Without a Doubt

by Fleur McDonald

  As he walked to work, he reflected that it must be hard for Melinda as she’d been such a career-oriented woman when he’d met her, and when they had first moved to Barrabine she hadn’t had a job for many months. Melinda had found it hard to settle and fit in, and those feelings had only changed when she’d found employment she loved. Having Bec had opened up her world to a lot more people—mothers and playgroups, along with kinder gym, something Dave had never heard about but which seemed to be all the rage now. But she didn’t seem to be going often any more.

  Not long after they’d moved to Barrabine, Dave had to acknowledge Melinda was missing her parents and sister incredibly. The phone calls, which seemed to go back and forth every day, had stuck in his craw. He’d tried and tried to understand that she needed the support of her family while he, her husband, was at work, but as someone who had never felt that way, it had been difficult. Just because Dave didn’t need his family—he was content to be alone in the world, with only Melinda and Bec and the occasional phone conversation with his mother—didn’t mean everyone else was the same.

  Over the past few months Melinda had stopped smiling again. She argued with him all the time. Sometimes she was happy to hand Bec over to him, and at other times she wouldn’t let him near her.

  His thoughts moved from Melinda to Mary, another young mum who was so clearly struggling with young kids and needing help from her family. Whose husband had disappeared, leaving her with even more pressure and less help.

  What sort of a man did that?

  He looked at the ground as he walked, going over what Mary had told them yesterday. One step, two, three. One step, two, three. He walked purposely towards the station, his thoughts tumbling over and over. Turning over the conversation in his mind, he concentrated on what it would be like to be a thirty-three-year-old man with a mortgage, three young children and finding it hard to make ends meet.

  Dave, who was himself thirty-three, could understand the age and the young child—but not three of them! He didn’t have any debt—the police department paid for his house and car. He was in a relatively comfortable position. How would it be not to have that security? What would it be like to be struggling from week to week to cover all the bills, to want to give the kids the best but not to be able to afford it? Did he and Mary argue much? Did they have a sex life? If there wasn’t much sex, it became easy to disconnect from your partner. No intimacy often spelled the end for many relationships. Is that where Mary and Jeff were at?

  Melinda came into his mind again and he tried to remember the last time they’d had sex. It would have to have been three months ago at the least, what with Bec teething, Melinda tired, him working late … He grunted and ran his hand over his face.

  Young kids were the perfect cause of a relationship without sex. Mums were drained and stressed. Dads could get angry and feel like they were missing out on affection and attention. Feel as if they were trapped. Perhaps go looking for someone else.

  Trapped, now that was the word Dave was looking for. He surmised that Jeff had felt trapped and needed an out.

  That still didn’t explain the gun.

  Maybe desperate was another word. A man who had a gun stashed under the seat in his vehicle could be classed as desperate. Or vengeful. Or needing protection …

  He crossed the road and stood at the front of the police station. Looking up he realised he couldn’t remember the walk from home at all, only his thoughts. Hurrying inside, he wanted to get to his desk and write a few things down, before he forgot them.

  Perhaps the relationship between Mary and Jeff was just a peripheral factor. Maybe the gun and why he had it was what they should be focusing on.

  ‘Morning, Dave,’ Nathan Underwood called out from the front desk.

  ‘Sarge,’ Dave answered with a nod, stopping briefly. ‘You’re in early.’

  ‘I drew the short straw for the morning shift. I’ve got a message for you from Spencer. He’s called in sick, so he’s asked you to go back and speak to the wife again.’

  ‘No worries. Any news on the search?’

  ‘They haven’t found anything. I sent Tezza and Claire out, along with some uniforms and the rest of the SES. Drawn a great big blank.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Dave said. He started to walk towards the squad room then stopped. ‘Tell me, Sarge, you’ve got kids, haven’t you?’

  ‘Indeedy. Two of the buggers!’

  ‘How old are they?’

