At the smoky look she gave him, Dave felt himself start to harden. He swallowed the last of his beer and took her hand. ‘I’d like to be your guinea pig,’ he grinned.
Chapter 30
Dave went into work on Monday morning feeling refreshed. It had been the best weekend he and Melinda had had together since they’d arrived in Barrabine. For the first time there hadn’t been any phone calls back to Bunbury—her parents had called three or four times but Melinda hadn’t rung them back. The last message he’d heard from Mark was a biting ‘Call me immediately’. It was clear he wasn’t happy with the silence from his daughter.
‘I just want to hang out with you,’ she said by way of explanation, then ushered him back to bed. He wasn’t about to complain, although he knew he’d cop it from Mark next time he answered the phone. The thought of a verbal barrage didn’t bother him at all.
They hadn’t even seen Ernie, and that was unusual.
‘Look at you,’ Spencer greeted him. ‘A new man! Have a good weekend, did you?’
‘Bloody brilliant,’ he answered, setting his coffee cup down on the table. ‘That Narla at the Exotic Club is pretty cool!’
Tez walked into the office, tucking in his shirt. ‘Great, isn’t she? So many stories and Narla is very matter-of-fact. She’s running a business and that’s all.’
‘And the girls,’ added Spencer, ‘you wouldn’t know they do what they do for a job—they’re very quiet and don’t cause us any trouble. If only the miners were as easy to deal with.’
‘Forensics bring the car back in?’ Dave asked, moving the focus back to police work.
‘Yeah, got it out the back, all locked up. They’ve pulled prints and a few hairs, but nothing else. Certainly Glen Bartlett’s though. We’ve matched them to the hairs we found in the swag on Fractured Hill,’ Spencer answered. ‘But they did find something else which was a bit interesting.’
‘What was that?’
‘They reckon there’s an old grave out there.’
Dave jumped to his feet. ‘Of course! Why didn’t I realise that’s what it was! Under the tree?’
‘Yep. My guess is it’s a pioneer’s grave,’ Spencer said. ‘Trouble is, we find these things all over the place out here. Never sure if we should dig them up or leave them as they are.’
‘Is there anything forensics can do to estimate how old the grave is?’
‘God only knows, they said to leave it with them, so they might come back with something.’ He slammed his hands down on the desk. ‘Right, I’m going to go and have a chat with Mr Pollard again. Let’s see what version of his camping story he tells this time. Are you coming or following up on the bank transfers?’
‘Bank transfers, and then I’m going to give Glen’s mother a call. See if she knows anything about who her son was wanting to find.’
Spencer gave him the thumbs up and left the room.
Dave called the bank and the manager told him the traces would be ready that afternoon or first thing in the morning. Satisfied with that, he prepared to ring Glen Bartlett’s mother, writing down a few questions so he didn’t forget anything. These types of interviews were difficult, particularly over the phone. He always felt like he was taking advantage of a horrible situation.
‘Hello?’ The voice that answered was frail and sad.
‘Hello, my name is Detective Dave Burrows, from Barrabine, in Western Australia. I’m investigating your son’s death.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Do you have some news?’ The hope in Carmen Bartlett’s voice tore at Dave and he wished he did have something to tell her.
‘No, I’m sorry, but I was hoping I could ask you some questions about your son.’
‘Of course. Anything I can do to help. I want to know why he was killed.’ Her voice broke a little.
‘And I can assure you we’re doing everything we can to find that out.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘What do you need to know?’
‘It seems Glen was over here looking for someone. Can you tell me who that might be?’
There was a short pause. ‘His father probably sent him on a wild goose chase. If that’s what got him killed, I’ll be very angry.’
Dave raised his eyebrows and tapped his pen. ‘Could you tell me a little about that?’
‘Paddy and I got married about eighteen months after he came to Victoria,’ she said. ‘We met at the fruit and veggie shop. I was serving and he was buying.’
