Fool's Gold

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Anything?’ Spencer asked, interrupting Dave’s thoughts.

  Dave shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to put the curious interaction with Shannon to the back of his mind, and followed Spencer back into the detectives’ office. ‘Pen, keys and a watch.’ He then told him about the scratch marks and approximate time of death and age. ‘Still not much to go on, really.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Spencer walked over to a map on the wall with three pins stuck into it. He held a ruler to measure the distance between one pin and another and jotted a note on the whiteboard beside him. ‘Murder?’

  ‘Can’t be sure yet. Shannon said there were no obvious signs but, as you know, she has to do the full lot of tests.’

  ‘The question here, Dave, is what was a man doing out on a property which wasn’t his, near a mine shaft which wasn’t his, and how did he end up down the bottom, dead?’

  ‘All good questions,’ Dave answered. ‘Shannon did come up with something interesting, though.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Spencer said distractedly.

  ‘Spencer?’ Dave said sharply, wanting his full attention. ‘Three gold nuggets.’

  Spencer didn’t move for a moment, then slowly turned around. ‘Nuggets?’

  ‘Yeah. Three. Shannon said they came out of his pocket. Not in a canister or plastic bag or any container at all, just loose.’

  ‘Unusual.’ He frowned, then turned back to the board. GOLD he wrote in capital letters then ringed it three times. ‘Might be nothing. He could be a prospector who found something that day or days before. Might not be murder, he could have just fallen down the shaft.’ He tapped at the whiteboard.

  ‘But he didn’t have any gear,’ Dave said suddenly. ‘There wasn’t a detector found, was there?’

  Spencer shook his head. ‘Nothing in the shaft or within a five-hundred-metre radius. Still, just because there wasn’t any prospecting gear with him doesn’t mean he wasn’t a prospector. It might be at his camp…if we could find it.’

  ‘Bit like looking for a needle in a haystack. We’ve got a backyard of a million acres and the rest to search!’

  ‘Ah, don’t be despondent, Dave. We’ll turn up something.’

  ‘We’ve still got the footprints,’ Dave said.

  ‘Yep, we do. Did you ask forensics to make casts?’

  ‘I did that when we came back in from the scene. But we don’t know which way the vic came from. The tyre tracks Tim told us about couldn’t have anything to do with this body because they were in a different section of the lease. We have footprints, which start at the road, but no car tracks. He had to have walked in. But how did he get to that part of the road in the first place? Do you think these tracks are even involved? Could they be some random tracks? Has he parked a vehicle a long way away and walked?’

  Spencer stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he thought. ‘Yeah, and yeah. Long distance walking might be the answer. Or, it might not. Could certainly have been a prospector moving through—especially with all the reports we’re getting about people straying onto areas that aren’t theirs. However, it may be too coincidental. My question is, if the vic was by himself, how did he get there? There weren’t any vehicle tracks and footprints don’t appear out of nowhere unless you’re a ghost or alien. And if he wasn’t by himself, who was with him?’

  ‘I think I’ve just solved it,’ Dave said in a serious tone.

  Spencer frowned. ‘What?’

  Dave nodded to emphasise his point. ‘Mary.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mary, Oakamanda’s resident ghost. Obviously, these are her tracks—she followed him, pushed him down the mine and disappeared. You said yourself, it had to be a ghost or an alien. I’d rather go with ghost scenario, because aliens aren’t my thing at all.’

  Spencer laughed loudly. ‘Get away with you, cheeky bugger!’

  The humour faded from the room as they both continued to look at the map.

  ‘Identification,’ Dave finally said.

  Spencer pointed the whiteboard marker at him. ‘Correct. We have to identify him before we can do anything else. Maybe the autopsy will turn up a barcode we can scan and it’ll be easy.’

