Where the River Runs

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Oh! I’ve just had an idea.’

  Dave looked at her cautiously. ‘This could be a worry.’

  ‘Why don’t you run a raffle on the night and whoever wins gets to sit in the squad car with you. You could donate the money to the school or library or something. The kids would love it!’

  The chops were sizzling now so Dave reached out to take the tongs from Kim and started to turn them.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ he said. ‘I always knew you weren’t just a pretty face.’

  From behind, she wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you.’

  Dave felt her head rest against his shoulder blades for a moment and then move away.

  The next morning Dave drafted an email to five local jewellery stores and attached the photo of the brooch. After hitting the send button, he picked up the phone and called the first shop on his list. The woman he spoke to didn’t know anything about it and couldn’t give him any information.

  The next three shops were the same and he was beginning to feel frustrated as he dialled the fifth shop.

  ‘Diamond Sea Jewellers, Roxy speaking.’

  ‘Good morning. It’s Detective Dave Burrows calling from the Barker police station. Could I speak to the owner or manager, please?’

  ‘That’s me, how can I help?’

  ‘Thanks for taking my call, Roxy. I’ve just sent you an email with a photo of an antique brooch. I was wondering if you could take a look at it. I’m after any information you might have about it.’

  ‘What type of information?’

  ‘If you’ve seen anything like this before. What age it might be. Is it handmade? That type of thing. I can call back if you’re busy.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’d rather do it now. One moment.’

  Dave listened as a recorded message informed him that his call was important to Diamond Sea Jewellers and to please continue to hold.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’ Dave grabbed a pen and pulled a notepad towards him.

  ‘It’s a beautiful piece.’

  ‘Do you have any thoughts on it?’

  The jeweller paused. ‘I think it’s handmade. The rope twirling up the stems of the roses has been engraved by hand. See how each mark is different. Some are straight, some aren’t. And the petals of the rose have been shaped by hand too. Again, they’re not all the same as they would be if they’d been done by machine.’

  ‘Have you seen a piece like this before?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, but I wish I had.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how old it might be?’

  ‘It’s hard to say without examining it. Most jewellers would have left their signature on it somewhere. I can’t see anything on the back to indicate who made it, and that in itself is unusual. It’s certainly not recent. The craftsmanship is perhaps around the 1910s or 1920s.’

  ‘That old?’ Dave asked, his stomach sinking.

  ‘Without having examined the piece it’s hard to be accurate.’

  ‘Have you been in the industry long, Roxy?’

  ‘Are you needing my credentials, Detective?’

  ‘Curiosity.’

  She laughed. ‘I thought that killed the cat. I am a third-generation jeweller. I did my apprenticeship under my father, who did his under his father. I’m a classically trained goldsmith and have been qualified for thirty years. I hope that’s enough for you.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got a long history.’

  ‘I do. Mine is the only family-owned jewellers in the mid-north and I’m very proud of that.’

  ‘Do you design your own pieces?’

  ‘Usually, but with only me here, it is difficult to design and make as well as be on the floor, selling. I do a lot of my creating outside work hours.’

  ‘Is your father still alive? Would he know anything about this piece?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. He died two years ago.’ There was a pause. ‘Now let me ask you a question, Detective. Where did you find it? I can see there is a lot of dirt on it, so it must have come from the ground.’

  ‘I can’t tell you much as it’s part of an investigation but, yes, we found it buried with a few other things.’

  ‘I see. Well, if I can be of any further assistance to you, please call again.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’ Dave hung up the phone and tapped at his paper. From the 1910s or 1920s? Maybe it had been made then but given to the person who was buried there at a later time.

  The bones couldn’t be that old, could they? Otherwise Finlay would’ve stopped and told him to ring the historical society rather than wasting time and resources on a case that wouldn’t get a conviction.

  Chapter 11

  Dave’s phone dinged with a text message. He smiled as he saw Kim’s name come up.

