‘Had any other takers other than Glen Bartlett?’
‘I can’t tell you who, but there have been others.’
Spencer’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Tim Tucker?’ he asked.
‘Ah.’ Ross looked around, and Dave could see he was trying to work out how to answer. ‘Ah, no,’ he finally said. ‘No, he’s one who seems to be a little against the idea.’
Spencer scoffed. ‘I think “a little” might be an understatement, knowing Tim the way I do.’ He paused and looked around. ‘We might keep going out to Fractured Hill. If you find Glen, can you give me a call?’ He handed over his card.
‘My number’s there, but it’s not much good to you since I’m not in the office very often.’ He looked at them curiously. ‘Are you looking for Glen too?’
‘We’d certainly like to have a chat with him,’ Spencer confirmed.
‘I’ll ring you as soon as I find him,’ Ross promised. ‘Great. Oh, tell me, where are you staying in town?’ ‘The hotel near the golf course. Jaffa’s, I think it’s called.’ ‘I know it. Cheers, good to meet you. By the way,’ Dave said, ‘have you been driving around in the early mornings at all?’
‘Early mornings?’
‘You know, three or four in the morning?’
Ross’s face froze for a moment then cocked his head to the side. ‘Why?’
‘Just a question.’
‘You wouldn’t ask if there wasn’t a reason.’
Dave and Spencer both looked at him steadily, not replying.
Finally Ross looked embarrassed. ