Dave folded the paper and drained his cup quickly, then hurried out onto the street towards the station.
The Barrabine Police Station was always bustling with activity. The constables and senior sergeants were in and out of the station, called out regularly to theft or domestic violence jobs. Then there were the offenders being arrested and brought into the cells, often yelling abuse in the process, ignoring the police’s exhortations to calm down.
Pushing open the station door, Dave was hit with a blast of cool air. He nodded good morning to the constable behind the desk and put in the PIN code to get through into the detectives’ office.
‘Morning, Dave,’ Terry Jasper said as he sat down and threw his feet on his desk. Leaning back, the wiry man ran his hands over his short dark hair and winked at Dave. ‘Beat the boss man in again.’
‘G’day, Tez,’ Dave answered. ‘Always the plan, mate.’
‘You’re making all of us look bad,’ said Claire Steele, Terry’s partner. Her voice was muffled as she shoved a piece of banana in her mouth. Dave glanced over at her and realised she’d had her hair cut. It was now very short and blonde.
‘Nice hair,’ he complimented her. She nodded her thanks.
Senior Sergeant Nathan Underwood called from across the room. ‘Look! The new fella’s trying to make good impressions on every front. It’ll wear off!’
Dave laughed, enjoying the camaraderie. ‘Can I just say that you’re all here too. And a little bit before me!’
‘That’s a good point,’ Claire said with a chuckle. ‘What have you got on today, Dave?’
‘I’m following up that burglary from a couple of nights ago,’ he answered, switching on his computer. ‘Got results from fingerprints. Known offender, so thought we’d go out and bring him in for a chat.’
‘Who’s the POI?’ Tez asked.
‘Person of Interest? Nathaniel Clarke. Eighteen-year-old from Calemalda Street. Been charged with theft before.’
‘Yeah, yeah. He was up in front of the magistrate about twelve months ago for the same thing. Reckon it’s probably his third time. He should go away, depending on what he stole.’
‘Did the whole house: TV, computer, got the safe open and took about a grand in cash and the victim’s rings from her grandmother.’
‘Stealing to buy drugs. One of the biggest problems in this town, drugs. Because there’s a high disposable income within the mining sector, the drugs get brought in, then the others—the unemployed or youth—get a taste for it and the crime starts because they need the money to buy.’ He sighed. ‘Never-ending cycle, unfortunately.’
‘Same in the city,’ Dave said, turning back to his computer. He hit the button to print out a few reports before making some phone calls to the pawnshops to see if any of the stolen goods had turned up. By midmorning he needed another coffee and had just taken orders from the rest of the crew when his phone rang.
‘Reckon you’ve got a body on your hands,’ said the voice on the end of the line.
‘Sorry, sir, could you repeat that?’ Dave’s heart rate kicked up a notch and he reached for a pen. ‘You’re reporting a murder?’
‘Not sure if it’s a murder, mate,’ the man drawled. ‘But there’s a heap of flies and an atrocious smell coming from a shaft on my lease.’
‘And your name?’
‘Tim. Tim Tucker.
‘And whereabouts is your lease?’
‘Twenty k north of Barra. Spencer Brown knows me. Send him.’
Dave looked up as the door swung open and Spencer strode in.
‘Can I get your number, sir?’ he asked, but realised he was talking to dead air.
‘You’ve got a look of excitement on your face, Burrows,’ Spencer said, mopping his brow. ‘What’s going on? Bugger, it’s hot out there already. Morning all.’
‘A body,’ Dave answered, ignoring the comment on the weather. It seemed to him everyone knew it was hot and talking about it wouldn’t make it cool down. ‘Tim Tucker, you know him?’
‘Sure do. Salt of the earth.’
‘Says there are flies and a smell coming from one of the shafts on his lease.’
Spencer’s eyebrows shot up. ‘A body? Now how does young Tim know it’s a human body and not an animal?’
‘I guess he assumed,’ Dave responded.
‘Good thing he reported it; better to be safe than sorry. Although probably just some poor roo fell down the shaft and wasn’t able to get out.’