  Have you rung your family?

  His smile dropped. Instead of answering he put the phone down and went out the front of the station to see Joan.

  She was sitting in front of the computer, typing up a report about a speeding driver Jack had pulled up on his way home from the forensic scene.

  ‘Kim had an idea about raising money for the school,’ he said without preamble.

  ‘Oh yes?’ Joan didn’t look up and her fingers didn’t slow as they flew across the keys, making Dave dizzy.

  ‘She thought we might be able to run a raffle and the winner could ride in the squad car with Jack and me during the pageant. Is that easy to organise?’

  ‘Should be. What do you want, like a gold coin donation?’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be enough.’

  Joan stopped typing and made some notes on the pad next to her. ‘Okay, so I’ll draw up a numbered board and people can buy the numbers. Then we’ll draw a number out of the hat and whoever’s number is picked can go for a ride.’ She started to type again.

  ‘Great, I’ll leave it with you.’

  ‘Is Jack going to be directing traffic?’

  ‘Nah, the council are going to put up “road closed” signs and signpost the detours. That should be enough. We’ll shut down the main street from 5 pm and reopen it at 8 pm once everyone moves up to the old folks’ home. The president is having kittens this year. Seems to think we’re not doing enough to protect everyone’s safety. But we don’t need to do anything more than we’ve done before.’

  ‘Council elections are coming up early next year. Probably doesn’t want anything to go wrong before he gets voted back in,’ Joan said, still staring at the screen.

  ‘Oh, that’s the issue, is it? I thought he was being a bit pedantic.’

  ‘Downright annoying, I’d say,’ Joan answered cynically.

  Dave heard his phone ding again. ‘Thanks, Joan. I’m not sure this station would run without you.’

  Joan looked up at him, the pleasure clear on her face. ‘Don’t be daft.’

  Dave patted her on the shoulder and went back to his office. Kim had sent him another message. ????

  ‘All right, all right,’ he told the text. ‘I’ll ring them now.’ Mandy’s phone rang four times before it diverted to the message bank.

  ‘Yeah, Mandy, it’s Dave.’ He cleared his throat and felt stupid. He was quite capable of delivering bad news to victims’ families, or asking the right questions to get people to talk to him, but he couldn’t work out what to say in a message to his sister-in-law.

  ‘Just, um, wondering how things are going over there. How Dean is and how you guys are all holding up.’ He paused. ‘Let me know.’ He touched the disconnect button and wondered if he should ring his mum. Before he could talk himself out of it, he dialled the number he knew by heart and listened to it ring.

  ‘Dave.’ His mum’s voice was deep and croaky from sleep. ‘Hello, darling, how are you?’

  ‘Probably better to ask how you all are,’ he answered as he picked up a pen and doodled on the pad in front of him. ‘You sound like you were asleep.’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to an
yone this morning.’ It sounded like she took a sip of something—tea maybe. Dave glanced at his watch and realised that, with daylight saving, it was only 7 am in the west.

  ‘We’re all holding up. Dean’s out of danger. Amazingly they managed to save his arm, but they’re not guaranteeing he’s going to have a lot of use of it. And of course he’s going to have a long road to recovery. Lots of physio and probably more operations. It’s incredible what doctors can do these days. I really don’t know how they saved it.’

  ‘Well, that’s fantastic news.’

  ‘It is, and we’re all very pleased and grateful.’ She paused, and Dave waited. ‘He’s very depressed though.’

  Dave tapped his pen up and down. ‘I’m sure it’s going to be a long and difficult road for him. It certainly won’t be easy, knowing how much work there is at home. He’s always been able to do everything himself and it’ll take a massive amount of adjustment to realise he’s going to be reliant on other people. That’ll be what is the hardest for him, Mum.’

