‘Heavenly Father, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…’
Casting around for rocks, he couldn’t see any big enough, so he got out his handsaw and started to cut wood to lay across the mounded dirt.
Chapter 1
1997
‘We’re not staying here long, are we?’ Melinda asked, her lips curled in disgust.
‘For as long as the department wants me to, I guess. Maybe one or two years.’ Detective Dave Burrows pushed open the gate of his new house and ignored the hissing sound that came from Melinda as he said, ‘or two’.
He’d been told his new partner, Spencer, was going to meet him at the house with the keys, but either they were early or he was running late because there was no sign of him. Maybe there was a key somewhere, so they could get out of the incessant heat.
He ran his fingers along the doorframe. Nothing. He lifted the frayed mat before moving on to the empty pot. Nope, no key.
This hadn’t been the welcome to Barrabine he’d been hoping for. He’d wanted his new wife Melinda to love the place as soon as she arrived, for there to be a welcoming committee of…well, he didn’t care who, just someone to make Melinda feel comfortable and happy. To make a friend straightaway. For the house to be lovely and modern.
Sadly, it was tiny and rundown, with a patch of brown lawn at the front. The fibro dwelling had a small porch, which would keep the northern sun from the doorway, but there weren’t any verandahs to keep the house from heating up or to sit on with an evening drink.
The garden was a mixture of stones and dead weeds and was distinctly unappealing.
Like the entrance to the town.
The expansive blue sky had seemed to shimmer as they’d driven seven hours east from Perth and were closer to Barrabine, and the shiny-trunked gums had large pieces of bark hanging from their branches. For a moment Dave had had to squint—the bark looked like a body hanging, swaying in the breeze.
Dave was sure he’d never seen dirt as red as this country. It was the colour of rich copper. Then there was the ground, scattered with little stones glinting in the sun. He’d pointed it out to Melinda, saying it looked like blue metal had been spread across the ground, and bushes and trees grown up through it. She’d shrugged, clearly not impressed.
There’d been no mistaking that they were heading towards a mining town. Piles of dirt which seemed to reach the sky had risen above them, so long they seemed to create a range line. Their bluey-grey dirt didn’t seem to match the red on the surface and Dave wondered how deep they had to go down for it to change colour.
Then the shanties had appeared—small tin sheds on the fringes—and Melinda’s lips had formed the same thin line that she wore now as she’d crossed her arms.
They’d been only minutes inside town boundaries when Melinda had made mention of the rubbish lying on the road and, yes, he’d had to agree there was a lot. Beer bottles and cans, takeaway chip buckets and plastic containers.
She’d fallen silent as they’d approached the centre of Barrabine and seen a group of Aboriginal people sitting around a campfire, their swags near the fence of a house. The children ran around playing chasey, their feet bare, their smiles wild and delighted, while the adults stared at the passing cars with blank faces.
Following the directions Spencer had given him over the phone, Dave had made a series of turns through wide treeless roads and found their street, driving along slowly until they saw the number 12 on the gate.
Not sure whether to ignore Melinda’s gasp at the sight of the house or to follow suit himself, he’d decided to grab her hand and give it a squeeze. The two of them had sat in the car, the air-conditioner blowing, and stared at their new home. It was nothing like they’d imagined.
The heat had stifled them both as they’d got out of the car, and the north wind had howled around the side of the house, slamming the car door shut from under Dave’s hand.
‘Geez.’ He looked at Melinda; her mouth was still a thin, tight line. That was not a good sign.
Nope, the welcome hadn’t gone according to plan.
The streets were dusty and everything looked tired and worn and in need of a good clean.
Dave had to admit Melinda had a point—not that she’d made one out loud, but he knew his wife well enough: she didn’t like it here.
He supposed he could have asked for a posting to a coastal town. Somewhere there wasn’t excitement. Or perhaps he could have asked for a position in Bunbury, where Melinda’s parents and two sisters lived. That held less appeal to him than living in Barrabine did for Melinda. Not that he would have told her that.
To Dave, the posting to Barrabine was exactly what he’d wanted—it was a town on the edge, the wild west. There would be excitement, mystery and intrigue here. Everything a newly badged detective looked for. But the main reason for this posting was it would help him get to where he wanted to go: the stock squad, a squad which focused on agricultural areas, solving sheep theft and rural crime. For him, that would be the perfect job.
Melinda moved closer to him just as a voice called out from over the fence.
‘Oi, missus!’
Dave saw Melinda freeze and groaned inwardly. It was a welcome of sorts, just not the kind he had envisaged. He put his arm around her and turned with a friendly grin.
‘G’day, mate. How are you? Bit warm today.’
‘Who you mob?’ the curly-haired Aboriginal man wanted
