Fool's Gold

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Chief put up a hell of a racket at the shaft, so I stopped near it and got out to have a look. Black as the ace of spades it was, but I could smell it. No mistaking. Came back here this morning and checked it all out. I heard the flies first. Like a swarm of bees, they were. Course, by the time I drove into the local to use the payphone to ring you fellas, the morning had got on a bit. And this didn’t happen last night, ’cause you and I both know bodies don’t pong this quick.’

  ‘And did you have any idea who Chief was barking at?’

  ‘Never saw or heard anyone,’ Tim answered, his face grim. ‘I tell you, Spencer, they want to be careful ’cause I’ll take to them with my gun.’

  ‘That won’t help anything except get you slapped with a charge, Timmy. Put that thought out of your head. You just gotta ring us. We don’t mind coming out and handing out some warnings or slapping the cuffs on the ones who give us lip.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he reluctantly agreed.

  ‘I’m guessing the body’s been there maybe three or four days in this heat,’ Spencer said.

  Tim nodded thoughtfully. ‘Might be a little more, maybe. Don’t be forgetting it’s cooler down there than up here. Not that I’m an expert in these things, but I’ve seen a lot, you know?’

  ‘Sure do.’ Spencer jotted down a note.

  ‘So, you’ve had people coming onto your place on and off over the last two weeks, yeah?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Since time began, lad, but more so over the past month, I’d say.’

  ‘Going back to the body and time of death: you don’t remember seeing or hearing anyone nearby in the last week then? No tyre tracks, anything out of place?’ Dave wanted to know.

  ‘Nope. The last midnight visitors I heard were about two weeks ago. There was an engine noise—just a steady engine noise as if it were on the road—but it was chugging like it was going slowly. The next day I came across tyre tracks and footprints about four or five miles from here. Didn’t see any lights. And Chief had a few woofs but didn’t get too upset, so they couldn’t have come within his protective range. Then there was last night, but that was Chief getting upset—I didn’t see or hear anything.’

  ‘Did you recognise the tyre tracks you saw a couple of weeks ago?’ Dave asked. ‘Could have they been from a vehicle you know?’

  ‘Nah. Just normal four-wheel drive tracks. Could have been anyone.’

  ‘Are there any mines around where you found the prints and tracks?’

  ‘Nope, there’s not. I followed them until they left my place and onto another mining lease—one of the big company ones. They didn’t go near any of my shafts. They were just working the surface.’

  ‘What about gold, had you found any pieces where the tracks were? Had you told someone you’d found something?’

  ‘Young man, the first rule you learn about gold is you never tell anyone when you’ve found some and never where you found it. If you do there’ll be twenty other blokes in the same spot by morning, or some bugger’ll do you over searching for what you’ve already found.’

  ‘That’s a no then.’ Dave gave a grin.

  ‘That’s a no,’ Tim answered without smiling back.

  ‘There been any other reports from other leaseholders, Killjoy or China? They had the same types of visitors?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘Haven’t seen either of them in a couple of months.’

  ‘Due for a catch-up?’

  ‘Next Saturday.’

  Spencer gave a laugh. ‘Well, look out Barrabine. You’ll all be painting the town red, I got no doubt.’

  Tim gave a gentle smile. ‘I think we’re past all that, don’t you? A few quiet beers off the wood and a feed is more our style. And I reckon we’ll be at Oakamanda. Not as far to go.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. I know you fellas know how to have a good time.’ Spencer looked down at his notebook. ‘I need you to think back and see if you can come up with exact days when you heard the vehicle.’

  ‘Which time?’

  ‘The last one, two weeks ago, would be helpful. Sounds like that’s the closest we have.’

  ‘Cor, that’s asking a bit.’ He rubbed his hand across his face again. ‘All the days run together out here, you know that.’

  ‘Just try.’

  ‘What’s today? Wednesday?’

  Dave and Spencer nodded together.

  ‘Right, so yesterday I went to the western side, and the day before over to Mari’s Find.’ He continued to talk to himself and tick days off on his fingers, until he said, ‘Right-oh, best I can do is I reckon it was Friday night, so twelve days ago.’

  ‘Full moon?’