Dave felt revolted. ‘Really? Never thought about an animal tumbling into a shaft. S’pose I should’ve.’
‘Unfortunately it happens more than you might realise. But,’ he cocked his head to one side and held his finger up, ‘I worked a case once where we thought a sheep had gone down a mine shaft. Turned out there was a body underneath it. The sheep was an afterthought to hide the body. Wool doesn’t break down, you see. Always gotta keep an open mind.’ He grinned. ‘Come on then, let’s go and check it out.’
Tim had been right about one thing. The smell was sickening.
The three men stood around the shaft, swatting the flies away and breathing through their noses.
‘Wish I’d brought the Vicks,’ Spencer said. ‘Got to be human, though, don’t you reckon, Dave? They always smell worse than animals.’
‘Never smelled a decomposing body before,’ Dave admitted. He wanted to put his hand over his nose, but at the same time didn’t want to appear weak and the new kid on the block. ‘All the bodies I’ve dealt with have been found before too much decay had set in.’
‘I reckon it’s human,’ Tim offered. ‘Remember that lady I found, the one in the car wreck? She’d been there for a couple of days in the sun. Reeks just like she did. I’ve smelled plenty of dead roos, wild dogs, camels even, and they don’t smell like this.’ He reached down to pat a large red heeler sitting at his feet.
Dave glared at the dog from behind his sunglasses. His welcome had been a snarling ferocious bark which had sent ripples of fear through Dave, who was still sporting a deep puncture wound scar on his forearm. One of his father’s kelpies had been caught in a fence and he’d tried to untangle it. The kelpie had been in pain when he’d latched on—Dave knew it never would have bitten him otherwise—but since then he’d kept dogs at a safe distance.
He shuffled to the side of the shaft, eyeing the red heeler as he went. Getting an unexpected whiff of the decaying body, he swallowed hard and turned away, trying to find clean air. The putrefaction hovered above the dark hole, just like the swarm of flies, and spread out from there.
Spencer slapped his hand onto his thigh. ‘Yeah, yeah, I remember her. One car, fell asleep and drove off the road. Drove into a tree. Poor lass.’ Spencer turned to Dave. ‘This is going to be a bit tricky. We’ll need to get the pathologist here from Perth. Got to get whoever it is outta this shaft, and forensics will have to come out.’ He stared down into the hole again. ‘Poor bastard,’ he muttered.
Dave looked into the darkness then over at Spencer. He couldn’t imagine anyone going down to recover a decomposing body in such a small space.
‘How—’ he started to ask, but Spencer interrupted him.
‘I’ll get on the blower to the mine, fire and rescue team.’ He blew out air and rocked on his heels. ‘We’ll need their expertise in this. Before we go in.’
Dave wanted to shudder, only guessing what imagery would greet the poor person who entered the mine shaft first.
‘How will they…?’
‘They’ll use their equipment to make sure the walls are safe first. Once we know that, they’ll send a team member down—remember, they’re trained to work in small, confined spaces, in the dark or at least with minimal light. I’ve been meaning to introduce you to the team leader, Bluey. Looks like we’ll be doing that on the job.’
His mind’s eye conjured up an image of a man in a set of orange overalls being winched down into the dark, the foul stench of death encasing him. He assumed the rescuer would wear a breathi
ng apparatus so the odour didn’t overpower him.
Once the body had been enclosed in a body bag and hoisted to the surface, the decision would be made whether to send forensics down or not. Safety was paramount and, even though highly trained, if it wasn’t safe, forensics and the pathologist wouldn’t get to see the body in situ, which was fairly unusual. Bluey had expertise which the police didn’t have.
The shaft was situated between an overhanging rock and soft red dirt, covered in what looked like blue metal, which the council would use to make a bitumen road. Dave squatted down and picked some of it up. As he looked more closely he realised it was nothing like blue metal, but small, dark and shiny. Quite heavy for the size of it. He looked up, wondering what could be seen from inside the mine: blue sky and trees, their red trunks smooth and tinged with green. Dave reckoned only the tops of the mulga trees would be visible from down in the shaft—they weren’t as tall as the other species.
