‘Did you hear that?’ Dave asked when he and Spencer were in the car.
‘Hear what?’
‘His story is different.’
‘What?’ Spencer put the key in the ignition and turned on the engine.
‘When we saw him on the road, he told us he left camp because a dingo had frightened him and then he had to go back because he’d left his GPS behind. Now the dingo’s an afterthought and he left because he got a little wet. I need to check my notes but I’m sure he camped in a tent during his first stay.’ His tone was incredulous.
Spencer laughed. ‘I reckon he’s about that soft.’
‘Wonder what he’s up to.’
‘Let’s do a search on him…’ Just then the radio crackled to life and the comms officer was calling their names.
‘Roger that,’ Dave said, picking up the receiver.
‘Got a 3-4-0 at the Oakamanda Pub,’ he said. ‘Repeat, a 3-4-0.’
Spencer shoved the car into gear as Dave reported that they were on their way to check out the disturbance.
Even before they pulled up, Dave could see the front windows of the iconic old pub were smashed. Dee was sitting on the wooden bench outside, waiting for them.
‘Bastards!’ she said fiercely as they walked over to her.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Thrown rocks through the window and got in that way. Knocked over the drinks fridge, taken beer and ciggies.’
There wasn’t any cool air to greet them today as they went in through the front door. Dave looked around at the carnage and sighed heavily before snapping on his rubber gloves and picking his way through the glass shards and up-ended bar stools.
‘When did you find it?’ he asked.
Her usual bouncy, humorous way of speaking was gone. ‘S’morning. Came to open at ten. You know, get set up for the day.’
‘No alarms?’
The look Dee gave him made him wish he hadn’t asked. ‘Does it look like we have an alarm here?’
Dave looked down and walked around, seeing if he could spot anything that could be used as evidence but, really, all he could see was a hell of a mess.’
‘Been any problems in here lately, Dee?’ Spencer asked. ‘Fights? Blokes you don’t know causing trouble?’
‘Nothing. Few tourists, some of the locals. Nothing out of the ordinary. Haven’t had any fights here for ages.’ She looked bewildered. ‘Everyone comes in, has a drink. The tourists read about the history, I tell ’em a few tall tales and off they go. The locals sit and keep on drinking. Only people who were in last night were China and two other locals. They never cause any grief.’
‘Here’s the rock. Or one of them,’ Dave pointed out. A large piece of quartz was sitting underneath the window.
Going back out to the car, Dave grabbed the camera and fingerprint kit.
While Spencer talked to Dee, he snapped shots of the window and stone in situ. Crunching over the broken glass, he dusted the inside of the windowsill, hoping that whoever had climbed in had left a print behind.
‘It’s a wonder Mary the ghost didn’t scare them away,’ Spencer said.
‘I’d’ve scared them if I’d got hold of them,’ Dee said bitterly. ‘Why do people to do this? I’ve spent so much time getting this place lookin’ spick and span, putting all the history together, and these mongrels come in and wreck it all in one night.’
‘Seems pointless, doesn’t it?’ Spencer agreed.
Dee raised her hands. ‘What benefit are they going to get out of it? A few smokes and drinks. I’ve got months of fixing up the joint again.’
Spencer walked to the bar and started to poke around. ‘Have there been any kids out here recently? You know, ones who got all liquored up or looked like they were out to cause mischief?’
‘Wait a moment,’ Dee answered and went through the door to the kitchen. It only took a few moments before she was back, holding a large hardback book.
‘My diary,’ she said as way of explanation. ‘I always write down if anything unusual has happened.’ She started to flick through the pages.
Dave saw the beginnings of a fingerprint start to emerge and he held his breath, hoping it would be a workable one. He carefully lifted it and stored it in the evidence box before moving on to the next room.
‘Three weeks ago five young blokes arrived in one car,’ Dave heard Dee say. ‘They stayed about two drinks too long, then got in the car and drove back towards Barrabine.’
‘Cause any trouble?’
