Paddy didn’t need to think too hard. Before the shooting star disappeared, he wished to find the family of the dead woman.
Chapter 16
When Dave pulled up at the airport, he spotted an Ansett plane on the ground and people climbing the stairs to board. Inside the airport building people were milling around; some had coffees in their hand and others beers. Dave wondered if they’d just come off night shift and were having their ‘nightly’ beer, even though it was only nine in the morning.
‘G’day, I’m Detective Dave Burrows,’ he said to the man behind the Avis counter, offering his hand.
The elderly man immediately stood up and grasped his hand. ‘George Robertson. Thanks for coming.’
‘No problems. What’s happened?’ Dave asked, getting out his notebook.
George pushed over the paperwork and Dave looked down. He saw the handwritten name: Glen Bartlett, a driver’s licence number, address and phone number. A heavy, scrawly signature was at the bottom of the page. It appeared Mr Bartlett hadn’t wanted to take out extra insurance and he was happy with the terms and conditions. He’d hired a white four-wheel drive wagon and the numberplate was listed.
Damn! Dave had hoped it might be the red vehicle Dee had told them about.
‘Do you know what flight he got off?’ Dave asked, still looking at all the information in front of him.
‘Afternoon flight from Perth two weeks ago. I remember him because he was a very nice man. Most people are in a rush and too busy to talk, but he wasn’t. I do this job so I can talk to people. I’m on my own, now, see. Not much conversation at home. That’s why I remember him so well. ‘He said he’d be here for about two weeks, maybe a little longer if he found who he was looking for, and he’d be staying at the Federal Hotel. Hadn’t booked a return flight.’
‘Did he say what he was looking for?’ Dave asked.
‘It was a who. But that was all he said.’
‘Uh-huh. And why didn’t you report the vehicle missing when it wasn’t returned on the day?’
‘I’d organised with him to give me a call if he was going to be over the time frame and he asked if I could give him a two-day grace period, just in case he was out in the bush.’ George frowned.
‘Is that normal practice?’
‘Not at all. He seemed like such a good bloke I told him no worries. Apparently I’m either too nice or too naive. I assumed he’d let me know, and when I hadn’t heard from him on the second day, I thought I’d give him two more…Just in case, you know? I guess he could be in the Northern Territory by now.’ The old man sighed. ‘Reckon head office will probably give me the flick if I’ve had one of my cars stolen.’
‘What makes you think he might be in the Territory?’
George shrugged. ‘If he wanted to steal the vehicle he’s got nineteen days, hasn’t he? Could be anywhere. I just picked the Northern Territory out of the air. He never mentioned anything about it.’
‘I see.’ Dave glanced up at the ceiling. ‘Any security cameras aimed at your desk?’
He nodded. ‘That one up there.’
‘I’d like to get the footage, please.’
‘I guess you’ll have to talk to the airport people about that. Avis just rent space here. The rest is up to the airport.’ Dave had expected as much. ‘And this vehicle, it was in good condition, no known problems? Reliable? Couldn’t have broken down and he’s stuck somewhere?’
‘If he broke down it wasn’t because the car wasn’t in good nick. All my vehicles are in tiptop shape and serviced regularly. It’ll be because he’s got a flat or put a branch up through the radiator or something like that.’
‘Does that happen often to the vehicles you rent out?’
‘More than you’d think. Especially if the renters aren’t four-wheel drivers and don’t know this country.’
Dave paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘Did Mr Bartlett have any distinguishing features?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Tattoos, scars, that type of thing.’
George narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said slowly. ‘But I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Okay, thanks for this. I’ll be in touch once I’ve got something. I’ll go and find out who to talk to about the video footage.’ He reached into his pocket for his wallet and took out a business card. ‘If he turns up or you remember anything else, make sure you give me a call. I’ll send you through the stolen vehicle report so your company can get on with an insurance claim.’
‘Great, thanks.’
They shook hands and Dave walked away.