‘What’s this?’ he held out the small stone to Tim.
‘Ironstone,’ he answered. ‘Ironstone and quartz are good indicators that it’s gold country.’
Dave nodded and considered the shaft, where someone who had believed there was gold under this ground had chiselled out a hole not much wider than a man’s shoulders. He could see the thick wooden beams holding up the shaft, but, as much as he tried, he couldn’t work out what would possess a person to climb down into a hole in the ground that small. Even the pull of riches beyond his wildest dreams wouldn’t have induced him to go down.
Dave went over to their squad car and opened the back door, looking for the torch he knew was in the well-equipped car. When he found it, he walked closer to the shaft until his feet were almost hanging over the edge and flashed the beam down.
‘Wouldn’t do that,’ Tim advised.
Dave looked up, puzzled. ‘Do what?’
‘Go too close to the edge.’ He paused. ‘Never know if the ground will give out from underneath you.’
Dave glanced at Spencer to make sure he was being told the truth. Trouble with the police department was that when a new fella turned up, everyone—crims and cops alike—loved to take the piss out of him. Until he worked out the ropes.
‘He’s right,’ Spencer said as he squatted down a little way away from the mine and let his hands rest on his knees. ‘Know how deep this one is, Timmy?’
‘Nah, probably only five or six metres down.’ The old man stared out into the bush. ‘Haven’t ever been down.’
Dave backed away carefully and glanced over at Tim, realising he was older than he’d first thought. Maybe seventy, older even. He had long grey hair pulled back into a ponytail and was wearing a pair of faded blue shorts and a grey T-shirt. His socks and boots were thickly covered in the red goldfields dust, and his skin seemed to have taken on the same colour as the land. Tim was looking down into the mine with a solemn face. Dave wondered what this man’s story was; why he was still out here searching for gold. What had made him come here? Why had he stayed?
Spencer had told stories of men who had bought a lease, come to work it and never left. ‘It’s like something switches on in them and they can’t turn it off. They have to search for more and more gold. When they find some, they’re not satisfied. I guess it’s a little like the gambler mentality. The next bet is always going give them the big win.’
Was Tim like that? He made a note to ask Spencer what he knew about the man.
‘Do you go down them all?’ Dave asked.
‘Not all, lad. But most. There’s lots to get through out here; and some, when you start to investigate them a bit further, you realise aren’t safe. I leave those ones alone.’
‘How many are on your lease?’
‘Oh, I guess about thirty, give or take.’ Tim brushed the flies away as he spoke.
‘You didn’t put the shafts down? Someone else did?’
‘I’ve put all but two down. The old timers did those before I was even thought of.’
‘Have you found gold in the ones you’ve been down?’
‘Guess we’d better get forensics out here,’ Spencer interrupted. ‘And the rescue team. Take a few ropes to get whoever it is out from down there. Thank God I’m not the one who’s going to have to go down that shaft.’
Dave agreed absolutely.
Chapter 4
Melinda walked into the Barrabine Hospital and immediately felt at home.
The smell of antiseptic was soothing to her and she took a couple of deep breaths to help calm the butterflies in her stomach. There was so much riding on this interview—her sanity and her self-worth—and she didn’t want to think about what would happen if there wasn’t a job for her.
She noticed her hands shaking as she held her résumé and she suddenly remembered arriving at the church for her wedding only one month ago. Her hands had been trembling from nerves then too, so much so that her flowers had shaken. Her father’s words hadn’t helped: ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this? Life as a policeman’s wife will be hard. Long hours, and he won’t ever make much money. You’ll always be waiting for a knock on the door to tell you something bad has happened.’
Her father’s words had jolted her. She’d known there was tension between him and Dave, but how could he even entertain the idea she wouldn’t marry him because of those minor things? Of course she would! The long hours and little money hadn’t bothered her. Dave was her soulmate. She’d known that since they first met. They’d talked about everything—they didn’t always agree, but their debates had been fun and interesting. He made her laugh and feel loved. Calmed her and convinced her she could do anything. He was the love of her life. Her strong, handsome man with his steady calmness.
She only wished Barrabine hadn’t been on the cards for his first out-of-city posting.
