‘Perfect!’
The first camping shop was full of swags and sleeping bags, gas cookers and camp ovens. Dave saw a GPS display behind the counter and, enclosed in a glass cabinet, a selection of camping knives—small through to extremely large, Dave wasn’t sure what they were made to cut. A camel maybe.
‘How’s it going?’ asked the man behind the counter. ‘Help you with anything?’
‘Got a large selection here,’ Dave said, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘Been a busy month?’
‘Nah, not really, mate. It’s the wrong time of year. Best months are July and August when the tourists come through for the wildflowers and it’s not so hot. You looking for anything in particular?’
Dave dug the photos out of his pocket and showed them to the man. ‘Have you seen either of these men in the last couple of months?’ he asked.
The man glanced at Dave then took a step back. ‘You a cop?’ he asked.
‘Detective Dave Burrows,’ he introduced himself and dug in his pocket for his ID. ‘And you are?’
‘Ah, Mick. Mick Smith. I own this store. What have these two done?’
Dave smiled. ‘I can’t answer that, but I’d really like to know if you’ve seen either of them around, or if you’ve sold them any camping gear recently.’
Mick studied the photos carefully. ‘Nope, don’t think so. There are another three camping shops in town you could try.’
Dave nodded and gave Mick his card. ‘If you do remember them coming in, would you be able to give me a call?’
‘Yeah, no worries.’ He glanced quizzically at the card but didn’t ask anything more. He was the sort of interviewee that Dave liked.
‘Oh, one other thing. Do you have any security video cameras in here?’
‘Nah, the bars on the windows mean nobody can get in and I’m always watching very carefully for shoplifting. I’ve worked out what type seems to do it more than others.’
Dave nodded and thanked him for his time. He didn’t have any luck at the next two stores either, but the last one was different.
This time Dave introduced himself as soon as he walked through the door. The owner, Peter Campbell, recognised Glen Bartlett the minute Dave showed him the photo.
‘Yeah, I remember him. Bought a stack of gear, which I thought was mad because he’d never been camping before.’ He shrugged. ‘Who am I to turn down a sale? Especially when things are a bit slow.’
‘Did he buy up big then?’
‘Sure did. Got a swag, sleeping bag, billy, chair—you name it, he bought it. Cost a motza!’
‘Can you remember how much?’
‘I can go back through the till if you want me to, but I reckon it would have to be close to a couple of grand.’
‘Really? In one hit?’ Dave was intrigued. He made a note to check on Glen’s finances. That was a lot of money to spend, especially if he had a large payment coming up. Maybe he was counting on the sale of the lease and the money HMA Mining had enticed him with.
‘Found it a bit difficult to believe myself. It was my payday, for sure.’
‘Did he say where he was going to go camping?’
‘Nah, just out north somewhere.’
Out north. Towards Oakamanda.
‘And did he say why he was camping? Doesn’t it seem strange someone would come in and spend that much when they’ve never been before?’
Peter gave a small laugh. ‘Mate, I see all sorts in here. Let me tell you, humans are strange. Doesn’t matter how normal they seem, they’re still strange.’
Dave had to give him that one. He’d seen so many outlandish, weird and sad things people had done to each other, he was rarely surprised by human nature any more.
The owner continued. ‘He did make a comment that I thought was peculiar, though. Said he was hoping to find an old mate. I suggested that camping probably wasn’t the way to do that. Better to ask you lot if they know of him. Or enquire at the pub. Heading out and dropping into people’s places unannounced out here isn’t the done thing. Miners are suspicious by nature and are likely to pull a gun or set a dog onto you.’
‘What’d he say to that?’
‘Said he’d think about it, but the way he spoke, I knew he hadn’t taken any notice, you know what I mean.’
Dave nodded. He certainly did. ‘And you haven’t seen him again since?’
‘Nah, I helped him load everything into a hired four-wheel drive, then he took off.’
‘And this bloke,’ Dave tapped the photo of Ross Pollard. ‘Have you seen him around?’