Three hours later he was back in the station, looking at the security footage. It had taken an age to find someone who was authorised to give it to him, but he’d persevered and left the airport with video tapes of the day in question, plus the ones for a day either side. One thing Dave had noticed since his move to Barrabine was that the people out here were never in a hurry—they seemed to run on their own time. The balding man who oversaw airport security seemed to be on ‘go slow mode’. There was certainly no sense of urgency.
‘What have you got?’ Spencer asked, looking over his shoulder.
‘Nothing yet.’
‘Run his driver’s licence?’
‘Yeah, he hasn’t got a record or anything of interest. Speeding ticket in his home town of Ballarat three years ago, but that’s all. Not married.’
‘Any next of kin?’
‘None who I’ve found yet.’
Spencer went over to the whiteboard and wrote Glen’s name up on it, along with the details of the missing vehicle. ‘Put out a 4-2-4 on the radio. Get everyone to keep an eye out for the vehicle.’
Dave jotted a note to remind himself; 4-2-4 was a report of a stolen vehicle. ‘Will do.’ He swung the chair around to look at Spencer. ‘Find anything of interest in the PM report?’
Spencer scratched his head. ‘Not really. Pretty healthy fella by all accounts. Like you said, a cleanskin, so no identifying features. However,’ he held up a finger and pointed at Dave, ‘the broken leg will be helpful in identifying him if nothing else turns up.’ He paused and squinted at the whiteboard. ‘I think I’ll get the gold analysed,’ he said slowly. ‘See where it’s come from. Might at least give us an idea of where he’s been.’
‘Good. That’ll be helpful.’
Dave turned back to the television screen and continued viewing the security footage. He watched as Glen Bartlett approached the Avis desk and smiled at George Robertson. There was no sound to the tape, so he couldn’t hear what they were saying and the pictures had been taken from too far away to be able to lip-read.
Glen looked to be about the height and weight of his John Doe and George Robertson was right: he smiled a lot. He’d spent a good fifteen minutes chatting with George compared to the five or so minutes most people took at the desk, signing papers and getting their keys. Having seen the interaction, Dave wasn’t surprised George remembered him as well as he did.
‘I’m going to the Federal,’ Dave told Spencer after he’d finished examining the footage. ‘See if I can get any information there.’
‘Good idea. You right by yourself?’ asked Spencer. ‘I’ve got court this afternoon.’
‘Sure, no worries.’
Outside the air was cooler than it had been since he’d moved to Barrabine, so Dave decided to walk the two blocks to the Federal Hotel. He nodded to a few people whose faces he knew and thought how nice it was to be able to do that. In Perth, when he’d walked down the street there had only been blank faces, averted eyes and the roar of buses drowning out the possibility of any conversation.
He jogged up the steps of the pub and pushed on the door, noticing the peeling paint as he did so. The whole building looked old and tired, as did a lot of the shops in the main street. An overhaul wouldn’t go astray, he thought. It’s not like there isn’t any money around.
The moist air-conditioning hit him in the face as he entered the
bar, as did the smell of stale beer and vomit. Didn’t seem to matter how clean these pubs were, they still stank.
‘G’day, Charlie,’ said Dave, nodding at the middle-aged man standing at the end of the bar, watching a horserace on the TV.
‘Dave,’ Charlie answered without taking his eyes off the screen.
In the reception area he was glad to find Ginger behind the desk. Thanking his lucky stars it was someone he knew, Dave hit her with a large smile. He was sure he’d be able to talk her into showing him Glen Bartlett’s room without a warrant.
‘G’day, Ginger. You’re looking busy there.’
She looked up and returned his smile. ‘Hello, Dave. Always busy. Keeps me off the streets! How’re you?’
‘Fine, fine. You?’
‘Under the pump, as always.’ She indicated the paperwork spread across her desk. ‘Trying to get everything ready for the accountant. I’m a bit late. Like about six months!’
‘Can’t be on top of everything all the time,’ he said. ‘You booked out at the moment?’