  ‘Nearly fifteen and seventeen. I’d like to say they’re over the hard stage, but different problems come up at different ages. Drinking, drugs. Driving too fast. Unwanted pregnancies.’ Senior Sergeant Underwood tapped at the desk and frowned. ‘Why do you ask? Your littley can’t be causing you any problems other than sleep deprivation at this early stage, surely?’

  ‘I’m trying to understand what would’ve made Jeff leave his kids. I get that maybe things weren’t rosy between him and Mary, but would they be bad enough to make him leave his kids? You couldn’t drag me away from Bec.’

  ‘I’m sure there will be times you’ll happily walk out the door,’ Nathan said dryly.

  ‘Sure, but you’d never take off for too long, would you? Just long enough to clear your head and so you didn’t say anything you shouldn’t.’

  ‘Fair call. You’re right there. You’re thinking there’s more to this than being pissed about a phone account?’

  ‘I think it’s got something to do with the gun. Find out what he had the gun for and we might work out what’s happened to him.’

  ‘Forensics said late yesterday it hadn’t been fired recently.’

  ‘Ah well, that’s news to me. Good to know.’

  ‘What’s the plan of attack then?’ Nathan sat back in the chair and Dave lost sight of him as he disappeared below the glass panelling, so he moved forward and leaned against the wall separating him and the senior sergeant.

  ‘Guess I’ll start with his work, then go back and see the family. I was concerned about Mary being able to cope by herself with the stress of Jeff’s disappearance.’

  ‘Do I need to bring in social services?’

  Dave thought about that for a moment. ‘I’ll keep an eye on things, but possibly counselling rather than social services. I didn’t see anything to warrant their involvement as yet.’

  ‘Right, well, make sure you let me know if you need a hand with anything. You’ve got Tez and Claire if you need any extra help.’

  Dave nodded and moved towards the door that would let him through into the detectives’ room. ‘What’s up with Spencer?’

  ‘Not sure. Flu, I guess.’

  ‘He’s had trouble shaking a cold. He’s had it for two or three weeks.’

  ‘Must be run-down. Always takes a bit to shake things when you’re tired and need a break. Maybe he needs a holiday.’

  ‘He hasn’t taken one since I’ve been here. Maybe you should suggest it, Sarge?’

  ‘Hmm, maybe I will,’ Nathan said, rubbing his chin. ‘Maybe I will.’

  In the detectives’ room Dave flicked through the notes he’d made yesterday and then went to Spencer’s desk to see if he’d left his notebook behind. He had.

  Dave picked it up and took it back to his desk, then checked his watch. Thankfully it was 7 a.m. and The Mug, his favourite coffee shop, was open.

  ‘I’ll be over for my usual in about five minutes,’ he told Layla.

  He looked through Spencer’s notebook to refresh his memory of yesterday’s conversation with Mary, then flicked through the details they had on Jeffery Grant Cane.

  He was born on 23 July 1968. He held motorbike, car and multi-combination licences. That meant not only could he drive a car and motorbike on the road, he could be a truck driver hauling three trailers. There were no priors, no outstanding warrants or fines; basically, he seemed to have a clean slate. Except for the unlicensed gun.

  A little voice reminded him that it could’ve been put there by someone else. He jotted down: Jeff’s or p
lanted? Where had he got it from?

  Realising more than five minutes had passed, he got up and jogged across the road to The Mug.

  ‘I hear you’re busy at the moment,’ Layla said by way of a greeting.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dave counted out the change and handed it across the counter.

  ‘With the missing person. Do you know who it is?’

  Dave held back a smile. Layla loved knowing things she shouldn’t.

  ‘We do know who it is, which is why we know the person is missing,’ he answered.

  ‘So?’ She crossed her arms and stared at him expectantly.

  ‘So what?’ It was a game they played every time something big happened in Barrabine. Layla tried to weasel information out of him and Dave was deliberately obtuse.

  ‘Who is it?’ She glanced around the empty shop and leaned forward.

  ‘I tell you what. How about I tell you who it’s not?’

  ‘Oh really?’ Her voice went up in anticipation.