  ‘Do you want me bowel movements too?’

  Dave let out a chuckle and Spencer snorted. ‘Just your weather report.’

  ‘Reckon it was. Moon’s only about half now. You should have been able to work that out yourself.’

  ‘I want to know what you remember.’

  ‘That’s about it, really. It was hot. Maybe twenty-five and I was sleeping outside on the camp bed. Been doing that a bit lately.’

  ‘Last night, you didn’t hear any engines, just Chief barking?’

  ‘That’s right. And he doesn’t bark at wildlife.’

  Spencer nodded his understanding. ‘You haven’t upset anyone you know of? Someone who might have come looking for you?’

  ‘Not that I know of, but I’d be the last one to find out. If someone wanted to have a go at me, I’m sure they wouldn’t let me know about it first.’

  ‘But you’d know if you’d had words or a disagreement with someone,’ Dave said.

  Tim sat back in his chair, quiet. His fingers were steepled as he tapped them against his lips, thinking. ‘I can’t think of anyone and I know no one has upset me.’

  ‘No one who thinks you stole gold from them, that type of thing?’ Dave pushed.

  Tim leaned forward and looked Dave in the eye. ‘I don’t steal gold,’ he said.

  Spencer snapped his notebook shut. ‘That’s it for the time being,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave a message for you at the pub if I need you again, all right?’

  ‘No problems. I won’t be going anywhere.’

  Dave and Spencer shook hands with the old man and climbed into their four-wheel drive.

  ‘You know Tim Tucker pretty well?’ Dave asked as they set off, although it was more a statement than a question.

  ‘Met him the second day I was here, so six years ago last month.’

  ‘Good bloke?’

  ‘One of life’s gentlemen,’ Spencer answered as he flicked on the left-hand blinker and turned down a disused road. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard him swear, and he’s one of the most honest miners out here. You know how I know that?’

  Dave glanced over at him. ‘How?’

  ‘He doesn’t get frightened when the gold squad turns up. Some of the fellas will start shaking and working out a lie before I even turn off the car. Tim, he’s different. Ask him a question, he’ll tell you the truthful answer. I’ve never caught him in a lie and he even gives me a bit of inside info when I need it. There is absolutely nothing crook about Tim Tucker.’

  ‘You don’t think we need to keep him in mind if it turns out to be a murder? You know as well as I do that the murderer is usually the last person who has been seen with the victim.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, and of course we’ve got to have an open mind, but we don’t know who the body is yet.’ He shrugged. ‘Too many questions for the autopsy to answer before we can start. Anyway, like I said, Tim Tucker is as honest as the day is long.’

  ‘Not many people like that around anymore.’

  ‘Not out here, Dave. Farming areas, now most of those blokes are salt of the earth. And the women too. But anywhere there is money to be made there are people who will tell lies and choose greed and power over truth and justice.’

  ‘Never pegged you for a cynic.’

  ‘Not cynical. Realistic. I’ll tell you another thing about Tim Tucker.�
��

  ‘Hmm?’ Dave was watching the road wind deeper into the bush and wondered where they were going.

  ‘He’s a millionaire twice over.’

  It took Dave a moment to compute what Spencer had told him. He looked over at his partner.

  ‘A millionaire?’ he asked.

  ‘Twice over.’

  Chapter 6

  ‘Where are we?’ Dave asked as Spencer pulled up in front of an old rundown pub. He was still trying to get his head around why a twice-over millionaire would live in the middle of nowhere, in a tin shed, without air-conditioning and with only a dog for company.

  ‘This, my friend, is the Oakamanda Pub. And Dee is one of the best informants around. Local knowledge is king. Nothing gets past this bartender.’

  Looking around, Dave tried to work out if the pub was operating or not. It must be if Spencer said it was, but it really didn’t look like it. There didn’t seem to be any other liveable buildings nearby, only the stone one which had a peeling sign hung from the gutters stating it was the Oakamanda Pub. Cold beer and friendly service. There were wrecked cars piled on top of each other to one side, and beyond that he could see the glint of a tin roof. He looked again. Three small houses were situated on the edge of the bush. Beyond that there was only more bush stretching out as far as he could see. The dirt road they had arrived on seemed to continue through the tiny town and off into the scrub. Dave wondered where it went. It obviously led somewhere, so maybe the clientele came from that way too.

