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