  ‘Ha! Every detective’s hope. Or at least arrive in the morgue with a wallet and driver’s licence. I’ll check the missing persons reports. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Okay, this pin is Tim’s mine and here,’ he slid his finger over the map, ‘this is the Oakamanda Pub. There’s twenty kilometres between the two. I was trying to work out if there was enough time to get to Tim’s place and back through Oakamanda Pub within that thirty-minute time frame.’

  ‘Going back to the red vehicle that Dee heard? What do you think?’

  ‘It’s possible, but the driver wouldn’t be able to do much there. Unless he already had a body in the back of the car and he pushed it down.’

  ‘Different nights, though,’ Dave pointed out. ‘And Shannon seems to think that he wasn’t unconscious or dead when he went down, but certainly was by the time he hit the bottom, so a body in the back of a car probably isn’t what we’re looking for.’

  ‘Agreed, but Dee also said she’d heard vehicles frequently over the past couple of months, didn’t she? On that, a body in the car doesn’t have to be dead. Held against their will maybe, or unconscious, but not necessarily dead.’

  Dave nodded his agreement. ‘Mmm, so you think this car might have something to do with this death?’

  Spencer shook his head. ‘I can’t say that until we know if the poor bugger was murdered or accidentally walked down a mine shaft.’

  ‘So we’ve ruled out that he died elsewhere and his body was dumped. We already know that Shannon indicated there was only a small amount of blood from the fall. He wouldn’t have bled if he was already deceased because there’s no heart action to make him bleed.’

  Spencer nodded slowly as he put his marker down. ‘See?’ he said with a grin. ‘That’s why you’re one of the hotshots in Perth. You’re quick and onto it.’

  Dave felt his face redden. ‘Don’t know about that.’

  ‘Credit where credit is due. You’ll probably be wasted here, Burrows.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ll just check those MPs, okay?’

  Dave sat at his desk and pulled up the Missing Persons Register on the police database and typed in what he knew, which, as he kept telling himself, wasn’t very much.

  Scrolling through he looked at the ages because that was the best thing he had to go on. Occasionally he glanced at the photos but, not knowing what the man had looked like before he’d died, he couldn’t make a connection.

  Twenty-seven, no good.

  Nineteen.

  Thirty-four…Dave stopped to read the information:

  Jack Doust, reported missing on 10 September 1996 from Perth. Last seen wearing a red windcheater, denim jeans and sandshoes. Disappeared after a disagreement with wife. Missing ten days before reported.

  Dave printed it off, knowing it could be a possibility, then went on to the next one.

  Fifty-two-year-old Ian Shipe. Reported missing on 5 June 1995. Wearing tracksuit pants, possibly grey, black jumper and runners. Requires medication. History of mental health problems.

  He was a possibility too.

  ‘Dave?’

  He looked up at the sound of his name and realised an hour had passed and he only had two possibilities.

  ‘G’day, Nathan,’ he said to one of the other detectives. ‘You off?’

  ‘Yeah, you in for a quick drink?’

  Dave glanced at the screen and saw he had thirty files still left to go through. It would be better to have the whole lot sorted and all the possibilities ready for Monday morning. Hopefully by then they’d have Shannon’s report and they’d be able to discount half of the possibilities and work on the others…if it wasn’t murder. ‘Nah, mate. I want to get through this lot tonight. Next time?’

  ‘Sure. Catch you on Monday.’

  Giving him the thumbs
up, Dave checked the time and picked up the phone to ring Melinda. When she didn’t answer, he left a message on the machine: ‘Hi, honey, I’m going to be a couple of hours late tonight. Still working on that body we picked up Wednesday and I want to do some final checks. Hope your day was great. See you tonight. Maybe about seven or just after.’

  As he hung up the phone he wondered where she could be. Usually she was sitting by the telephone, waiting for her parents or sisters to call. Maybe she was hanging out a load of washing or talking to Ernie over the fence.

  He chuckled to himself, knowing that wasn’t a possibility; so far, the Indigenous community seemed to make her uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why—perhaps because she hadn’t grown up knowing any Aboriginal people, whereas he’d had Aboriginal friends at school. Turning his attention back to the computer screen, he continued reading the files.