‘I told you,’ a woman’s screeching voice broke through her thoughts. She was standing at the admissions window. ‘I told you! Stop asking questions. I’m here for me med’cine. No more questions, just me med’cine. I need it.’ Her voice broke and it changed from loud to begging.
Melinda couldn’t hear the soft answer, but whatever it was hadn’t made any difference. The woman repeated what she’d just said. Then Melinda realised she was under the influence of drugs. Or was she just drunk? No, drugs, she was sure.
Melinda looked again. The woman wasn’t the stereotypical drug user: she was well dressed, with her nails painted and her hair neat, and yet here she was yelling like a banshee. Maybe she had a mental illness, Melinda thought as she observed the woman, testing her nursing skills.
A nurse from Emergency opened a door and ushered the woman through.
‘See?’ she yelled. ‘Told you I was here for me med’cine. Don’t need any help from you.’
The lady behind the window kept her head down and ignored the loud complaint.
Behind her, Melinda heard the sliding door open and screaming coming from outside. A young mum, holding a child who didn’t look more than two, ran in and straight up to the admissions window.
‘Please,’ she pleaded, ‘please, I need to see a doctor. Kate’s hurt her arm. I think it’s broken.’
Once again the woman took the details, ignoring the crying, and indicated for the two to sit in the waiting area.
‘Someone will be with you shortly,’ Melinda heard her say through the glass.
Shortly might not be soon enough, she thought as Kate continued to bellow. Poor love. Melinda tried to assess her arm, without looking as if she were staring at the crying girl. Her face was red with exertion and eyes puffy from crying. Her arm didn’t look as if it was sticking out at a funny angle or swollen in any areas. If it was broken, Melinda thought, it would be a hairline fracture.
Glancing at her watch, she approached the window. ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling at the stern-looking lady. ‘I have an appointment to see the director of nursing.’
‘Take a seat,’ she answered in a monotone before picking up the phone. ‘Your ten o’clock i
s here.’ Without waiting for an answer, she replaced the receiver and indicated for Melinda to sit. ‘You’ll be called shortly.’
Shortly? Was that the only word she knew for ‘not long’ or ‘a minute’? Melinda nodded and went to the plastic seats which lined the wall.
Kate was still bawling and her mother was having a hard time soothing her.
‘It’s all right, love. It’ll be okay,’ Kate’s mother said above the crying. ‘The doctor will give you something to make your arm stop hurting.’
Melinda moved closer to them. ‘Hi,’ she said, trying to catch Kate’s eye. ‘I’m Melinda. Is your name Kate?’ She noticed the mother frowned and tried to angle her body in between her daughter and hers in protection. She flashed a quick smile. ‘I’m Melinda,’ she said, this time to the mother. ‘A paediatric nurse.’
The change in the mother was instant. She relaxed and gave her a wan smile. ‘Can you get us in to see a doctor quickly?’ she asked, rubbing her daughter’s leg to try to calm her.
Melinda shook her head. ‘I don’t work here, but I thought I might be able to help with Kate. Is your arm sore, sweetie?’ She directed the question at Kate, who didn’t hear it through her tears.
‘Kate,’ Melinda tried to get eye contact with her and put her hand on her bare knee. ‘Kate, I’m a nurse. Does your arm hurt?’
It was like turning off a tap. The crying stopped and Melinda’s ears rang with silence. A couple of jagged breaths later, Kate nodded and pointed at her forearm, in between the wrist and elbow.
‘Deary me. How did you do it?’ Melinda gently traced the girl’s arm to see if she could feel anything. She could see the beginning of swelling and bruising creeping up her arm.
‘I felled off my cubby.’ The admission brought a fresh round of tears.
‘Oh no! That must have hurt. Is it very high, your cubby?’
Kate’s mum nodded. ‘About this high.’ She held her hand up to shoulder height.
The door into emergency swung open and the nurse called out Kate’s name. Quickly her mother stood up and gathered Kate into her arms. Without thanking Melinda, she almost ran towards the doors and the wailing started afresh.
Fool's Gold Page 4
