The Shearer's Wife

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Yum.’ Zara dug into the paper bag. ‘Hopper down at the pub told me. And Lachie’s heard of him—he’s a gun. Shears down the south-east too.’

  ‘Nice. Looks in pretty good shape for an old fella.’

  Zara raised an eyebrow as she munched on the sugar- and-cinnamon donut. ‘Don’t think he’s that old. I reckon he’s in his forties. He’s pretty good-looking, actually.’

  ‘He’s older than us.’ Courtney bumped her shoulder into her friend just as the commentator yelled through the microphone. ‘I keep forgetting you’re taken now. Still can’t believe you and Jack. I mean, a copper, of all people.’

  Zara felt a warm glow spread through her as she thought about Jack. ‘Me either,’ she agreed with a smile.

  The voice of the shearing commentator caught her attention.

  ‘Ladies and gents, there you have it, Jesse Barnett is the winner for the eleventh year in a row. Come on up here, Jesse. Sunbeam have donated a heap of shearing gear to you as the winner.’

  ‘Looks like I’m up,’ Zara said, readying to get Jesse’s attention and record the interview. ‘Thanks for the sustenance. See you later at the bar?’

  ‘Where else would I be? Tye’s coming tonight too.’

  ‘Okey doke. Jack and I’ll see you there,’ Zara said, walking towards the stage. She snapped a couple of photos of Jesse’s name and shearing stand, then took a few moreof the crowd and one of the sponsors as they handed over his prize of a new handpiece, combs and cutters.

  ‘Congratulations, Jesse. Hope you’ll be back again next year.’

  Jesse held up his hand and gave a slight bow to the crowd.

  Zara watched, a half smile playing around her lips. He was a bit of a showman, this Jesse. Tall and muscly, his black hair was clipped short, his face open and warm. Shearing kept his figure trim, but Zara’s eyes were drawn to his impressive biceps.

  The crowd gave another cheer as he walked off the stage.

  ‘Mr Barnett?’ Zara made sure she was in his path as he came down the steps. ‘Mr Barnett, I’m Zara Ellison from the Farming Telegraph. Could I have a few words with you about your win, please?’

  Jesse nodded to a couple of other shearers who had clapped him on the back, and then looked at Zara.

  ‘I’m not newsworthy, I don’t reckon,’ he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s right. This is the eleventh year in a row that you’ve won here in Barker. You’ve had eight wins down in the south-east … and you mentor young shearers. Lots to talk about there.’

  Jesse rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly.

  ‘I won’t take up too much of your time.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Great!’ Zara hit the record button on her phone. ‘Hope you don’t mind if I record the interview? It means I’ll get everything absolutely correct when I come to write the story. How long have you been shearing?’

  Jesse placed his prizes on the ground and looked at her with a curious expression. He was dressed in a shearing singlet, and braces held up his custom-made shearing jeans, his feet clad in moccasins.

  ‘Reckon it would have to be about twenty-four years. Got a stand when I was sixteen, but I’d been holding a handpiece since I was about five. The wethers were a bit too big for me back then.’ He gave a chuckle and wiped his face with the towel hanging over his shoulders.

  ‘You’ve been in the shearing industry ever since you started work? You must love it.’

  ‘Like I said, I’ve been around sheds since I was a whippersnapper. You wouldn’t have even been a twinkle in your dad’s eye when I stepped into a shearing shed for the first time.’ He grinned.

  ‘How did you start out in the sheds, then?’

  ‘My dad started out as a station hand when I was a young bloke, but ended up in the sheds as a shearer. I’d be with him all the time. Didn’t have a mum, you see, so it was just me ’n’ Dad. He worked for McNamara Contracting from when I was about ten; I was raised in among the sheep and fleeces. It’s in my blood.’ He nodded as if to emphasise that point. ‘Don’t know anything different. Used to sleep in the wool while my dad shore.’ His lopsided grin showed straight, white teeth and this time Zara couldn’t help but smile back.

  ‘And you’re still working for McNamara Contracting? That must be some kind of record,’ she said.

  ‘Wouldn’t know, but me and the boss, Codja, we grew up together. His dad was my dad’s boss and now he’s mine.’

