Fool's Gold

by Fleur McDonald

  Silence filled the car.

  ‘You know what probably happened there, don’t you?’ Spencer asked.

  Dave nodded. ‘I try not to think that he was a victim of his own family and one day something went wrong and they killed him. But it seems the only likely scenario, because what parent wouldn’t report their child missing?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Spencer drove without speaking until he turned into the hotel car park and pulled up. He turned to face Dave. ‘There’s a story just like that pinned onto the board in the kitchen to remind us what we’re here for.’

  ‘Haven’t seen it.’

  ‘It’s a bit of legend around here. A man came in to report the death of a woman. He thought it was a suicide because she was hanging from a tree, and he was desperate to let her family know where she was buried. Trouble was, this was back in the forties. No forensics back then. The police didn’t want to disturb the grave without reason and there was no ID, just a spot where there was a lonely grave, buried by someone she didn’t know.’ He sighed again, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. ‘Back then, her family weren’t found and even now her body is still in that grave. We don’t know who she is, don’t expect anyone knows who she is this far along, and because she’s never been identified, her family has never been informed. Check it out sometime.’ He took the keys from the ignition. ‘It’s important to remember these are real people and the families left behind are always going to be searching for answers…So we should too.’

  Silence filled the car.

  ‘You know, this Ross Pollard could be a suspect,’ Dave said eventually, changing the subject.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What if Glen changed his mind about selling the land?’

  ‘Morning, Mr Pollard,’ Spencer said, striding into Jaffa’s dining room and pulling up a chair at the table. Dave followed but didn’t take a seat, standing next to the table instead.

  For a moment the man looked confused, but then recognition filtered across his face.

  ‘Have you found Glen Bartlett?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘We have indeed,’ Spencer said.

  ‘Fan-bloody-tastic, I’ll get my papers signed then.’ Ross Pollard put his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. ‘Where can I find him?’

  ‘I think you’ll have a few problems doing that. Unfortunately, he’s deceased.’

  ‘What?…Oh my God! Dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ross seemed at a loss as to what to say. Then realisation dawned and he asked, ‘Is he the man down the mine shaft? I heard a few people talking about it at the pub last night. I never put two and two together.’

  Dave would have said the look of shock on his face was genuine, but he’d also learned people were good actors. He stood back and kept watching.

  ‘Yes, that’s him. Can you tell us when you saw him last?’ asked Spencer.

  ‘I haven’t seen him. Only spoken to him on the phone. I had organised to meet him at the Federal Hotel, first off, to get him to look over the paperwork. I thought he’d sign straightaway; he seemed eager to sell.

  ‘Instead he asked me about the settlement date when I talked to him on the phone. I told him it was twenty-one days from signing. He wasn’t happy. He wanted it earlier, so I had to go back to the finance department and make sure that was okay, then they had to redraw the papers. After that was done I organised to meet him at Fractured Hill to sign the paperwork. He said he was going to be out there by then; never said why though. But he never turned up.’

  ‘Right, and he was in good spirits when you spoke to him? Hadn’t changed his mind about selling?’

  ‘No. Not at all. In fact, like I said, it seemed he was in a hurry. Having never met him, I couldn’t say if he was in good spirits or not.’ Ross lowered his voice and looked around, even though there wasn’t anyone else in the dining room. ‘I did get the impression he needed the money.’

  ‘That’s why he wanted a quick sale?’

  Ross nodded. ‘He said he had a large payment coming up. HMA Mining were offering him a substantial sum of money. They were more than happy to reduce the settlement period. They’d do anything to get the land they want.’

  Dave was writing down notes but looked up at the word ‘anything’.

  ‘Really?’ Spencer took the lead.

  Ross realised what he’d said. ‘Not anything, obviously. But they’re keen.’

  ‘Did Glen say what he needed the money for?’

  Ross shook his head.

  ‘Right.’ Spencer paused. ‘I need to clarify—he was the executor of his father’s will and he had a right to sell this land?’

  ‘He was bringing the required paperwork for me to sight.’