Peter took a moment to have another look before saying, ‘He looks familiar but I can guarantee he hasn’t bought anything from here.’ He paused. ‘I reckon he might have come in a couple of weeks ago, but I can’t remember why.’
‘And the camping gear that Glen Bartlett bought. Would you recognise it if it came from your shop?’
‘Sure would. Even though we all stock similar brands, I remember what he bought.’
‘We’ll get you to come down to the station and identify the gear then. Is there a time suitable?’
Peter shrugged. ‘When I shut up shop, I guess.’
Dave asked the well-worn question: ‘Do you have security cameras?’
‘Yeah, we do. But I won’t have footage that goes back that far. Only a couple of days. Got it recording over the previous day, to cut down on costs.’
Dave nodded. ‘Thanks for your time. Look forward to seeing you later.’ He gave Peter a friendly salute and walked out.
Chapter 24
‘I already told you I won’t sell you my land,’ Tim said to Ross Pollard. ‘Now, I’ve asked you to leave. If you don’t, I’ll be calling the cops.’
‘But, mate, you don’t seem to understand the extent of the wealth we’re offering you.’
‘I don’t care about wealth. I care about living here until I die.’ Tim put his hand on his gun, which was sitting on his waist in the holster. He knew Spencer had said not to pull it out, but this bloke was going to need encouragement to leave and not come back. He swished away the flies that were gathering around his eyes and nose and glanced around to locate Chief. Sitting right behind him, like the loyal dog he was.
He realised his hands were shaking and he cursed the anxiety that had plagued him since he’d discovered the body.
‘Mr Tucker, please understand that I’m doing my job here. There’s no need to get nasty.’
‘You got no idea what nasty is.’ He brought the gun out and held it pressed to his side, trying to hide his shaking. Ross’s eyes widened and Tim almost chuckled to himself. This boy—and that was what he was, a boy, not a man—had no idea how the goldfields worked. Most miners had unregistered guns, booby traps all over the place and ways to deal with trespassers the cops wouldn’t agree with.
‘There’s no need for that. Fine, I’ll go.’
Tim watched Ross trudge away and was surprised when he found himself feeling a little sorry for him. He holstered his gun. ‘Going soft in your old age,’ he muttered as he walked back inside the hut, yawning. He hadn’t slept much last night. Haunted by dreams of Marianne turning into the body down the mine.
Ross Pollard’s visit hadn’t been unexpected. Dee had got a message to him saying Ross was doing the rounds again, trying to persuade people to sell.
The midday heat was taking its toll on Tim now. He’d used a lot of energy to get rid of Ross without showing any weakness.
He coughed and dabbed his mouth with hand. He needed to have a lie-down. He could dream of Marianne if he rested. And dream he did, flickers of memories flashing in front of his closed eyes like movie scenes.
Marianne sat at the piano, her fingers pressing each note gently but with emotion. It seemed to Tim she was making the notes sing.
This was his fourth visit and she never ceased to amaze him.
She’d finished the song and she turned and smiled at him. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, her slight Italian accent making even her
voice sound musical.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he replied. It was more than that, but he didn’t know what words he could use to express how he was feeling. Between the music and her beauty, he felt starstruck.
‘Papa,’ she looked over at her father, who was in the chair, a blanket tucked in around his thin frame.
Tim thought the man could only be days away from death, the way his eyes were sunk in the back of his skull. His teeth looked chalky when he smiled. Although it wasn’t so much a smile as a grimace.
‘Perfecto, my daughter. Perfecto,’ Benito said, putting his fingers to his lips and kissing them before throwing his arm weakly into the air.
Tim saw how Marianne’s face lit up at her father’s words. The three of them talked a little more and then Marianne went into the kitchen to make some tea.
Benito looked to make sure Marianne had gone before beckoning Tim over to him.
‘You marry my girl, uh?’ he said.
A feeling of butterflies exploded in Tim’s stomach. ‘Marry her?’ he asked.