‘Nah, just a bit rowdy, from my notes.’ She flicked the page over. ‘Oh, yeah, I remember now, there was a bloke who came in looking for someone called Glen Bartlett. Left his card—I’ve got it stapled here. He’s from HMA Mining. Ross Pollard, his card says.’
At the sound of Glen’s name, Dave came back into the room. Dee tore the card from the page where she’d stapled it and handed it to Spencer, who looked at it then passed it on to Dave.
‘Do you know why he was looking for Glen?’ asked Spencer, tapping his fingers against his lips.
‘He didn’t say. And I didn’t ask. Less I know the better sometimes. Anyway, I haven’t even clapped eyes on the man, so I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to pass the message on. I assumed he had a lease somewhere, but the name is not one I’ve heard before. Still, people come and go easily enough.’
Spencer wrote a note in his notebook and looked up, squinting.
‘What?’ asked Dee. ‘You’re thinking, I can tell.’
‘Just trying to put a few pieces together.’
‘Do you know who Glen Bartlett is?’
‘Yeah, he’s the body down the mine shaft,’ Spencer said. ‘I thought you would’ve heard his name on the radio or TV since it was released yesterday.’
‘Ha! As if I have time to take any notice of the TV,’ Dee scoffed. Then she stopped. ‘Wait, he’s the dead guy?’ Her voice held a note of fear.
‘“The body” usually indicates someone is dead,’ Spencer said, deadpan.
‘Should we be worried? There’re strange things going on out here right now. I know that bloke who was looking for Glen has been hitting up lease owners to sell their land—I heard Tim mention his name. I mean, how stupid! No one around here is going to sell to a big company. These guys are professional prospectors! This is how they make their living.
‘China was saying someone drove onto his place in the middle of the night and shone their lights on his hut. He got up to have a look but they drove off. Then Jackie’s been seeing footprints around his mine shaft—doesn’t know whose they are or how they got there because his dog didn’t bark. And Julie Goulde was saying she’s had washing taken off the clothesline. And I’ve also heard that some of the bigger machinery the guys use—you know the loaders and dry blowers—have been moved during the night.’
Dave frowned. ‘And no one has reported this?’
‘I didn’t think too much of it, but now I say it out loud, all in one hit, it sounds worse. People have only ever told me in dribs and drabs, you know? I’d hear one story from one person then it’d be a couple of days later before I’d hear something else. Didn’t join the dots, I guess.’
‘Yeah, I understand. Tell me, have you heard any more vehicles driving around in the early morning?’
‘Not for a few nights. I heard something about eleven one night last week, I think it was, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Not like the other ones I told you about.’
Dave thought about this. He wanted to get back to the station and write it all up on the whiteboard, to see the evidence set out neatly and in chronological order.
‘You nearly finished up here?’ Spencer asked.
‘Give me twenty. I’ll snap some more shots and then I’ll be done.’
By the time they were ready to leave, Dave had a film roll full of photos and one fingerprint. He packed the camera into its case and replaced it in the back of the vehicle, while Spencer patted Dee on the shoulder.
‘We’ll d
o our best to find out what happened here, Dee. I promise you that.’
‘Hope you do,’ she said. ‘Can I start cleaning up?’
‘Sure can. Is there anything you’d like me to do for you?’
Dee shook her head. ‘Nah, I’ll get the daughter to come and help.’
‘Right-oh. I’ll be in contact as soon as I know anything.’ They said their goodbyes and Spencer hauled himself into the driver’s seat, pulling his seatbelt on. ‘Do you think we can get a decent photo of Glen Bartlett run off, show it around town?’
‘Should be able to. I might need to see if Claire can help me lighten it a little, but the security camera footage should be okay for that.’
‘Right. And do we have a photo of Ross Pollard? Or can we get one?’
That stumped Dave. ‘I don’t think we’ve got one—we’ve got no need to have one.’
Spencer drove without speaking. ‘We need one,’ he finally said. ‘Without alerting him to the fact we’re going to be asking about him.’
‘Driver’s licence,’ Dave suggested.