  ‘I see,’ Spencer glanced at Dave who wrote a reminder note to check this. ‘Can you tell me—’

  ‘Look, I understand the need for questions, but I’m beginning to feel—’

  ‘I just need you to remind me,’ Spencer interrupted him, ‘you approached Mr Bartlett, not the other way around?’

  ‘Yes! We’d written many letters to owners and he responded to me by phone.’

  ‘And how do you find out the identities of the people who own the land?’

  ‘We speak to Landgate, find out the owners’ names and their details. We give them a call or send an email if they have an address. Or write a letter. Mostly we prefer to visit them face to face, which is why I’m in the area. I’ve spent the whole time I’ve been here trying to find humpies in the middle of the bush and offer these people a gold nugget they wouldn’t otherwise find.’

  ‘I would have thought that information was privileged.’

  Ross looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure. I just do what I’m instructed to do with the information I’m given.’

  ‘You spend a lot of time here in Barrabine?’

  ‘I won’t be going until I secure at least another three parcels of land. That’s what HMA need.’

  ‘And what if leaseholders just won’t sell to you?’

  Ross considered his answer. ‘Oh, neither the company nor I are concerned about that. I think they’ll be persuaded.’

  ‘We appreciate your time, mate,’ Spencer said, stretching his legs out and getting up. ‘Sounds like there’s a bit of urgency in getting hold of the land. What’s that all about?’

  Ross pursed his lips. ‘I’ll have to refer you to my supervisors if you want to know anything more than what I’ve told you because I don’t know the answers.’

  ‘But they must think there’s a lot more gold in the ground to offer crazy money like they are?’

  ‘My job is to get people to sell their land. I don’t know what the company intends for it long-term.’

  ‘One last question,’ Dave said and the two men turned to him. ‘Why did you decided to camp out the other night? I mean, the hotel is pretty comfortable.’

  Ross shrugged. ‘Just something I wanted to do. I’d seen so many great spots to roll out a swag. I did a lot of camping when I was a kid but none since, so I thought it was time to revisit. See if it was as good as I remember, you know?’

  ‘Reliving childhood memories,’ Spencer said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s about the sum of it. I borrowed an old swag and a few bits and pieces and went—’ he frowned, trying to find the right words ‘—country? Bush? I’ve enjoyed being out in nature. Anyway, I was driving by a little creek and saw the perfect place for a camp.’ He gave a bark of self-deprecating laughter. ‘I got that wrong! Woke up while it was still dark, and everything, including me, was dripping wet! The tree I’d rolled the swag out under was dripping on my head. And I was freezing. So I thought, Stuff it. The company’s paying for a perfectly good bed back in the hotel, I might as well go back there, have a shower and warm up. Then, as I was packing up, I was sure I heard a dingo.’ Ross gave a shake of his head. ‘Frightened the crap out of me, so I took off back to the hotel.’

  Dave crinkled his brow slightly and wrote down wh
at Ross had said.

  ‘Time of the year,’ Spencer said. ‘Even though it’s as hot as Hades during the day, the night-time is a different matter altogether. Often drops below zero. I can imagine how a first-time camper could get caught by that.’

  Spencer nodded at Dave and the two men left Pollard to the remains of his breakfast.

  Chapter 21

  1945

  The first thing Paddy registered as he woke was his cracking headache. He rolled over in his swag and reached for his water bag. His mouth was dry as cotton wool and the water didn’t seem to make any difference. Blinking against the glare, he quickly assessed the time from the position of the sun: about nine in the morning. The hangover must be a good one; he didn’t think he’d ever slept that late. The sun usually woke him.

  He didn’t remember getting the swag out of the car last night and he certainly didn’t remember unrolling it right next to the front tyres. He wouldn’t have normally slept in such a dangerous place. He was glad no one had thought to take his car for a joy ride.

  ‘Geez, I feel crook,’ came a voice from behind a thick bush.

  ‘You’re not on your own there, Rocco,’ Paddy said. ‘I think I need a Bex and a cup of tea. Maybe another good sleep. Where are the others?’