She shook her head. ‘Nah, only got nine rooms filled out of thirty. Not the busy time of the year. Too hot for tourists and school holidays are over.’ She narrowed her eyes as she glanced at the folder he was carrying under his arm. ‘But I’m guessing you haven’t come to enquire about booking a room.’
‘You’d be right there, although I’m still very grateful you found Melinda and me a nice room when we first arrived. Trying to put our bedroom together that night would have been a disaster!’
‘Ah, go on with you,’ Ginger said with a wave of her hand. ‘What can I help you with?’
‘Have you got a Glen Bartlett staying with you?’
‘Not now. He checked out about a week ago. What do you want with him?’
‘Can’t tell you that right now but could I have a look at the room he stayed in?’
‘Sure, although it’s been cleaned. I don’t think I’ve had anyone in it since he left. Hang on…’ She flicked through the register book and found the right page. ‘Hmm, nope. Haven’t had anyone in there since.’
‘Excellent. Do you know why he checked out? Was he on his way home?’
Ginger reached under the desk and pulled out a key before turning the desk sign to Back in five minutes. ‘I don’t rightly know. He didn’t say he was on his way home. I did notice on the morning he checked out his hire car was loaded with camping equipment, which I thought was a bit strange. He’d said he was from Victoria and he’d never mentioned he was going to drive home. I would’ve thought he had to return the hire car to where he hired it from, and he did tell me he flew in to Barra. Oh, listen to me, I’m rambling. This way, room twenty-one,’ she said and led the way outside to the units at the back of the hotel. ‘But you know what this town is like, Dave—everyone holds their secrets close to their chests and no one asks questions.’
‘Yeah, tight-lip syndrome, we coppers call it! Can you remember much about him?’ Dave asked as they walked across the asphalt.
‘I only saw him a few times. He was very friendly when he first checked in and I spoke to him a couple of times on the phone when he rang for room service, but that’s about it.’
‘Did he say what he was doing here?’
Ginger brushed her long red hair away from her face and scratched her elbow. ‘He was looking for someone, from what I recall. He didn’t say who, just that he was hoping to catch up with an old friend. Here.’ She indicated a door and put the key in the lock.
Inside there was a sagging double bed and grey walls. Towels were arranged in a fan shape on the end of the bed, and there was a TV on the bench next to the mirror.
Dave looked around slowly. He took in the smell and atmosphere and checked to see if there was anything disturbed. Nothing. He put his hand between the mattress and bed base, feeling to see if anything had been left behind. Then he opened drawers and cupboards and checked the bathroom.
They were all empty and clean.
‘My girls would have put anything they found in the lost property,’ Ginger said. ‘I don’t remember anything from this room, but I can check when we go back.’
‘That would be good. Cheers.’ He was just about to leave when he saw a scrap of paper poking out from underneath the curtain. He pulled out the pair of rubber gloves he had in his pocket and put them on. Bending down, he drew it out and looked at it. There were numbers scrawled on it and Dave recognised the handwriting from the Avis forms.
‘Bloody hell,’ Ginger snapped, drawing back the curtain to reveal a few dead flies and a lot of fluff. ‘I’ll be having a word to the cleaners about this. They should pull the curtains back to vacuum. That’s disgusting.’
Dave stared at the piece of paper, wondering what the numbers meant. They weren’t in a telephone number format. ‘Can I say I’m glad they didn’t?’ he asked.
Chapter 17
Chief barked, then snarled, his lips curling, showing his teeth.
‘Steady there, mate. I’m friendly,’ Tim heard a man’s voice say. He gave a mirthless grunt. Wouldn’t matter what you said to Chief, he wouldn’t back down. Swinging around, he put a foot on the ladder and started up to the surface, wondering who was wanting him and how they knew he was down this shaft.
He looked out and saw a well-dressed man offering Chief a piece of meat and the dog staring at the man without taking his gift. Tim didn’t like that. How did this bloke know he had a dog? Had he been here before? He squinted, trying to see whether he recognised the man. He didn’t think so.
Before climbing the final steps, he checked his gun and wiped his brow.