‘Yeah, that’s it! Print off his driver’s licence photo. It’ll be on file. And maybe compare the security footage and DL photo for Glen. If there’s not too much difference, use the DL for him too. It’ll be clearer than the security footage. Right, when we get back to town I want you to go to the camping stores and see if anyone remembers selling Ross Pollard some camping equipment.’
‘No worries,’ Dave said. ‘How many stores in town?’
‘Four. Shouldn’t take you too long to get around them. I’ll run that print from the pub when we get back and see what it brings up.’
‘You thinking kids?’
‘Not sure. It looks like kids—it’s a break and enter without a lot of thought or organisation. Mischief more than anything. But I’m wondering if there’s an ulterior motive. Can’t work out what it would be though.’ He was frowning. ‘There’s something more, I’m sure of it. Too many odd things happening. I mean,’ he searched for words to clarify his thoughts, ‘this is the goldfields and strange things happen all the time. But I’m like you—I don’t believe in coincidences. Look at this: we start with a body. Turns out it was murder. Then we find out the dead guy was selling the land of his late father. He’s come to sign the papers and “find someone”.’ Spencer made quotation marks with his fingers.
‘Then,’ Dave continued, ‘we have Ross Pollard, who is wanting Glen’s signature, with two different stories about camping out in the bush, and a few smaller but equally odd things happening.’
They drove in silence and Dave watched the passing landscape. He’d fallen in love with this area—the country had seemed to seep into his veins quietly and now it felt like home. Last night, as he’d drifted off to sleep, he’d thought about buying a metal detector and an old ute. He could set it up as a camper and he and Melinda could go prospecting. Spend the weekends in amongst the trees and bushes. Make love under the stars and know they’d be unlikely to see anyone else the whole weekend. He’d fallen in love with the rich red dirt and open skies, the landscape and the locals. The people were friendly and he was enjoying his job. It looked like Melinda had settled in too. Maybe they could stay here a few more years.
‘Check that out,’ Spencer said, breaking into his thoughts and slowing down.
Under a large gimlet tree were three kangaroos. They were lying in the shade, propped up on their elbows watching the cars go by.
‘They don’t seem too worried,’ Dave said.
‘I guess they get used to their environment, don’t they? The noise, or lack of. They know what’s normal and what isn’t. Same as anyone.’
‘That’s it!’ Dave said, twisting around in his seat to look at Spencer. ‘I’ve been trying to work out what’s been niggling me about all these small incidents. You know, the lights, people going onto other people’s leases…oh, and the machinery being moved…It reminds me of a case I had about three years ago. I was based out of a suburban cop shop and people were ringing up reporting small things—someone had their letterbox pushed over, another found their lawn had been sprayed with chemicals and it’d died. The community centre had a few windows smashed but nothing stolen. We couldn’t work out what was going on, because none of it was particularly malicious. We thought it was probably kids.
‘Then one night we were out cruising the streets, me and a mate. I was off duty and I came across an older bloke carrying a pile of washing in his arms. Didn’t bother to hide it in any way, was just casually walking down the street with women’s clothing.
‘I started to talk to him—asked what he was up to, did he have a wife or a mother who these clothes belonged to. The answer was no.’ He paused.
‘What’d you do?’ Spencer asked as he flicked on the blinker to turn onto the main highway into Barrabine.
‘Got patrol to come and pick him up and put him in an interview room. Just to “help with our enquiries”. Turned out he hated the suburb and was trying to create fear and unease.’ Dave stopped. ‘Could that be what’s happening here? Creating enough fear that someone might be pushed into selling their land? Selling the pub…’ His voice trailed off.
Spencer was quiet for a long time. As they pulled up at the police station, he said, ‘You might just be right, you know. It could very well be something like that.’
Chapter 23
Dave walked down the wide streets of Barrabine, hands in pockets. Being the middle of the day and quite warm, there were few people out, but plenty of cars parked along the street.
He was on his way to the first camping shop when he heard his name called and turned to see Melinda walking towards him.