Dave listened with half an ear, knowing he was about to get the life story.
‘After we were married I realised something was tormenting him. He had nightmares and would wake up sweating. I asked and asked what was wrong, but he didn’t want to tell me.’
‘I see,’ Dave said, letting her know he was there. He wanted to hurry her up, get her to the crux of the story, but he couldn’t force that. A detective’s attention and patience were important to a victim’s family, no matter the crime.
‘It took some time but he finally told me. He’d come across a woman in the bush, in 1945 I think it was. She’d committed suicide and he buried her. Paddy was consumed with trying to find her family.’ Her voice got stronger. ‘I never really understood why. Everybody knows the goldfields are harsh places and people die every day. I was brought up on them over here in Victoria. My parents were miners.
‘But for some reason this woman haunted him, and until the day he died he tried to find out who she was so her family would know where he’d buried her. Every six months or so he’d send another letter off to the newspaper, trying to get people interested. He was toying with the idea of bringing in a private detective, but he died before he could do that. I suspect he told Glen the story and asked him to continue the search. Although why I wouldn’t know. It’s not like he’s going to find the woman’s family after all these years.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s death,’ said Dave. ‘When did he pass away?’
‘It’s only been a couple of months,’ she said, her voice wavering again. ‘I didn’t expect to lose Glen so soon afterwards.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t and, again, I’m very sorry for your loss.’ Dave paused and looked at his notepad. He had comments and thoughts jotted down haphazardly.
‘Was there ever any clue who this woman was?’
‘Not that I’m aware.’
‘Do you know if Glen had any leads on her?’
‘If he did he never mentioned anything to me.’
‘Do you think he would’ve stayed over here until he’d found out who she was?’
‘I can’t answer that because I’m not even sure this is the person he was trying to find.’
‘I understand Glen was the executor of your husband’s will?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘Do you know what your husband’s will instructed?’
‘What he had was mostly to come to me. Glen spoke to me about selling the parcel of land in Barrabine—Paddy bought the land where he buried the woman, you see. He—Glen, I mean—didn’t see the point in keeping it. It’s a long way away.’
‘And you agreed to this?’
‘I wasn’t bothered either way. I have more than enough to live my days out on. I guess it would have been hard to monitor from this distance.’
‘We’ve been told that Glen was keen to finalise the sale of the mining lease because he had a large payment due.’
Carmen paused. ‘Payment?’ she said softly. ‘Hmm. The thing you need to understand about my son is that he is…was easily led. He was very friendly and charming but easy to manipulate. He’d often get himself mixed up in harebrained schemes—the get-rich-quick type. Glen wanted to be rich but he wasn’t prepared to put in the hard work that would involve. Of course, Paddy was a soft touch and indulged our son far more than he should have. How can a man learn to stand on his own two feet if his father is constantly bailing him out?’ She sighed. ‘If it wasn’t shares, which were all the rage, it was greyhound racing, horseracing. You name it, G
len has been involved in it. And Paddy always came to the rescue when things went bad.’ Even though her tone was soft, there was an edge of steel below it.
‘When was the last time Paddy bailed him out?’
‘Oh, maybe four years ago. Certainly not since Paddy died. I won’t be involved doing that. He needs to learn to stand on his own two feet without his parents’ help.’
‘And could you tell me the last scheme he was involved in?’
‘He got involved with deer farming. It was a high-cost set-up—you know, the fences are so high and there are limited markets for the meat. The people he went in with weren’t good farmers either, and it only took a couple of years for the bank to ask for their money back.’
‘And you put up his share?’
‘Not all of it, but a substantial amount. He finished paying that back a couple of years ago. But I can tell you, sir, he has always had a weakness for gambling. If he had a big payment, maybe he’d bought a share in a dog. Or even a horse. People involved in horseracing never have any money.’
‘Can I be clear then, Glen would have inherited the money from the sale of Fractured Hill?’