‘Si, si. You marry her. I die soon. This, this…’ He pointed to his chest and Tim knew it was the disease of miners. The dust had got into his lungs and was slowly eating them away. ‘She need a man.’
‘I’ve got nothing but a humpy in the bush,’ he said. ‘I’ve got nothing to offer her.’
‘This house, it is rented, but I have savings. Small, but they are there. They will go to her, to make her comfortable. She is good girl. Strong girl. She will adapt. You love her?’ Tim wanted to laugh out loud. Love? God, what was that? He’d never given it any thought. What he did know was he was fascinated by Marianne. He thought she was exotic, beautiful, accomplished…If that was love then, yes, he loved her.
‘You ask her out. To eat maybe,’ the sick man commanded. ‘Or a walk. Something.’
Marianne came back into the room with a pot of tea and three cups. She poured the tea and handed the first cup to her father. ‘What have you been planning?’ she asked him. ‘You look like you are being devious.’ She looked across at Tim as if to ask for an answer.
‘Not me,’ Benito answered with a wink to Tim.
‘I don’t believe you, Papa,’ she said gently, handing Tim his cup.
Then suddenly they were at the door and Marianne was bidding him good bye.
‘Would you like to…’ Tim spoke with a dry mouth. ‘Would you like to come out to dinner with me?’
‘Dinner?’ Marianne answered, looking up at him with a smile. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Are you not going back out into the fields later today?’
‘If you say yes, I won’t be.’
‘Yes,’ she answered.
The dream skipped forward a few weeks because next it was the day of their wedding.
A small do at the town hall in Barrabine. Marianne wore a rose-coloured dress which set off her dark hair, while Tim had paid one guinea for a suit from the secondhand store. It was a bit small for his tall frame and he kept tugging at the sleeves.
They’d walked in together, Marianne holding a small posy of wildflowers while the celebrant had taken them through their vows.
There were two guests at their wedding: Benito and an office worker, who acted as the second witness.
‘You are husband and wife. You may kiss.’
Tim turned to Marianne and stared at her for a second, not sure what to do. Then he leaned forward and put his lips on hers for the first time. His thought was how soft they were and how she smelled of roses.
When he pulled away, he looked at her and saw she was smiling up at him, her eyes shining with what he hoped was love.
Benito clapped loudly and said with gasping breath that he’d like to sing but he really didn’t have the voice.
The next scene was a funeral.
Marianne was standing at the side of a grave, crying, her hands clutching a handkerchief, while Tim stood beside her.
He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to comfort her. He felt physically ill as he watched her grieve, knowing there was nothing he could do to take away her pain.
As the coffin was lowered into the red dirt, Marianne let out a low, animal-like moan and Tim caught her as she fell.
‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’ve got you. I’ll always be here. I’ll always look after you, I promise.’
The next day, with some of Benito’s savings, he bought a little car and they drove out to Tim’s hut to start their lives together.
Then there was a black hole.
Three children’s coffins and a rotting body on top. A cloud of flies. The sound of falling…
Tim woke with a start, his heart pounding. Breathing slowly through his nose, he tried to calm his heart by thinking of Marianne. He reached his arm out to touch the place she would have lain if she were next to him. Of course, she wasn’t there. Hadn’t been for many years. The hut was still the same, though. The wooden set of drawers and the piano they’d moved out of Benito’s rental. She’d turned his little humpy into a home.
He burrowed his head into the pillow, feeling the embroidered flowers on the corner of the pillowcase. They were Marianne’s handiwork. She’d made cushions with flowers embroidered in one corner and music notes in the other. She’d boiled water in the billy and scrubbed the encrusted dust away from the pieces of furniture he already had and then bought tablecloths and mats to brighten the place.
Smiling, he remembered the first big summer dust storm that had come through and how they’d sat inside with a sheet over them. It had been the first time Tim had seen her Italian temper, and what a rage it’d been!
When the wind had passed by and she’d seen the thick layer of dust on her piano, Tim had learned some new Italian swearwords.