  ‘Can you tell me a bit more about your childhood?’

  ‘Who’s gonna be interested in that?’ Jesse looked at her quizzically. ‘It’s as boring as bat shit.’

  ‘Not at all. I wouldn’t have asked the question if—’

  ‘Jesse Barnett … Well, well, well. How long has it been?’

  Zara turned at the familiar voice and saw the silver hair and tall frame of Oscar Porter striding towards them. Oscar owned one of the larger farms around Barker and ran only sheep.

  ‘G’day, boss,’ Jesse answered, holding out his hand. ‘Too long.’

  ‘Don’t be calling me that here.’ Oscar shook his head. ‘Yeah, it has. How are you?’

  ‘Good, real good. Nothing’s changed. Just shearing. Few beers, then back to shearing again. How’re you getting on?’

  ‘Fine.’ Oscar grinned, then looked at Zara. ‘How are you, Zara? Interviewing the shearing celeb of South Australia?’

  ‘Yep, trying to get him to tell me about his life history. Jesse’s shorn in your shed?’

  Oscar nodded. ‘Mine was the first stand he got; wasn’t it, mate? Just after your dad passed on.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘At sixteen?’ Zara asked.

  ‘Yeah, my dear old dad dropped like a tonne of rocks one day, just before smoko. Stood up to get another sheep and over he went. Heart attack in Oscar’s shed. He looked out for me for a bit. Made sure I got a stand with Codja and his old man. Always would’ve, but Oscar paved the way. Helped me sort out all the paperwork and stuff I didn’t know anything about.’

  Zara’s phone buzzed in her hand and she glanced at the screen. Jack. What are you up to?

  She quickly typed out a reply. At show.

  Her phone vibrated again and, thinking it was Jack, she frowned, ready to tell him to let her get on with her work.

  Not this time. Hopper from the pub. Something happening at the cop shop. Strange coppers in town.

  Her frown changed to a smile and adrenalin kicked in. Sounded like a story to her. Hopper was her best source: he saw everything, heard everything and let her know as soon as he did. Jack had probably only wanted to know where she was so she didn’t turn up asking questions. That’d be right; when Zara had first arrived back in Barker, her relationship with the two policemen had been strained. Both Dave and Jack had been wary of journalists, as most police were, to the point of being rude, and Zara had spent a long time earning their trust. Now here she was—her boyfriend was one of those coppers.

  They were both always very careful not to put each other in a position that could compromise their careers. Because of this, she would go and find Dave and see what he had to say about things.

  Shoving her phone into her bag, she interrupted the conversation between Oscar and Jesse. ‘Jesse, could I buy you a drink tonight or tomorrow and finish this interview?I don’t want to intrude on your time with Oscar.’ She handed him her card. ‘Do you have a phone number I can contact you on?’

  Oscar gave a laugh. ‘You’d better give it to her, mate. She’s tenacious, this one. Won’t stop until she gets the story she wants.’

  Jesse reeled off his number. ‘I’m here for a week or so. We’re shearing out at Jacksonville.’

  ‘Could I come out there and get some photos of you shearing?’

  ‘Sure,’ Jesse shrugged.

  Zara threw him a brilliant smile. ‘I have a feeling your story is very interesting. I’ll see you then. Bye, Oscar.’ She turned and walked away, phone still in hand.<
br />
  Scrolling through her contacts, she brought up her editor’s number and hit dial.

  ‘Lachie Turner.’

  ‘Don’t you look at caller ID?’ she asked, though she already knew that Lachie wouldn’t have even looked at his phone as he’d snatched it up from alongside his keyboard.

  ‘Well, well, it’s the roaming reporter. How’s things?’

  ‘Just wondering if you’ve heard anything on the news about something going on at Barker? I’ve been covering the show and just got a call from a source saying there’re strange coppers in town. Checking in with you before I do anything else.’

  There was a pause, and she knew he was flicking through the channels on the TV that hung on the wall of his office in Adelaide.

  ‘Haven’t seen anything,’ Lachie said finally, as Zara reached her car. ‘You got a feel?’

  ‘Just going there now. Will let you know.’ Zara jiggled the keys out of her pocket and unlocked her car door.