‘As the executor, no, but as part beneficiary, yes, and he was both.’
Dave couldn’t think of any more questions, so he thanked her and hung up.
Grabbing the bank statements, he went back through them to see if he’d missed anything. A thought popped into his head: could the three hundred dollars a fortnight be a return on some investment?
With his ruler and pen, he read every line on the statement again and looked at every transaction. There was one debit that might match what he was looking for, but that was only for twenty dollars. Dave suspected that the fee for such a service would be much more than twenty dollars per month.
There had to be something in these statements that pointed to what new venture Glen was involved in.
He picked up the phone and called the bank again. ‘It’s Dave Burrows,’ he said when the manager picked up. ‘I’m looking at Glen Bartlett’s statements again and I’m wondering if there are any transactions here which could be attributed to any gambling agencies? Or something out of the ordinary. I know that sounds vague.’
‘Very. What type of out of the ordinary are you talking about?’
‘Get-rich-quick schemes. Racehorse or dog ownership. Regular payments or income from that type of person or business. I’m assuming the reference name for gambling wouldn’t be so obvious as TAB, would it?’
‘Ah, yes. Yeah, the TAB always has their business name on the statement. This would be a hard one to track unless you knew the business name. I can’t tell you from his statement what type of business is making a payment or debit to his account. I can have my staff look into any transaction you want, but you’ll have to tell us which ones.’
‘Hmm, thought that might be the case. No worries, I’ll keep looking.’ He said his thanks and decided he needed a coffee before he tackled anything else.
His walk was brisk and he realised that since he’d gone into the police station a great mountain of cloud had started to build up to the north and the air was slightly humid.
At the Mug, Layla was working the coffee machine and Ruth was in the kitchen. He gave them both a smile and wave, knowing Layla would make his coffee without being asked. He leaned against the wall and looked around. There was a couple he didn’t know at the back of the shop, reading the newspapers. The women looked up suddenly, her hands across her mouth. She said something to her husband and he reached for the paper, swinging it around to read. A look of shock crossed his face and they got up and quickly headed outside. Dave frowned as he watched them go, wondering what had upset them so much.
He walked over to their table and looked at the paper. It was open to the death notices. Someone they knew must have died.
Dave straightened. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
He walked quickly back to the counter and said to Layla, ‘Don’t worry about my coffee.’
She stared at him. ‘It’s nearly ready.’
‘Haven’t got time, sorry. I’ll pay for it tomorrow!’ He was out the door before she could reply.
He ran all the way back to the station and pushed open the door to the detectives’ office with force, causing Tez and Claire to jump.
‘You right, mate?’
‘All good.’ He opened the evidence room and grabbed the box containing everything that had come in from Glen Bartlett’s car. Throwing himself into his chair, he pulled on gloves before picking up the newspaper. He took it out of the evidence bag and carefully turned the pages until he came to the death notices. He ran his finger down the columns, looking for a name he recognised. There was no one. Then he turned to the personals. He read each one, dismissing the women offering sex for money and women looking for men.
It took three pages of ads before he found it.
I’m looking for the family of a woman who has been missing since 1945. Very little is known of the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, but it was from twenty miles north of Barrabine, Western Australia. If your family has had someone missing since that year and don’t know what happened to her, please contact Glen Bartlett.
Chapter 31
‘He was certainly chasing this woman’s relatives,’ Dave said to Spencer, a tremor of excitement running him. ‘Could there be any link between where he parked the car and the grave?’
‘There must be. His father must have given him a mud map and he’s gone straight there.’
Dave started to pace. Walking helped him think.
‘Who is he linking this woman to? Who is still out in the field from back in the 1940s? In particular ’45?’
Spencer rubbed his chin. ‘There’s China and Tim, a couple of blokes over on the southern parts, and that’s about it. There’s no saying that the family is still even out here, Dave.’
‘I know, but these blokes might remember the story, mightn’t they?’