  ‘Who knows? Who cares?’

  Paddy saw Rocco’s head rise above the bush. His friend certainly looked worse for wear.

  He started to gather firewood so he could boil the billy.

  ‘I think they fleeced us blind last night, the bludgers!’ Rocco said as he staggered around the bush and took hold of Paddy’s water bag. He drank greedily, water dribbling down his chin. ‘I had five pounds when we came out here. Don’t think I’ve got more than a bob left.’

  Paddy checked his pockets for his roll of cash. His stomach unclenched when he found it was still there. ‘I know a lost a bit. Maybe five quid too.’

  ‘God, the missus is going to kill me.’ Rocco looked around. ‘I was supposed to go home last night!’

  Paddy threw the firewood on some dry grass and used matches to light the fire. Small orange flames flicked through the grass and instantly bush smoke filled his nostrils. He piled a few more sticks on top, then went to the boot of his car to get the billy. The last of the water went into the blackened tin which he placed on top of the flames, pushing it down to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

  Rocco sat under the shade of the tree, holding his head in his hands. ‘Need a Bex for sure,’ he muttered.

  When the billy was boiling, Paddy threw a handful of tea leaves into it before tapping the side with a stick and then pouring two cups.

  ‘Come on, drink up. Then I’d better get you home.’

  Rocco took the pannikin gratefully and took a long sip. ‘Ah, that’s good.’ He turned to his friend. ‘Do you reckon you’ll come back from Victoria?’

  Paddy shrugged. ‘Dunno. See what it’s like when I get over there. With any luck I’ll find some gold and a lady who’ll have me and I won’t want to.’

  ‘What are you going to do with your lease?’

  Paddy sighed. ‘There’s not much gold left there, I’m sure. I reckon I’ll lock it up and leave it.’

  ‘What about all the freeloaders who’ll have a crack at your mines?’ Rocco sounded incredulous.

  Paddy shrugged. ‘I’ve been all over the lease; it’s a dud piece of land. There’s not enough quartz and ironstone. I think I’ve found five ounces in the ten years I’ve had it. More trouble than it’s worth. Anyone who wants to have a go is welcome to it, but I’ll keep the land. Never know, I might want to come back and set up camp on it. Spend the last of my days in the bush.’ He drained the dregs of his tea and rinsed out the pannikin.

  ‘Are you just saying that to put people off going onto it?’ he asked with a quizzical look on his face. ‘’Cause from what you’re telling me, I’d say you’re mad. Been in the bush too long.’

  Paddy laughed. ‘I’m telling you the truth, my friend. Have you ever known me to lie?’

  Rocco was quiet at that statement, for the truth was, in the ten years he’d know Paddy, his friend had never lied.

  Paddy left Rocco at the front gate of his house and drove away quickly. In the rear-view mirror he saw a dark-skinned woman come running out of the house and he could still hear her angry yells. He figured it might take Rocco a bit of explaining to calm her.

  He was sad to say goodbye to his mate, thinking perhaps he’d never see him again. But life always seemed to move on and people came and went. Rocco was moving on and so was he.

  Paddy stopped at the chemist and bought a packet of Bex, then went on to the police station.

  ‘How can I help you, cobber?’ asked the policeman behind the desk.

  ‘I’m not sure, but…’ He proceeded to tell the man what he’d found and what he’d done. ‘I just want to make sure her family know what’s happened to her,’ he finished.

  ‘Can you wait there a minute?’

  Paddy nodded and leaned against the desk, wishing he had taken one of the painkillers before he’d come inside.

  ‘Paddy?’ a voice asked and a tall thin man walked through the door. ‘I’m Detective Chris Pyke. Can you come and give me a statement?’

  ‘Sure, no worries.’ He followed the man into a cold interview room.

  ‘How did you spot her?’ Detective Pyke asked.

  ‘I was driving and she caught my eye. The body was swinging and I thought it was a piece of bark at first. You know how the bark hangs on a salmon gum when it’s shedding? She looked like that.’