  ‘Everything else okay? How’s that man of yours?’

  ‘Everything is going okay, workwise. Jack is brilliant; we’re going really well.’

  ‘How’s your mum?’

  It was only last year that Zara had left the bustling newsroom office of the Farming Telegraph in South Australia’s capital to move to the small township of Barker so she could help her mum and brother out on their farm. Will had been diagnosed with bowel cancer and only lived a matter of weeks after she’d moved back. It was a situation Lachie understood only too well, having lost his sister to breast cancer a few years before.

  ‘She’s okay. There are good days and bad—as you know. But we’re all managing, and James is very good for Mum.’

  ‘Good things can come out of tragedies,’ Lachie said. ‘Nice that he was Will’s doctor; they might not have met otherwise.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, I gotta go, I don’t want to miss anything.’

  ‘Jack going to give you info?’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask him. I’ll find Dave and see what he’s got to say. Take care.’ She hung up and started the car. One thing she knew for certain: Dave would not be happy to see her.

  Chapter 6

  Pulling open the door to the police station, Zara smiled at Joan, who was sitting behind the desk, her pen tucked behind her ear, fingers flying across the keyboard.

  The cold wind, which had been following her all day, whipped in too, banging shut the door that separated the front desk from the back offices.

  Zara marvelled at how Joan’s tightly curled grey hair didn’t move in the breeze even as her cardigan flapped around her. She knew that under the desk, Joan would be wearing a pair of navy slacks and sensible shoes. That was Joan—sensible.

  ‘Hello, Joan. Isn’t it a feral day?’

  ‘A normal winter day in Barker,’ Joan said as she placed her glasses carefully on the bench in front of her, blinking to focus. ‘What can I do for you? I thought you’d be busy at the show?’

  ‘I was there for a couple of hours. Just thought I’d swing by and see what was happening. Is he in?’ Zara asked tipping her head towards the office.

  ‘Jack? No, he’s out. Not sure where.’

  ‘No. Dave.’

  Joan’s face became even more deadpan than usual. ‘How did you find out so quickly?’

  ‘I’ve got a sense for these things.’ Zara gave a winning grin, but Joan shook her head.

  ‘He’s here, but he won’t see you.’

  Putting her bag on the floor, Zara leaned against the counter. ‘So, what’s going on? Sounds like there are out-of-town coppers here. That’s odd.’

  Joan shook her head. ‘Oh, no. You’re not getting anything out of me, and you know that. I’ve worked here for too long and I know how you lot work. Doesn’t mean I don’t like you, Zara, you know I do, but I won’t be giving you any information. I like working here, and I won’t jeopardise my job.’

  They both looked over as a tall, dark-haired man came out from the interview room, frowning. He looked at them, nodded and kept walking to the back of the station.

  ‘Serious sort of bloke,’ Zara said, once he’d disappeared.

  ‘Yes, he certainly has that air about him,’ Joan said and looked back at the work on her computer screen. ‘No point in hanging around here, Zara. Dave won’t speak to you.’

  ‘Could you just try?’

  ‘No.’ Her fingernails clicked over the keys and she didn’t look back up.

  Zara knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere, so she picked up her bag and sighed. ‘Could you tell Dave I was here? And maybe ask him to call me?’

  ‘Zara,’ Joan answered, her tone patient. ‘One, you know that Dave will know you’ve been here. He’s aware of what you do and how invested you are in your job. Two, he already has your phone number. And, three, if he wants to talk to you, he will. All right?’

  ‘Thanks, Joan.’

  Zara walked out of the station and looked across the street to the pub, but instead of going straight there to talk to Hopper, she turned down the side street that ran alongside the police station. She stood under a large Kurrajong tree and peered over the fence into the station carpark. Jack’s car wasn’t there, but a white unmarked government-issued sedan was parked in Dave’s spot. The wind whistled through the leaves, shaking loose big, heavy drops of rain onto her coat as she jotted down the numberplate in the hope that one of her contacts in Adelaide could run the plate and see which department the car belonged to.

  ‘Damn it,’ she muttered. She’d been hoping she’d see something worthwhile. Something she could write about.