  Chapter 8

  Melinda heard her husband’s message and scowled. She’d been sitting on the couch for the last three hours, crying and hitting the cushions. Dave being late was the last straw. She needed him at home. To yell and scream at. For him to be able to calm her down and make her see sense.

  Trouble was, she didn’t want to see sense. She wanted to hit out. Let him know she blamed him for this. For her unhappiness. Her lack of career.

  Was she overreacting? She didn’t care. It was how she felt. She stomped across the lounge and picked up the wedding photo sitting on the dresser, wanting to throw it across the room. There was no way, when they’d driven out of Bunbury, she’d ever envisaged being unemployed, lonely, homesick and angry at Dave. Certainly, she’d been nervous about the move and, if she was truthful, apprehensive. Her meeting with Wes had upset her more than she’d anticipated—especially when he’d told her it was hard to get back into good jobs once she’d resigned.

  Instead of having a fulfilling and challenging job to go to every day, she was holed up here, looking at four white walls while the world went on without her.

  ‘Bastard,’ she hissed and threw the photo towards the kitchen with all her might.

  The photo hit the bench and shattered, sending glass splintering across the kitchen.

  ‘Bastard,’ she whispered again and burst into loud, noisy sobs.

  ‘Hey, Mr Dave?’ a voice whispered through the darkness as Dave hurried up the path to his front door. ‘Mr Dave?’

  ‘Evening, Ernie,’ he answered as he continued to walk. Dave didn’t want to get stopped in conversation right now. He was tired and had the beginning of a headache, along with an aching back from sitting all day.

  ‘Got sad missus, yeah? Sad missus,’ the low voice said.

  That made Dave stop. He turned and went over to the fence. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Crying. Lots of crying. Then I heard glass break. Uh-huh. Glass break. I knock on door, you know? To see if I can help. No answer. Ah nuh. No answer.’

  Closing his eyes, Dave rubbed the back of his neck and let out a heavy sigh. ‘She’s not settling in well.’

  ‘Take time. I bring her present, next time I out in bush. Yeah? Present.’

  ‘You’re a good neighbour, Ernie. Thanks, mate. Have a good night.’

  Dave walked in the door and was greeted by broken glass and an empty house. He slowly looked around and realised the glass in the kitchen had come from a framed photo of the wedding.

  ‘Melinda?’ he called, stepping over the glass and walking down the hall. Fear trickled through him but everything was in place and it didn’t look like anything had been stolen. So where was Melinda? Had she left him? Had he destroyed their relationship by bringing her here?

  ‘Melinda?’ he called again. Again, no answer. Just a house so silent he could hear the tick of the clock in the kitchen.

  He checked the bathroom and pushed open the toilet door but both were empty. In the spare room there was a suitcase half packed, but still no sign of his wife.

  Unsure what to do, he looked through the case. He was relieved to realise her grandmother’s ring and watch set weren’t packed. If they had been, he would have known their marriage was over before it was even a few months old. The ruby-studded ring and watch were Melinda’s most prized and loved possessions and she never went anywhere without them.

  ‘Hi,’ her voice was suddenly behind him.

  Spinning around, his arms outstretched, Dave started to smile, but his smile faded the moment he saw her face.

  ‘Hey?’ he said uncertainly. She was wearing her grandmother’s jewellery and her face was puffy.

  ‘I didn’t get a job,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ He suddenly understood.

  ‘I’m really angry.’ She stared at him, heat in her eyes.

  ‘I’m sure you are—’

  ‘No. At you,’ she interrupted. ‘Do you realise I may never get another job like my old one now I’ve resigned?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s—’

  ‘Wes Corris told me today. He’s director of nursing, so he’d have a pretty good idea.’

  He reached out for her, tried to pull her into his chest, but she twisted away.

