun’s winter warmth on his back. The spray-painted markers indicated where the ute had lain, but Eddie’s body and where the guns had landed hadn’t been identified in the same way. Groaning with frustration, he turned his attention to the shattered glass from the smashed spotlight, still lying where it had fallen all those months ago. Then he dug out the photos from the file and tried to work out where the guns and body had been.

  There was a lot of heavy, slippery clay in this area and the outcrop of large granite stones that had tipped the ute over was just to his left. Leaning down and inspecting it, he wished he could see the tyre tracks. He suspected that if Geoff had swung the wheel only a few inches either way, this tragedy could have been avoided. He knew it had been raining that night—flicking through the pages of the report, he read there had been an inch of rain earlier in the day. Scattered showers had been sweeping across the country on and off throughout the night. This type of soil would be very greasy. Hard for tyres to get traction.

  He shivered. There was something here telling him this story wasn’t right. But what on earth was it? He could certainly understand why Andy had given everyone the benefit of the doubt that night. It would be hard to imagine anything else. Still, standing here on the lonely windswept hillside, the only noise the wind rushing around his ears, he just knew something sinister had happened.

  He’d had feelings like this before; usually they were small niggles. Or an instinct about people—whether they were lying or not. A long time ago—maybe his fourth year as a detective? He’d been part of the team that had led an enquiry into an accidental death in a country town, out in the Wheatbelt region of Western Australia. As soon as he’d walked into the house, he’d known there was much more to the so-called suicide of the twenty-one-year-old man than met the eye. It took him a long time to finish that investigation. By the time he had, he had arrested all nine people involved in a drug ring who had murdered not only the lad but also another two people.

  He’d learned to listen to these gut instincts, even though his colleagues had howled him down at the time.

  Dave referred back to the photos. He placed them on the ground, holding them down with rocks so they didn’t blow away. Stepping out the distance between where the ute had lain and, judging from the photos where he imagined the guns had fallen, he marked two spots. Then he referred back to the report.

  There was no extra information there. What a surprise.

  Where could the third gun have fallen? Dave was so lost in thought he hadn’t heard the sprayer swoop past the fence line of the next paddock until it had gone by. The engine rumbled and a horn sounded as he looked up. Dave raised his hand in acknowledgement and went back to his job.

  Dave swung into the council office car park and came to a stop. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and realised he was thirty minutes early.

  He stared up at the majestic and historic council chambers, marvelling at the incredible engineering feat. It was a two-storey structure, with small windows set into each quarter and a little foyer right outside the entry. Across the base of the building was a line of slate as decoration and around each window was a wide border, painted white. He often wondered how those buildings had been constructed—the man hours, muscle and sweat must have been massive.

  Looking around, he tried to see if there was a little cafe where he could get a coffee. He’d been to Booleroo Centre before, but only to pass through. He didn’t see anything that took his fancy.

  As with any country town, there was a war-memorial statue with many names listed on it, and towering cement silos that would store grain during the harvest. The main street was quiet; only a few cars were parked and they were in front of either the hospital or the local supermarket.

  The red doors of the council chambers swung open and a man emerged, a takeaway coffee cup in hand. Of course! The chambers would have a coffee machine, Dave thought, and decided to go inside to wait. It didn’t matter that he was early.

  He pushed the door but it wouldn’t open. Pushing harder didn’t make any difference. It was locked.

  Strange. Maybe there isn’t anyone else there today.

  Further down the street, he noticed a stock and station agent building. Maybe he’d have a chat to whoever was in there.

  Again, the building was stone and the heavy door indicated its age. Dave stopped and looked at the farms for sale and was surprised to see four had ‘SOLD’ in red across the pictures.

  He pushed open the door, which buzzed as he went in. Inside was quiet and dim, the front desk empty of everything except four books of invoices and a couple of pens. Computers must be out the back, he thought. Surely they couldn’t run a business without them.

  A white door, in the corner behind the desk, swung open and a heavy-set man with greying hair hurried through. Dave caught a glimpse of a large shed full of chemicals and other farming supplies.

  ‘How’re you going?’ he asked.

  ‘Good, mate, good,’ Dave answered. ‘Not real busy today?’

  ‘It’s steady. Just not at the moment.’

  Dave held out his hand. ‘Dave Burrows from Barker Police Station, just passing through. Thought I’d pop in, let you know I was around.’

  ‘Ian Tonkin, real estate agent.’ He stared with open curiosity but didn’t ask Dave why he was there. That meant Dave was on the front foot.

  ‘You have been busy!’ Dave commented, nodding towards the shopfront window. ‘Bit of land moving, is there?’

  Ian leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. ‘Yeah, there’s been a bit of a spate of buying recently. Be good to have some new blood coming in.’

  ‘New blood? So not locals then?’

  ‘Nah, a big company from over east. BJL Holdings. They tell me they’re looking to spread out their risk. Must’ve taken a bit of a beating with the drought in New South Wales last season. Said they’re buying up a heap of land in the west as well.’

  ‘Big order then?’

  ‘Much as I can get ’em, they’ll take. Paying above the going rate, too. They’ve got their eye on two other blocks in particular, but they’ll take what I can get ’em. Canvassing for them pretty hard at the moment.’

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Dave rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. ‘Who’s been selling?’

  ‘Mostly the older blokes with no one coming up behind to take over. I’ve been trying to convince a few others who I think should take the money, but I’m not having too much luck. You know that Fiona Forrest? Her husband, Charlie, topped himself a while back. She’s up the duff and I reckon she should sell up—in fact, they’d like her land. But let me tell you, never met a woman so stubborn!’

  ‘Ah well, guess everyone has their own thoughts on what she should do and the only ones that really matter are hers.’

  ‘Then there’s the Goulburn family. Dad has to work away to make ends meet. Mum and the kids end up running the place. They could just take this money and set up somewhere else. Probably end up debt-free. Anyway, there’s just some people you can’t make see reason.’

  Dave wondered what made Ian such an expert on everyone else’s business before ask
ing, ‘When’s the takeover? Early next year then?’

  ‘Yeah. First of February. So why are you here? Didn’t think there’d be too much that warranted a visit by a copper.’

  ‘Just doing the rounds. We have to do that every so often. But if you’ve heard of any issues, stock stealing, diesel or chemical theft, that type of thing, I’m around.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t heard of anything along those lines, but I’ll be sure to let you know if I do. Another bloke who would hear of those sort of things is Mark Simmons. He’s the stock agent.’

  ‘Mark Simmons, you say?’ He committed the name to memory, then glanced at his watch. ‘Great, thanks for your help. I better get on. Nice to meet you, Ian.’

  ‘You, too.’

  Outside, Dave couldn’t work out what bothered him most: the way Ian spoke about other people’s business so freely or the certainty of his own opinions.

  ‘Thanks for seeing me,’ Dave said, holding out his hand to Leigh Bounter. He recognised him as the man who had left the council office a little while before.

  ‘Glad to be of help. Although I’ve already been through this with your other officers.’

  ‘Yeah, we realise that and we’re sorry to take up more of your time. There’re just a few things that weren’t followed up properly at the start and now we need to go back over them. Unfortunately, it just makes more work for us and takes up your time. How long have you been the mayor? Must be a big job.’

  ‘Four years.’ Leigh leaned back in his large leather chair and crossed his legs. Dave noticed there was an Akubra hanging on the wall behind him along with a Driza-Bone jacket. It was clear Leigh wanted to make sure everyone knew he was a farmer as well as a politician.