  ‘The doctor said he might be angry for a while—just because he can’t do things the way he used to. Adapting, they called it.’ She sighed. ‘He’s always been so independent. Now he’s going to have to rely on other people. It’s a whole mindset change.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’ll be part of the healing process. He’s going to have to go through a whole heap of emotions before he comes to terms with this. And it’s going to take time. A lot of time.’ Dave had seen this many times in his line of work; didn’t matter if it was due to a death, divorce or accident, the grief process took a person through denial, guilt, anger and depression before acceptance was possible. ‘What about Mandy, how’s she?’

  ‘Oh, she’s been a tower of strength. I don’t know what we’d do without her and I don’t know how she can be so strong. She’s been there every step of the way, spoken to the doctors, everything. Now she’s started to help with his physio …’ Her voice trailed off and Dave suddenly realised she was frightened.

  ‘Mum, why didn’t you tell me they’d separated?’

  He heard her blow out a breath and waited.

  ‘Dave, things aren’t always black and white. You should know that in your job. They didn’t want anyone to know. Not until Christy had finished uni and both kids were settled. They weren’t at home very often, and when they visited over the holidays, I think the act was kept up very well. Neither of them seemed to realise there were any problems between their parents. I didn’t necessarily agree, Dave, but I had to respect their wishes.’

  ‘But how did it happen? I thought they were solid?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sometimes people just grow apart. Fall out of love. There wasn’t anyone else.’ She paused. ‘Well, not that I know of.’

  ‘He didn’t hit her, did he? He didn’t have Dad’s anger problems?’ As he said it, he thought back to his conversation with Mandy: ‘I don’t hate him, Dave.’

  Still he had to ask.

  ‘Dave!’

  He stayed silent. He knew his father had been volatile, and he’d heard the put-downs and emotional abuse his mum had been subjected to, but he’d never asked directly about physical violence before. He remembered an argument at the dinner table only days before his father kicked him off the family farm. His dad, at the end of the table, slammed his fist onto the wooden table-top. His eyes bulging, he yelled at Dave’s mum: ‘Stay out of it, woman! You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Dave remembered the fear in his mother’s voice as she begged him to calm down.

  ‘He never hit me,’ she finally said. ‘Never. Yes, he used to get angry. Yell a bit. Say things in the heat of the moment. But most of us are like that. I know you’ll find it hard to understand, but he was a good, kind man. Respected.’

  Not in my eyes, thought Dave. Instead he said, ‘Mum, the way he treated you was abusive. He didn’t have to hit you, he did it with his words and by manipulation. I’m glad you weren’t subjected to physical abuse, but that doesn’t make what you experienced any less traumatic. Dad could’ve been reported for what he did to you.’ Dave knew he sounded harsh. He couldn’t help it. His excuse for not going back to the farm was the way his father had treated him, but deep down it wasn’t just that. It was the way his father had treated his mother. And her inability to fight back. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ he added, trying to soften his words.

  He heard her sigh again and their silence stretched across the Nullarbor.

  ‘Are you worried that Mandy will leave after Dean gets out of hospital?’ Dave asked eventually. ‘That everything will fall to you?’

  Another silence. ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking.’

  ‘Is there anything you want me to do?’ he asked, fighting the hollow feeling in his stomach as he spoke. ‘Do they need help with the harvest or anything? How long will Dean be in Perth for?’ He paused before saying, ‘I’ll come if you need me.’

  ‘There’s still so many things that are unknown. The neighbours have been wonderful. They’ve organised a group to take their headers and trucks over after Christmas to harvest it all. With six or seven headers, it’ll only take a couple of days. Some of the neighbours have their own trucks, and a freight company has donated the use of three of theirs. We’re incredibly grateful.’

  ‘I’d never want to live anywhere else but the country for that exact reason,’ Dave said, feeling relief wash through him. It didn’t sound like he’d be needed. ‘People just love helping each other out. It’s nice they’re all doing that for you, Mum.’