  ‘I’ve given up everything for you,’ she said, her tone changing from angry to icy cold. ‘Everything.’ She turned on her heel and left the room.

  Dave stood still, staring at her retreating back. He had no idea how to deal with this; he’d never seen Melinda this unhappy.

  ‘Honey?’ he said, following her.

  She was standing in the middle of the lounge room, tears rolling down her cheeks. This time she let him put his arms around her and hold her. He kissed her forehead and rubbed her back, trying to make the anger go away. For his sake as much as hers.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for moving here with me. For supporting me the way you always do. I’d be lost without you.’ He kissed her forehead again. ‘I’m sorry if you’re angry with me. I never wanted it to be like this. I just assumed you’d get a job and everything would be fine.’

  ‘How can it be? I might never get a job like my old one. All the training I’ve done will have been for nothing.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it won’t. Something will come along. I know it will.’ Even to his ears that sounded like empty promises, but he had to say something. To help her.

  Dave could see everything from her point of view. She had given up everything precious to her to come to Barrabine, to be with him. His grandfather’s voice whispered: ‘Melinda didn’t give up everything. She’s still got her qualifications. She just needs to find her fit.’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said gently. ‘We’ll be okay. You just need to find your fit.’

  Feeling like her eyes were gritty and swollen, Melinda picked up the phone and punched in the number Kathy had given her on one of her earlier visits. Dave had left early for his usual Saturday routine of a run and coffee. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but she’d insisted he go.

  ‘Go and do something today, by yourself. Just give me some time,’ she said to him. ‘I need time by myself.’ She knew he’d been upset when he’d walked out the front door, but she couldn’t help that. She had thinking and working out to do. And that included a phone call.

  She’d argued with herself for the whole morning about whether to make the call or not, but finally she’d given in to her need to speak to someone other than her family. The last phone call she’d had with her dad had ended in him suggesting she come back to Bunbury to live with them. Her father wouldn’t like to know this but as soon as he’d said the words, her world had come into focus. He was still pushing her to come home, as if she were a child who didn’t know what was best for her. As if she’d made a silly decision and needed help to get out of a ‘situation’.

  She didn’t. She’d decided to marry her soulmate. And if it meant living here in Barrabine with him, Melinda just had to deal with that. She didn’t want her marriage to fail. She loved Dave too much.

  She thought back to the phone call she’d made to her sister yesterday. Sarah had told he
r in no uncertain terms it was time for her to pull herself together. ‘You can’t just keep ringing me up daily and saying how much you hate Barrabine. It’s dirty, or hot, or you can’t get a job. Life is what you make it, Melinda,’ she’d said.

  Her family couldn’t really understand what she was feeling, but she did know someone who might.

  ‘Hello?’

  Melinda paused before saying, ‘Um, hi, Kathy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Melinda Burrows here.’

  Melinda could almost feel Kathy’s pleasure down the line. ‘Oh, Melinda, it’s great to hear from you. How are you?’

  How was she? Did she tell the truth?

  ‘Um…’ A lump swelled in her throat, closing it over.

  ‘How about I pop over?’

  ‘Thank you.’ She put down the phone and burst into tears again.

  By the time Kathy arrived, Melinda had regained some composure but she was sure it was clear to the older woman that she’d been crying.

  ‘I’m guessing you’ll find it hard to believe, Melinda,’ said Kathy as they sat down to a cup of tea, ‘but I felt miserable when we first moved here too. Angry at Spencer for dragging me to some godforsaken place where there were more flies than people. Angry I had to leave all the friends I’d made in Margaret River. Ha! Couldn’t get two more different places—the cool, rainy climate of Margs to here.

  ‘It took me a very long time to settle and make friends. I love it here now, but it certainly does take some getting used to. Policemen’s wives have to try hard with every new town. We need to settle, to make friends, to fit in. We are constantly being moved from town to town, and if we don’t make the effort to establish ourselves, we run the risk of always being on the outer. That’s a lonely place to be.’