  ‘And the Oakamanda Pub is…?’ he finally asked.

  ‘One of the best little pubs in the area and Dee owns it. Got a bit of history about it. Bikie history. You’d probably know the story. Was owned by the Demon bikie gang a few years ago. Back in the seventies, I suppose. They pissed off another lot…’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dave broke in. ‘Nomad Rebels turned up and there was a shoot-out between the two gangs. Four people dead and three injured. The police couldn’t break through the code of silence to find out who started the shooting, or what initiated it.’

  ‘Dead right.’ Spencer nodded.

  ‘I reckon I was about seven or eight when that happened and we didn’t have TV on the farm then, but I can remember Mum talking about it. You know, “What is the world coming to” type of thing. Then there were the war stories of the older detectives I worked with.’ Dave opened his door and got out, shielding his eyes from the sun. It hadn’t got any cooler.

  Spencer pointed to the front verandah. ‘Demons took the heaviest losses. First shot fired was into Fast Frankie Appleton’s chest there, underneath the window. Fast Frankie was known for his gun-toting ability, but they didn’t stand him in good stead that day. He died instantly, according to all reports. He was the ringleader and manager of the pub. Damien Appleton, Frankie’s brother, went down next in the front bar, then Kev Grant. Dazzling Darryl Punter, or DD as the blokes here called him, from Nomad Rebels was just coming in the back door when one of the others shot him through the neck. Bang!’ He made the action of a gun. ‘Bang, bang. Then one more for good measure. Bang.’ Each time he said the word, Spencer aimed his fingers at the spot the men had died.

  ‘Found drugs in the pocket of Fast Frankie and more in his bedroom. Not enough to be saleable, which is why we still don’t know what it was all about. Cold case now, of course. Only personal use.’ He paused. ‘More than personal use,’ he amended, ‘but you gotta remember he would’ve stocked up when he came out here. Like farmers’ wives do when they go to town to do the weekly shopping. Anyway, not enough to make it saleable.

  ‘There was a gun we couldn’t trace on DD, but that was all. If the argument was about drugs or a sale gone wrong or women, the coppers up here at the time couldn’t find a speck of evidence. Couldn’t charge Frankie for possession because he was dead!’

  ‘You sound like you worked the case.’

  Spencer shook his head. ‘No, mate, but one of the fellas I worked with up in Karratha did. He told me all about it. One of the first things I did when I turned up here was to come out and see it for myself.’

  ‘People still come here? You’d have thought that the murders would have put people off.’

  ‘To the contrary,’ Spencer said, hoisting up his shorts and starting to walk over to the pub. ‘It makes the place more attractive to them. Dee’s done the whole pub up on this incident. Kept the bullet holes in the wall, found all the newspaper articles and pinned them up around the bar. It’s almost like a living museum. Tourists seem to love it.’ ‘But is it worth it? I mean…’ Dave looked around. It was so quiet, he could hear the flies buzzing. ‘There’s no one here, Spencer. She can’t get too many people through in a day. How does she make a living?’

  ‘I asked her last time I was here. Thirty to forty tourists a day stop off in the hotter months and anywhere from eighty to one hundred during the height of the tourist season. When the grey nomads get going there’s heaps of trade. All that area out there,’ he motioned with his hand to the large gravel pad which seemed to have no purpose, ‘can be full of caravans and four-wheel drives. The Oakamanda Pub is a tourist attraction as well as the local watering hole for the miners who live around here.’ He pushed open the door and went in. Dave was pleased to feel the blast of cool air on his forehead.

  ‘G’day, Dee,’ Spencer said to the woman behind the bar.

  Dave watched as she looked up and gave a broad smile. ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Spencer Brown. You lost or something?’ Her ample breasts and stomach shook as she started a rough whiskey and cigarettes laugh. ‘What you doing here, honey?’ She came around from the bar and held out her arms.

  Spencer grinned and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. ‘Do I need a reason for popping by?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ve always got a reason. Unless you’re thirsty and that’s still a reason.’ Her gaze flicked over to Dave. ‘And who’s this handsome man? Geez, the police force is training them young these days.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Dee, owner of Oakamanda Pub.’