  ‘Do you remember Georgie and Jack Nixon? I think you used to play cricket with Jack.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember.’ His mum had obviously forgotten Dave had written letters to her when he’d left and he’d sent them via Georgie and Jack. He’d worried that his father wouldn’t pass them on, whereas he knew Georgie would. And Jack? Well, he’d been the one who’d organised Dean’s bucks’ night. The night everything had gone wrong. The night he’d been kicked off the farm. Jack had also driven to Esperance to see Dave when he’d been working as a farmhand down there and tried to convince him to come home. To tell him his dad was sorry. Jack’s talk hadn’t changed Dave’s mind.

  ‘Georgie and Jack have been the driving force behind it all.’

  ‘They’re good people.’ Jack’s words echoed in Dave’s ears: ‘Look, I know your dad can be a bastard. Short-tempered and all that. But you need to come home. For your mum.’

  For your mum. That’s what Kim would say too.

  The phone rang at the front desk and he heard Joan answer it. Then she appeared in the doorway, making frantic motions with her hands.

  ‘Look, I gotta go, Mum. But if there is anything Kim and I can do, make sure you give us a ring, okay?’

  ‘You know what you could do, Dave?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Stay in touch a little more. I’m old. I’d like to see you and meet Kim. Your father isn’t here anymore.’

  For your mum.

  Dave paused. ‘Sure, Mum. I’ll do that. Talk to you soon. Bye.’ He looked at Joan.

  ‘It’s Dr Fletcher from the morgue,’ she said. ‘He needs to talk to you urgently. Line one.’

  Dave snatched up the phone and pressed the flashing red button. ‘You’ve got news already?’ He was surprised.

  ‘You’re lucky it’s a slow week, Dave. Normally I would’ve put it right down the bottom of the to-do pile. However, you know there was a box that was buried with the remains?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It contains the body of a baby.’

  Dave opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  Dr Fletcher continued. ‘The body was wrapped in a hessian bag—like the ones that would have held flour and sugar back in the 1920s and 1930s.’

  ‘He or she?’

  ‘Can’t tell. Too early for the gender to be evident in the bones.’

  ‘How did it die?’

  ‘Again, the bones don’t tell me anything. Could’ve been
sick or born prematurely and didn’t survive, or could have been stillborn. Any other number of reasons.’

  ‘What about the adult skeleton?’

  ‘I haven’t looked at him yet. I rang because I thought you’d want to know. It’s not often you find a baby’s remains in a rotted hessian bag tucked inside a box.’

  Dave thought hard, wanting to ask more questions, but it didn’t seem there were many he could ask if the bones hadn’t given up any of their secrets.

  ‘Not sure how much time I should put into this,’ Dave said, thinking out loud. ‘Until I have a reason to think there was a murder, these could be just two natural deaths.’

  ‘They could be,’ Dr Fletcher agreed. ‘And that’ll be your problem to work out. But I think the baby’s remains change things, don’t you? I’m starting on the other skeleton today, so there will be results on him soon enough.’

  ‘Yeah. Was there anything else in the box? More jewellery or something to help with IDing them both?’

  ‘No, and the hessian bag was almost non-existent. Back in the early 1900s, these types of bags had individual tags sewn on to indicate which company the flour came from. I haven’t found anything like that—I’m sure it’s just disintegrated along with the bag. I had a case a few years ago—the body in the bag. Do you remember it?’

  ‘Vaguely,’ Dave said. ‘Something about a body found wrapped in bags, in a cave near Mount Gambier?’

  ‘That’s the one. The body was a freshy, so not like this, but it had been wrapped in the same type of hessian bag.’

  ‘So …’

  ‘We were able to identify the hessian bags through the tags. It turned out the great-grandfather of the murderer had worked for the company that produced the bags which had been stored at his great-granddaughter’s house. See where I’m going?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. The bags linked the murderer to the body because his great-grandfather had worked at the factory and kept the bags. But you don’t have the labels on this bag.’