  ‘It’s not me or Spencer or you.’

  Layla frowned, then leaned back and crossed her arms. ‘You’re a very funny man, Dave Burrows. Not.’

  Dave grinned and raised his coffee to her. ‘Cheers, Layla. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky if I ever make you another coffee!’

  ‘Ah, come on now, you know you love me coming in and teasing you every morning.’

  The door shut behind him and he took a sip of his steaming coffee before setting off back across the road. The one thing about being a cop in a small country town was everyone expected you to give them the drum on an active investigation, and of course he couldn’t. Some people understood and some didn’t, but it didn’t bother him. If his principles made him unpopular then that was the way it was.

  By the time he got back to the station, Nathan was busy giving instructions to two younger members of the squad, and crying and yelling was coming from the lockup out the back. Clearly the two younger officers had brought someone in while he’d been gone.

  Opening the door into the squad room, Dave saw Tez putting down a cup of instant coffee on his desk and pulling out his chair.

  ‘I don’t know why you insist on poisoning yourself with that shit,’ Dave said.

  ‘And I don’t know why you waste your money buying that shit,’ Tez answered, mirth clear in his voice.

  ‘Good night?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Oh yeah. If you call wandering around in the dark with a heap of strangers fun.’

  ‘What’d you find?’

  ‘Jack shit. Nada. I don’t think we’re going to now, because I don’t think he’s dead.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Dave took a sip of his coffee and turned on his computer.

  ‘If he was dead we would’ve found him.’

  ‘Not if he was down a mine shaft.’

  ‘No footprints, no broken branches, absolutely nothing to indicate that he’s even been out there. Or anyone has been there recently. Where we were searching is almost virgin scrubland. Either he’s not there or we were looking in the wrong spot. And we didn’t come across any mine shafts or prospectors, which is pretty surprising.’

  ‘Would have to be the only area in the whole of Barrabine shire not to have mine shafts on it! But that area didn’t look like it would be helpful to prospectors. No iron stone.’

  ‘Don’t I know it.’ Tez paused as he flicked through his notebook. ‘I guess the only interesting thing was cattle shit.’

  Dave frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There was cattle shit on the ground out there and I’m wondering why. Not that it has anything to do with our missing person. But, you know, the cattle shit has got me curious. It’s a long way from any stations so I can’t see why it should be there.’

  Dave walked over to the map pinned on the wall. Tracing the roads with his finger, he found the spot where they’d found the ute on Clydie Road and looked to where the closest station was. Not too far. Maybe ten kilometres.

  He said as much to Tez.

  ‘Do you reckon they’ve had some cattle get through their boundary fence?’

  Tez nodded. ‘Could’ve done.’

  ‘Want me to have a word to the station owner?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind. I’m heading off on holidays tomorrow and I’ve got a couple of things I need to get off my desk before I go.’

  ‘Sure thing. I can do that. Where’s Claire this morning?’

  ‘She’s got her RDO. You’re it for the next few days, man!’

  Chapter 9

  It wasn’t Bulldust standing in Bill’s lounge room but his main man, the bloke he sent to clean up any messes. How he’d turned up so quickly Bill didn’t know. Maybe he’d already been on his way here for another reason.

  None of that mattered. He was here in his living room and Bill knew he was in a world of trouble. Bill’s bowels let go. He started to cry quietly and mutter, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t, I didn’t.’

  ‘That’s not what I hear.’

  The room was dark and Bill couldn’t see where the man was.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I had to say what I said. I had to tell him …’

  ‘Really?’ The man’s voice held such incredulousness that Bill stopped talking. ‘I can’t think of any reason good enough to talk to someone outside of our group about what we do.’

  ‘My mum …’

  There was a silence and a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Your mum?’ The tone was laden with sarcasm. ‘We’ve got a mummy’s boy on our hands, boys.’

  Red-hot anger made Bill want to snarl at the man. He’d never loved anyone like he loved his mother. If he couldn’t understand … His breaths came in short sharp jabs and he swallowed hard.