  ‘Dave Burrows. Detective. Spencer’s partner.’ They shook hands and Dave smiled at her.

  ‘He’s not that young,’ Spencer put in. ‘Looks younger than he is. Aren’t you? How old again?’

  Dave laughed uncomfortably. ‘Thirty.’

  ‘Thirty,’ Spencer confirmed, turning back to Dee. ‘There you go, and he’s just got married a month ago.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a late starter,’ Dee said as she flicked him the once-over.

  ‘You reckon,’ Dave said. He wasn’t about to tell a perfect stranger how he’d worked for his dad until he was twenty-three and then one day, out of the blue, he’d been told there wasn’t room at home for him. How he’d had to find a way to stay involved in agriculture and he’d chosen to aim for the stock squad. That’s where he’d be next year or maybe the year after, depending on how this year went.

  ‘So, what do you think of my little pub? I guess Spencer has filled you in on the history,’ Dee asked Dave. ‘I had the bloodstains removed from the floor,’ she looked down at the uneven wooden floorboards and scratched at a spot with her worn-out sandshoe. ‘But you can still see the outline. See? It was there. And one of the bullet holes? Over there just behind the bar near the mirror.’ She pointed.

  Dave looked around. Photos lined the walls, as did pictures of large nuggets: Found, 8oz nugget, 5km from Oakamanda or 2oz nugget, found 9km from Oakamanda. On one wall there was an old rusty rabbit trap pinned to the wall. Under it was written: Tap here for complaints.

  ‘It’s great,’ Dave said and he meant it. Even though the pub had the wild-west feel he was beginning to get used to, it was clean and cool and Dee had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to display the place’s history.

  Dee turned her attention back to Spencer. ‘Drink or business?’ She flipped a tea towel over her shoulder and went back behind the bar.

  ‘Business,’ Spencer said, hoisting himself up onto a bar stool and helping himself to a handful of peanuts w
hich were sitting on the bar.

  ‘And here I was thinking it was my good looks that had brought you all the way from Barrabine.’

  Spencer grinned for a moment and then turned serious. ‘Heard anything about people going onto leases they shouldn’t be?’

  Dee let out a loud laugh. ‘Only every day, sunshine. You’ll need to be a bit more specific.’

  ‘Unusual happenings…Anyone come in here complaining of seeing tracks the morning after type thing?’

  Dee stared at Spencer, her wide smile gone, replaced by a frown. Then she leaned forward and picked up a large plastic display folder, thumping it in front of Dave. ‘There’s all the history of this joint. Newspaper articles, court documents, you name it, it’s in there. Knock yourself out. Have a read. Interesting stuff in there. By the time you finish that, your partner here might have a sensible question to ask me.’ She folded her arms over her breasts and stared at Dave with a grin.

  ‘Um, thanks,’ he said, glancing over at Spencer, who was beginning to open his arms in protest.

  ‘Ah, come on, Dee. Don’t be like that,’ Spencer said, his voice cajoling. ‘I can only tell you so much and you know it! Just thought I’d see if you’ve heard any more discontent than usual. Any mutterings from the locals or bragging from the tourists. That sort of thing. People camping in wrong spots or locals overreacting.’

  ‘Nothing more than usual, and that’s a fact, Spencer. Timmy Tucker must have a problem, though,’ she said. ‘He was in here this morning ringing you guys on the pay-phone. Don’t take a detective to work out it’s his joint you’re asking about.’

  Spencer held out his hands in a ‘you got me’ way.

  ‘Seriously? I’ve heard there’re a few blokes pushing the boundaries. Walking onto leases at night, but no one ever seems to be able to catch them,’ Dee said. ‘Old Brandy up on the hill said he met one carload coming in his driveway ’bout two or three days ago. Got the gun out, I reckon, ’cause they came in here to get a drink and calm their nerves! Never said much ’cause their English wasn’t too good, but they were as white as ghosts and their hands were shaking. Think they might have got the full force of his hospitality. I’m sure they were only backpackers looking for a place to park their van for the night and there wasn’t anything too sinister about them.’