‘Right, thanks very much,’ Spencer said, finishing the phone call and hanging up. ‘Damn, not much there. The owner is dead now and it’s all caught up in probate, so they don’t have the name of who the land was willed to yet. It’s still in the hands of the lawyers.’ He paused, frowning. ‘You’ve run this Bartlett’s DL, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah, didn’t turn up anything. Just a speeding fine three years ago.’
Spencer changed tack. ‘Now the interesting thing about this is there’s a mining company getting around wanting to buy up small leases. I know they approached Tim Tucker. He gave me a call as a heads-up. When I went out to see China yesterday, he said the same thing. I think they’re trying to put together a package of land big enough to start an open-cut. To do that, they must have clear evidence there’s a lot more gold under the ground than the owners think.’
‘So what’s the next step?’
‘Let’s take a run out to Fractured Hill. Just to have a look around.’
The bumpy track, which really wasn’t wide enough to be called a road, wound in and out of large trees and bushes. It was a hilly area, different to the land Dave was familiar with around here.
‘The land out here, it goes for miles being flat,’ explained Spencer, ‘then you turn a corner and there’s a line of hills. The mining companies have created their own man-made hills as well. You see the smooth-sided ones with the young trees growing up? That’s the mines trying to regenerate land they’ve used or have planted out in accordance with their environmental policies.’
Dave nodded. The man-made hills were clearly different to the natural ones.
‘Hello, who’ve we got here?’ Spencer muttered, seeing a cloud of dust coming towards them. ‘Shouldn’t be too many people on this road. It only leads to Fractured Hill and there’s nothing out past that.’ He pulled over to the edge of the road and Dave held on as the ute bumped over some deep corrugations. ‘Well,’ he corrected himself, ‘there’s lots of country out there, but no leases pegged as far as I know.’
As the vehicle came into sight, Dave realised something. ‘It’s red,’ he said.
‘So it is,’ said Spencer. ‘So it is. And,’ he looked around to get his bearings, ‘we’re not that far from Oakamanda. There’s a turn-off just down there,’ he pointed, ‘which will get you into Oakamanda the back way. Interesting.’ He turned off the car and hauled himself out, planting himself in the middle of the road so the car had to stop.
The car pulled up and a man leaned out of window. ‘You blokes all right?’ he asked. He glanced at the four-wheel drive, which was unmarked, but his eyes widened. ‘You the cops?’ he asked.
‘What makes you say that?’ Spencer asked.
‘Flashing lights in the windscreen there.’ He nodded to the portable lights attached to the sun visor. ‘Anything you need a hand with?’
‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ said Spencer. ‘This is not a road many people travel on. You looking for someone?’
The man frowned. ‘Yeah, actually I am. I was supposed to meet a bloke out here yesterday but he never showed. Thought I’d head out again today and see if he was here, but I must’ve missed him. Hard to make appointment times when people don’t have phones out here.’ His frustration was evident in his tone.
‘Oh yeah?’ Spencer leaned against the door of the vehicle. ‘I didn’t think anyone lived at Fractured Hill?’
‘Oh, I know no one lives there, but it’s where he asked me to meet him. Far be it for me to question him when he’s selling my company his land.’
Dave noticed Spencer’s posture stiffen slightly. ‘You’re looking to buy land?’
‘Not me. The mining company I work for.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Ross Pollard from HMA Mining.’
‘And who were you meeting out here?’
‘Well, I was supposed to meet Glen Bartlett. The deal was that he was going to sign the paperwork and I was going to give him a cheque. But he hasn’t fronted. Been trying to track him down, but he’s not at the hotel he’s staying at. He seems to have disappeared into thin air.’
Dave felt his heart kick up a notch.
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Spencer said before Dave could get words out of his mouth. ‘Glen Bartlett owns Fractured Hill?’
‘Well, yeah.’ The man looked at him, puzzled.
‘And how do you know that?’
‘We were making enquiries, ringing and writing letters to owners and asking if they wanted to sell out. He contacted us and said he did.’
Dave narrowed his eyes. If the Department of Mines couldn’t confirm who the owner was, how could this Ross Pollard?
‘Now, that’s a bit interesting. We were under the impression Fractured Hill was part of the previous owner’s probate. What was your name again?’ Spencer questioned as he shooed a large buzzing blowfly away from his head.
‘Ross Pollard. HMA Mining.’ He handed over his card. ‘And, yes, we know the land has been tied up. When Mr Bartlett rang us to accept our offer, he explained he was the executor for his late father’s estate and he would be selling the land. Seemed very keen to sell. I can’t work out why he hasn’t turned up.’
‘When did you see him last?’
‘I haven’t actually met him. All our negotiations have been done by phone and fax. He told me he had to come over to Barrabine for other reasons and he’d meet me here to sign everything.’
‘Are you in town for a while?’ Dave asked.
‘Yeah, I’m still trying to get a few more of the blokes with the small leases in this area to sign with us.