  ‘Mummy didn’t toilet train you well, did she?’ another voice taunted.

  The smell of shit must’ve reached them.

  Bill closed his eyes against the pitch black. He wondered how they could see him, then realised they were probably wearing night-vision goggles. They used them when they were mustering at night. He was well and truly stuffed.

  In among the tears and terror his flight or fight mode set in. Maybe he had a chance. He couldn’t just stand here and take what they were going to give him. Hopefully it was only going to be a beating, but he knew what else it could be. He’d seen it happen before. The team would’ve worked with someone for a year or two, then one day they just weren’t there any more. Bulldust never made a comment and neither did any of the rest of the crew. They did what they had to do and all felt that little bit of extra nervousness for a few weeks until everything settled back down again.

  Bulldust owned every single one of them and, Bill knew as well as the rest of them, if he was betrayed, there was no way out.

  There was probably no way out for him tonight. If that was the case, he had nothing to lose.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he sneered. He spun around and yanked at the door, but as soon as he moved someone was alongside him, holding him in a vice-like grip.

  Bill yelped as a hand connected with the side of his head and whoever was behind him yanked his arms around behind his back. Another set of hands wrenched cable ties tightly around his wrists, then suddenly they were gone.

  There was no noise. Bill couldn’t even hear breathing—only his own. There was ringing in his ears from the blow. With tears still running down his cheeks, he sniffed. The anger had gone, replaced with a sense of hopelessness. ‘I only did it because I had to,’ he muttered. As he spoke he realised he could taste blood on his tongue.

  ‘No reason is a good enough reason. You should know that,’ the voice said again. ‘So,’ the casual tone made Bill think of a bloke leaning back against his swag, in front of the fire, his hands behind his head about to tell a bush tale, ‘what have you told your brother?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. No names or anything. Just where I was. In case he needed me. My mum. She’s sick.’ Bill raced on as quickly as he could. M
aybe … Maybe if he could explain, things would be okay.

  ‘Just where we were …’

  Bill didn’t hear the second blow coming. As a fist connected with his stomach his breath was forced out and he doubled over, coughing, wheezing, gasping, trying to catch a lungful of air.

  Then, from the back, there was a blow to his shoulders. Pain exploded through his skull. From then on, he couldn’t work out where he was hit. It didn’t matter where the blows landed because his whole body was in pain.

  ‘Don’t hurt him too much in here,’ the main man said. ‘You’ll leave blood on the floor. Get him up and out in the car.’

  Two hands hoisted him up by his armpits and dragged him out the back door. Vaguely he wondered how they’d got in—the main man would probably be able to break in anywhere. That was why Bulldust employed him.

  ‘Stand there,’ he was instructed.

  Bill stood, wanting to scream but knowing it wouldn’t do any good.

  ‘Fucking wimp,’ a voice he recognised but couldn’t place whispered in his ear. ‘Aren’t you even going to fight? Or do you know it’s useless?’

  Bill twisted away, filled his lungs with air and was about to yell when a bag was put over his head and he was pushed to the ground. He tried to put his hands out to save him, forgetting they were tied. His nose hit the ground and he heard a crack.

  He groaned just before he passed out.

  When he woke, he had no idea how long he’d been out for. The bag was off his head and he was lying on his back looking at the sky. The stars were beginning to fade and there was a smudge of light towards the east.

  For a little while Bill didn’t try to move. He looked at the stars and thought about every mistake he’d ever made. Right back to when he was in Year 3 and he’d tried to kiss little Bonnie Ratcliff. She’d run away screaming and the headmaster had given him the cane. And the time in his early twenties when he’d taken the motorbike from the shed without asking his boss. He’d only wanted to nip into town to grab a beer. His vehicle had a flat battery. No harm could come of it, he’d thought. No harm? Well, the boss had reported the bike stolen and the cops had arrested him at the pub. No amount of explaining had put things right that day and he’d lost his job. At least they hadn’t pressed charges.