  Pulling her coat a little closer around her, she turned and walked back towards the warmth of the pub.

  The flames from the cheery fire were leaping high, spreading warmth to every corner. The TV on the wall was on, showing a replay of the last football match between the Fremantle Dockers and the Adelaide Crows, and a lone customer, an old man nursing a beer, stared up at the screen.

  Hopper was behind the bar, polishing glasses with a tea-towel. ‘Knew it wouldn’t take you long,’ he said with a grin when he saw her.

  The older man turned and gave Zara a blank stare before looking back at the TV. Zara doubted he’d even comprehended what had just been said.

  ‘I’ve been across to the station already. They’re tight-lipped.’

  ‘Well, I’d reckon they’d have to be. Those out-of-town coppers looked like they’re on a mission.’

  ‘What sort of coppers are they?’

  ‘Dunno. They’re not wearing a uniform or anything I could see that said where they were from, but they sorta look like those blokes that come from the FBI or something.’

  ‘FBI? That’s America, Hopper!’ Zara gave a little laugh at the thought of the FBI running around Barker. ‘Someone in Barker would have to be harbouring a terrorist or something really bad for the FBI to turn up here.’

  ‘Well, girly, you never know. One thing I’ve learned behind this bar for all these years, is that if anything strange is going to happen, it’ll be in a country town. The city’s got nothin’ on us for gossip and weird things happening.’

  ‘Maybe, Hopper, maybe.’ Zara turned and looked out through the frosted-glass front door. No movement at the station. FBI lookalikes, she thought. The Feds more likely, but what the hell would they be here for?

  ‘I’m pretty sure they were parked out the front of the post office in Dave’s car,’ Hopper said as he held a glass up to the light, checking for streaks. He put it down, obviously happy with what he saw, and picked up another one.

  ‘Really? What did you see?’ Zara put her bag down and sat on the bar stool, putting her chin in her hand and staring at Hopper.

  ‘Well, I was wiping down the windowsills when I arrived this morning. Good reason to have the curtains open, you know.’ He nodded towards the windows. ‘Anyhow, I looked up as they drove past and there was not just Dave in the car, but another two blokes in the back. Looked a bit squeezy from where I was s
tanding.’ He put the schooner glass down and grabbed another one, before continuing with his story. ‘I walked outside, just to see which direction they were headed and they only drove a block down, then parked under the big tree near the post office.

  ‘They sat there for probably half an hour, I reckon.’ He gave a cheeky grin. ‘I kept going to see if they’d moved, or arrested someone, but nothing. Just sat there like they were having a conversation.

  ‘The last time I went out to have a squiz, they’d moved on and I couldn’t see the car anywhere.’

  ‘So, how do you know these other blokes were coppers? If they didn’t arrest anyone and were just sitting in Dave’s car?’

  Hopper considered his answer for a moment. ‘Well, they just looked like them, you know? Like the FBI on the TV shows.’

  ‘Did you see them come back to the station?’

  ‘Nah. I know they’re all back there, though, because Dave came out about three-quarters of an hour ago to get his coffee from the deli, as usual, but I didn’t see when they arrived back.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Zara pondered, then she got off the stool and picked up her bag. ‘Well, I’m not going to find out what’s going on by sitting here, am I? Better pound the pavement. Can I grab a coffee before I go?’

  ‘Sure.’ He took a takeaway cup from the pile and started making her flat white.

  ‘Let me know what you find,’ Hopper said as he held the steaming cup out to her.

  ‘I will when I can,’ she promised. ‘Thanks for your help and the brew.’

  Outside in the cold again, Zara blew on her hands, before taking out her phone and dialling Dave’s number. She wasn’t surprised when it rang out, unanswered.

  Her fingers itched to call Jack, but she knew she couldn’t do that. Bloody annoying that there were only two policemen in Barker and she was dating one of them.

  She sat on the wooden bench underneath the verandah, sipping her coffee. The carnival music and the screams from the people on the rides arrived on the wind. A lone tourist’s car drove down the street and the passenger looked at her as they passed.

  Grinning to her herself, she thought she probably looked like an old soak sitting outside the pub, this early in the day, even with a coffee cup in her hand.