‘Porca miseria!’ she cried, sweeping off the sheet which had been used to cover the precious instrument and finding there to be another layer underneath. ‘Damn it! Damn it! Il mio pianoforte!’
He tried to calm her down, but she’d stalked the small room, muttering to herself in Italian and throwing her hands in the air. In the end Tim had left her to her anger and gone outside to the area he’d been digging out by hand. His tools and equipment were covered in dust too, but he guessed that wasn’t as bad as the piano.
That was the day they’d started to become rich.
As he picked away the quartz from the soil, he had to look twice to believe what he was seeing: a reef of gold running through the rock. He chipped a bit further along and found the reef continued and in fact become thicker.
He ran his fingers along the rock, trying to understand what he was seeing. Surely he couldn’t be so lucky? Could he?
Working long after dark, his miner’s lamp glowing dimly in the pitch-black. By morning he’d opened up three metres of a gold reef. Running home, he roused Marianne from their bed and she started to yell at him for not coming home, but stopped when she saw how dirty he was.
‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing her hand. ‘You need to see this.’
Together they ran through the bush, until finally he slowed to a walk and put his hands over her eyes. ‘Trust me,’ he said, and walked her carefully towards the entrance.
This part of the mine was open-cut and once he took his hands away she saw it. Tim rubbed tears away now as he remembered her standing there, her mouth open in disbelief, tears on her cheeks.
‘I can buy you as many pianos as you desire now, sweetheart,’ he said.
He could have promised to build her a big house, but no one did that out here and she never asked. Getting up off the bed, Tim rubbed his face again, and coughed. The sun had started to sink; he’d slept for longer than he’d intended.
In the still of the evening he could hear voices floating on the wind. Or was it just his memories coming to life again?
He stopped and listened. No, there were voices—someone was yelling. Tim couldn’t make out the words.
Chief cocked his ears and gr
owled softly.
‘What is it, mate?’ he asked. ‘Or rather, who is it?’
Chapter 25
‘Janelle, how are you?’ Melinda asked as she ushered the young mum into her office. Maddie’s wails had reached her as soon as the pair had arrived at the clinic and she wondered what on earth had gone wrong during the week.
‘Maddie just won’t stop crying,’ Janelle said. ‘I’ve had enough.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks and she thrust the pram towards Melinda. ‘She won’t feed or sleep. Mum’s being horrible and I…’ She broke off, unable to say any more.
Melinda glanced in and saw the baby, her face red from crying, her little fists clenched tightly as she jerked around unhappily.
‘When did you try to feed her last?’ Melinda asked.
‘Just before I came in here. I used the bottle and formula you gave to me but it hasn’t been working.’
‘Okay, well let’s just pop her on the scales and see what’s happened this week.’ Melinda started to undress the baby and tried to shush her by putting a dummy in her mouth. As Janelle had said, Maddie put her fists up to her mouth and pushed it away, but Melinda persevered and finally, after the fifth attempt, she managed to get it into her mouth and the crying stopped.
‘That’s much better,’ Melinda said in her soft, cooing voice. She was sure the baby was hungry. Not wanting to alarm Janelle, she blocked the scales with her body and weighed the baby. Maddie had lost another three hundred grams.
‘Tell me about trying to feed her at home,’ Melinda said, at the same time thinking, This is going to have to stop.
‘I do it how you do. Boil the water and mix it up. Sometimes she takes a little bit, other times she won’t take anything.’ Her voice became defensive. ‘Mum always tells me I’m doing it wrong, but she won’t help me and anyway I’m doing it the exact same way you showed me. It’s not my fault she won’t feed.’
At that statement Melinda felt a little tremor of apprehension. What if it was?
‘I might just try to make up another bottle and see if I can get her to drink,’ Melinda said calmly, all the while her mind was racing. ‘Are you okay to wait here while I mix it up? I’ll take Maddie with me.’ She walked out of the room and straight into Patti’s office.
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