A familiar thrill of discovery flowed through Dave. ‘A hire car not returned? Sounds good.’ He stopped. ‘Unless we’ve got a body in a motel room somewhere.’
Claire shook her head. ‘If there was, it probably would have been found by now. This car should have been returned four days ago. White Toyota four-wheel drive.’ She reeled off the numberplate and the vehicle identification number. ‘Most of the hotels here service the rooms daily. I reckon we’d have heard about it if there was another body somewhere. Anyway, I think one’s enough, don’t you?’ she asked.
‘More than,’ Tez said, looking up from the book he was writing in.
‘Did you get a name of the person who had hired it or a DL or DOB?’
‘A Mr Glen Bartlett. Thought you’d get those other details when you went out.’
Dave frowned and swung his chair around and with two-finger typing entered the name into the Missing Persons Register but didn’t get a hit. From there he did a search to check whether the man had a record or anything that might give him some information as to whether he could be his John Doe, but without a date of birth or driver’s licence number, he couldn’t be sure which of the five Glen Bartletts who appeared on his screen would have had reason to be in Barrabine and not return a hire car. None of them had theft on their record. Driving under the influence for two, and drunk and disorderly for the other three.
‘Okay, I’ll head out there and talk to the manager,’ he said, then remembered the autopsy report. He checked his pigeonhole in case someone had picked the report up off the fax machine, but it was empty. Over at the fax he leafed through the pages on the tray. Nothing for him or Spencer.
Instead there was the regular police newsletter, which no one read, and an enquiry from the Karratha Police Station addressed to Tez.
‘For you,’ he said, putting it down on his colleague’s desk.
‘Cheers.’ Claire put her hand out for it. ‘That’ll be the details on that stolen truck they’re looking for. Need to let patrols know.’
There wasn’t any answer from Tez, who was reading something intently. Dave grinned as Claire picked up a piece of paper and scrunched it into a small ball before throwing it at her partner. ‘Oi!’
‘What?’ Tez looked up at her with a wounded look on his face.
‘You’re not listening.’
‘Shit, for a moment I thought you were my wife. That’s why I didn’t take any notice.’
‘You dickhead,’ Claire answered good-naturedly. ‘Here.’ She pushed the fax towards him. He flashed her a cheeky grin and took the pages. They had a great partnership.
‘Morning, morning,’ called Spencer in his loud voice as he pushed the door open and came into the detectives’ office. ‘How’s everyone this morning?’
‘Fine, boss.’
‘Good, and you?’
‘No worries.’
They all spoke at once. Spencer sighed, threw himself in the chair and looked over at Dave.
‘What’s going on? You look excited. Got the PM results?’
‘Not yet, but there was a phone call reporting a hire car that hasn’t been returned. Been missing for four days. Out at the airport.’
Spencer pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Interesting.’ He seemed to think for a moment then asked, ‘What did you do for the weekend?’
Dave blinked at the change of subject.
‘Ah, took Melinda to Oakamanda for one of Dee’s Contiki tours.’
‘And you survived? You’d better buy yourself a lottery ticket. Did you see the couch on the back?’
Dave grinned. ‘Oh yeah, and all the beer cans! She’d go for a row if we wanted her to.’
‘Got to pick your battles, mate.’
Dave nodded. ‘We right to head out to the airport?’
Spencer adjusted the waistline of his shorts. ‘I’ve got something to do here. You head out and do the interview.’
The phone on Dave’s desk started to ring and he snatched it up.
‘Burrows.’
‘It’s Shannon.’
‘Morning. What’ve you got?’
She paused and he heard her intake of breath. ‘You’ve got yourself a murder.’
Dave glanced up at Spencer and nodded, before grabbing his pen and paper. ‘Hit me with it.’
‘I’ll send everything through by email.’
‘Great, but give me the basics now. I’ll read your report when it comes in.’
‘Okay, your John Doe has had a blunt force to the head, which cracked his skull. My measurements and research make me believe it was a flat-mouthed shovel. The type you can buy from any hardware store.’
‘And the type which would be a dime a dozen in a mining town.’
Shannon gave a small laugh. ‘Yeah, I don’t suppose I’ve given you an unusual murder weapon.’ She paused and Dave could hear the rustle of paperwork. ‘The decomposition hid the damage to the side of his head, which was why I couldn’t determine whether it was murder or not.’
‘It’s no problem. Some clever pathologist told me you had to wait for the science anyway.’
‘Very clever pathologist that one,’ she quipped. ‘So, the blow was on the left-hand side. It measures one hundred and fifty-two millimetres across on a downward angle, so I’m wondering if the vic was starting to bend or bending down as he was hit.’
Dave exhaled loudly.
‘I’ve managed to pull some partial prints, but again the decomposition has hurt. I’ve run what I’ve got through the database and not got any hits. We ran him through the X-ray machine and he had a broken leg when he was young. Maybe twelve or fourteen.’
‘Other than a run in with a shovel, he’d still be alive, yeah?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Any scars or tatts?’
‘Nope, he’s a cleanskin.’
‘Right, I’ll wait for the rest of your report then. Thanks for the heads-up. It’s good to know what we’re dealing with.’
‘I’ll email it through to you now.’
‘No worries.’ Dave paused and turned his back on Spencer. ‘And, Shannon, it was good to see you last week.’
The line hissed quietly and Dave felt her embarrassment all over again. ‘Yeah, you too,’ she said finally. ‘Sorry…’
‘Nothing to be