A smile broke out on his face and he stopped, waiting for her to catch up.
‘Hey you,’ he said, kissing her.
‘Hey back,’ she answered, slipping her arm around his waist.
‘What’re you up to?’
‘Going to grab some lunch. I’ve got an hour to spare before my next appointment. Got time to eat with me?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Sure do. I could do with a cold drink. We got called out to Oakamanda today—Dee’s pub was given an overhaul, and not one that was beneficial—and I’m a bit parched.’
‘Oh no, that’s terrible. Poor Dee!’ Melinda exclaimed.
They walked hand in hand towards the Mug.
‘How’s your day been?’ he asked as they sat down at a table close to the back of the café.
‘I’m exhausted,’ she said. ‘Stupid because I slept well last night. I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open today.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘Are you doing too much, do you think?’ he asked gently. ‘You’re putting in some long hours with the new job.’
‘Not really. I’m just doing what’s expected.’ She glanced over at the door as the bell jangled and saw Janelle pushing Maddie into the café. ‘That’s one of my mums,’ she said in a low voice, nudging Dave with her foot.
He turned around and caught a glimpse of a young girl with long, dull blonde hair and acne. Even with the quick glance he could see the pram was dirty and old, and the mother’s clothes were either second-hand or had been dragged out of the rag bin.
Maddie was crying and Melinda frowned. ‘Surely she’s not still crying?’ she muttered. They watched surreptitiously as the young mum order an iced chocolate and sat down, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Maddie continued to cry and Janelle rocked the pram automatically.
From behind the counter the owner, Ruth, came out and started to fuss over Maddie, talking to her and Janelle, asking how everything was going.
‘She’s certainly got a good set of lungs on her,’ Dave heard Ruth say. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Maddie. She’s hard work. Won’t suck properly so I can’t even get her to take a dummy to make her be quiet,’ Janelle said above the noise. Ruth leaned into the pram and picked up Maddie, jiggling her up and down for a few moments.
‘You poor thing,’ she said to Jane
lle. ‘It’s hard when your baby is unsettled. Have you got anyone to help you at home?’
‘Nope,’ Janelle said. ‘Mum says it’s my own fault and I have to live with the consequences.’
A look of shock passed over Ruth’s face. ‘Oh, you poor love.’ She jiggled Maddie even harder. ‘Well, I tell you what, every time you need a little break, you pop in here for a free iced chocolate and I’ll have a little cuddle with her while you have five minutes to yourself. What do you say?’ Janelle looked up at her with delight on her face. ‘That would be awesome,’ she answered.
Ruth looked down at the crying baby. ‘Miss Maddie, I think you and I are going to be good friends.’
Dave put down his sandwich and said to Melinda, ‘What’s up?’ He’d seen a strange look cross her face.
‘I had her sucking out of a bottle last week. I’m not sure why Janelle is saying that, unless something’s gone really wrong.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I’ll have to wait and see what’s happened when she comes in for her appointment tomorrow.’
Dave knew she’d tried to brush off what she’d seen, but something had upset her. He changed the subject. ‘How about we book in for a brothel tour this weekend?’ He’d already run the idea past her. The brothels were an integral part of the town, almost like the supermarket. Even though there was a strong demand for their services, they weren’t getting as much patronage as they used to and had started running tours to supplement their income. They’d never be locals until they understood the brothel culture.
‘We might get some ideas, hey,’ Melinda grinned. ‘But I think I’d like to catch up on my sleep a bit too.’ She picked at her salad half-heartedly.
Dave frowned. ‘You’re not getting sick, are you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. It’s probably all the stress of moving, then starting this new job. I think I need a weekend of not doing very much.’
‘That’s what we’ll do then. Sleep late, have breakfast in bed, laze in front of the TV and do a brothel tour…’
Melinda giggled. ‘It’s the words “brothel tour” that don’t sound right in that sentence!’
Dave reached over and took her hand. ‘I hadn’t finished…Then we’ll come home and go to bed. But maybe not just to sleep. What do you say?’
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