‘My dog is trained not to take food from strangers,’ he said by way of a greeting.
‘Just trying to be nice and not get bitten, mate. It’s not like I’m going to poison him.’
Tim jerked his head at Chief. ‘He doesn’t know that and neither do I. What can I do for you?’ he asked, his tone hard. He stood with his arms crossed and stared at the man.
‘Are you Tim Tucker?’
‘Who’s asking?’
He brandished a small business card and tried to offer it to him, but Chief barked again and jumped up on his back legs, snapping at the man’s arm.
‘Fuck! Call your dog, off, will you?’
‘He only does that to people he doesn’t like,’ Tim said calmly. ‘I don’t reckon he likes you. And if he doesn’t, I won’t either.’ He snapped his fingers. Immediately, Chief came to sit next to his owner, still growling. Tim didn’t say anything more, he just crossed his arms and waited.
The breeze cooled the sweat on his back a little. Didn’t matter how cool it was underground, he always sweated and it was always musty. It was nice to get to the surface at the end of every day and breathe in the sweet air. He seemed to be sweating so much more than usual and he wondered if he should make an appointment with the doctor. No. The last time he’d been, he hadn’t liked what the doctor had told him, so he wouldn’t go back.
The man took a cautious step towards Tim and held out his card again. ‘I’m Ross Pollard from HMA Mining.’
‘And?’
‘I’ve come to make an offer on your land.’
Tim stood still. He’d heard that one of the bigger mining companies had been trying to buy up some of the smaller leases, but it had always been on the other side of Barrabine. Not out this way. Why were they offering money for land out here?
There was only one answer to that question; they must believe there was still a lot of gold in the ground.
‘What makes you think I’d want to sell?’ He coughed a little, his throat dry.
‘We’re offering much more money than you’d ever make from what you’ve got here.’ He named a figure and Tim had to admit he was impressed. It made him even more certain there was gold around.
‘Thanks for the offer,’ he said, turning away. ‘But no thanks.’
‘You haven’t even heard me out!’ the man protested.
‘I don’t need to. Not i
nterested.’ He leaned down and picked up the rope that was attached to a large piece of tin and pulled it over the shaft mouth. The clattering drowned out the man’s next words.
After his children had died, Tim had taken to covering the mine shafts, but lately he’d become lax about it. Since he’d found the man’s body, he’d made sure to start again. He wasn’t going to be responsible for anyone else’s death.
Killjoy had brought up a very good point in the pub the other week too. These days it was just as likely the dead man’s family would sue him for not having the shaft covered, even though he’d been trespassing on Tim’s land. It would be Tim who got into trouble, not the idiot who’d fallen in. Times were certainly changing—back when he’d first started out, people had taken responsibility for their own actions instead of trying to blame someone else.
Chief walked close to Tim, his eyes still on the man, as Tim gathered his tools and esky and placed them in the back of his ute.
‘We’ve had others in this area sell their leases to us and we’d really like to put a nice package of land together,’ Ross blustered on. ‘It’ll make your life very easy.’
‘What makes you think my life isn’t easy now? Or that I’d want to change it?’
‘Ah, well, you know, you’re, um, getting on a bit…’
Tim turned to face the man. ‘How did you know where I was?’ he stared at him, his eyes hard. ‘See, from where I’m standing, you’re trespassing on my land and must’ve driven over a fair bit of it looking for me.’ The man began trying to explain but he talked over the top of him. ‘Trespassing on land out here, mister, it’s not a good thing to do. More than likely get a gun in your face for your trouble. So get in your car and get off my land. Now.’ He didn’t give the bloke any further chance to talk to him. He climbed into his ute, started it and whistled to Chief. The dog jumped in the back in a flash and Tim put the ute into gear and drove off.
‘Damn intruders,’ he muttered, checking his rear-view mirror to make sure his unwanted visitor was leaving. He reckoned the man would have followed his tracks from this morning and found him that way. These buggers would never give up. Nothing was sacred out here anymore.
Fool's Gold Page 14