‘We can go and talk to them, sure, but…’ He broke off. ‘Let’s go and give it a shot. Who knows, if we ID the woman, we might have a better understanding of why Glen Bartlett was murdered.’
‘Exactly!’
Dave drove and he drove fast. Excitement always gave him a lead foot. Spencer had to grab hold of the door handle a couple of times as they swung around corners on their way to Tim Tucker’s.
‘Steady up there, lad. This woman’s been dead nigh on fifty years. A few more minutes isn’t going to make much difference to her.’
‘Sorry. I just can feel we’re on the edge of a breakthrough.’ ‘Good,’ Spencer said dryly. ‘But let’s live to tell the tale, all right?’
Dave grinned and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Hey, that reminds me—when I was camped out the other night, I went down a track not too far from here and found two graves. They were Tim’s kids. A set of twins and a little girl. All died within a short time of each other. He ever talk about that?’
Spencer shook his head. ‘I had no idea. God.’ They fell into silence. ‘What happened to them?’
‘Mining accident and snakebite, according to the plaque.’
‘Bloody hell, imagine living through that. I know my kids give me the shits often enough, but I’d never be without them.’
‘Do you know what happened to Tim’s wife?’
‘She died. Tim’s never talked about it much. I think it still cuts him to the bone. He loved her very much and he only told me one night over a few beers when I asked what the significance of the piano was. The piano in the humpy is hers. He said she could play like a dream.’
‘I guessed it must’ve been ’cause I was pretty sure Tim didn’t play it!’
Spencer looked across at him. ‘What makes you say that? He could be the best pianist in the district.’
‘His hands are a miner’s hands; they’re like a farmer’s—thick and beaten up a bit. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be able to hit the right notes.’
&
nbsp; ‘Do you think I can do the cha-cha?’
Dave looked at his heavy-set partner, puzzled. ‘Um…’
‘Well?’
‘I guess it’s not the first dance I’d think you’d have a go at,’ he hedged.
‘You’re going to be very surprised to find out I’m the best cha-cha dancer in Barrabine. So don’t you be making assumptions about people.’ He raised his eyebrows and pointed a finger at Dave.
Dave looked at Spencer out of the corner of his eye, then back at the road. ‘The cha-cha? Are you sure?’ He cast him another glance and said, ‘Still, I don’t suppose there are too many people in Barrabine!’
‘Yeah, yeah, you wait until you see me.’
Dave grinned and flicked the blinker on and pulled to a stop in Tim’s driveway. Spencer jumped out and started doing the steps of the cha-cha in the middle of the road.
Dave had to admit, for a heavy man, he was very light on his feet. The bloke, however, looked ridiculous, but Dave wasn’t going to tell him that!
Spencer, smiling broadly, cha-cha-ed around to the driver’s side and beeped the horn, hoping to get Tim to come out from wherever he was.
He didn’t appear and Chief didn’t start barking.
‘God knows where he is,’ Spencer said, looking around, ‘but if there’s no word from Chief, Tim’s not around here.’
Dave stuck his head into the hut and called out, but there was no answer. He took a step inside and looked at the piano.
‘Gee, it’s a beauty, isn’t it?’ he said to Spencer, who’d followed him in.
‘Just because there isn’t a front door,’ Spencer said, ‘doesn’t mean we can just go in.’
Dave ran his hands over the piano and lifted the lid. ‘I know, but it really is a nice piece.’ He went to shut it again. ‘Okay, let’s go…’
An old yellowing newspaper clipping fluttered down into the dust and Dave leaned over to pick it up. There was a black and white photo at the top of a column and underneath were the words: Wanted: information on the whereabouts of Marianne Tucker. Missing since Thursday, 7 March 1945. The contact details were via the Oakamanda Pub. He reread twice, then flicked it over. In scrawly, faded handwriting he made out a dollar sign and the number three hundred.
Fool's Gold Page 22