  ‘Bad business.’

  Paddy found he couldn’t talk for a moment. He swallowed. ‘She wasn’t in good shape. I couldn’t leave her there to be eaten away at, so that’s why I buried her.’

  ‘Can you explain to me where?’

  ‘Under the tree. I’ve marked it with my initials so you’ll be able to tell which one, although the grave is mounded and I dragged heavy branches over it, so the dogs couldn’t dig her up. Near the turn-off twenty miles to the north-west.’

  ‘It’s becoming more and more common, I’m afraid,’ sighed the detective. ‘I’m sure the heat sends some of them mad. I really believe that women shouldn’t be allowed to live here. It’s too harsh an environment. Why men would ask them to is beyond me.’

  ‘I’m sure not all women would agree with you,’ he said, thinking of the woman he’d seen a couple of days ago. She’d been wearing men’s trousers and a shirt and had two buckets of water slung over her shoulders. On her face was a large smile as she walked along beside a man who was looking at her as if she were his fantasy.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ the detective backtracked. ‘It’s just such a waste of a life.’

  ‘Lots of waste out here, mate. Not just women. Men and children too. It’s a hard place to live, but the gold is worth it.’

  ‘Spoken like a true miner.’

  ‘Has anyone been reported missing?’

  ‘No. If someone was missing her I’m sure I would’ve heard about it. Maybe they assumed she just walked away. That happens a lot.’ He paused, thinking. ‘Or maybe she’s been widowed and doesn’t have anyone to report her. Maybe…Ah hell, unless someone comes forward we’ll never know. And that seems to be the way of the goldfields. Some things are meant to stay secrets of the bush.’

  ‘Poetic,’ Paddy commented, ignoring the dismay in his stomach. He got the feeling this copper wasn’t going to do much to identify the woman.

  ‘If I write up this statement, will you sign it?’ Detective Pyke asked. ‘I need a proper record of this.’

  ‘I can wait.’

  Putting a sheet of paper into a typewriter, Paddy watched as the man started to type with two fingers. It was going to take a while, so he tipped his head back and rested it against the wall. He’d slept in worse places.

  A couple of hours later Paddy walked into the offices of the local newspaper and asked to see a journalist.

  ‘Got a story for you,’ he said as
way of greeting.

  The journalist was young and green and his eyes rolled at the description of the body. ‘You want me to put this in the paper?’ he asked.

  ‘You write the story and put in it what you want—you know what makes good reading, not me. All I’m doing is telling you what I’ve done so you can get it out there.’

  ‘I’ll get it written now,’ he answered. ‘Then you can check it.’

  On the 23rd of February 1945, a local miner, who wants to remain anonymous, came across a gruesome discovery of the body of a woman, hanging from a tree.

  ‘It appeared,’ he said, ‘she had committed suicide.’

  Twenty miles north of the town site of Barrabine there is now a lonely, unmarked grave holding the body of a woman. Her identity is unknown and the miner is eager to make her family aware of where he has buried her.

  ‘I came along too late to stop her from doing what she did, but I handled it the best I could once I found her. Everyone has a right to have a place to go to grieve,’ the miner told me today. ‘And everyone has a right to know what has happened to their family member. I want her family to know I took good care of her. That she had a Christian burial, as much as I could give her.’

  This woman will be one of the many unnamed people buried in isolated graves in the Australian goldfields. The local miner said he couldn’t find any evidence of a camp close by.

  If you know of miners who were living out that way, or of anyone who is missing, please contact the local police.

  Paddy nodded. ‘Done me best, haven’t I, lad?’ he said when the journalist had finished reading it to him.

  ‘Don’t think you could do any more. Where you headed?’

  ‘Victoria, mate. Try my luck over there.’

  ‘Safe travels, then. If I hear she’s ever identified I’ll write and let you know.’

  ‘Care of the Ballarat Post Office,’ Paddy said, pushing his hat down tightly on his head. ‘They’ll know where to find me.’

  Chapter 22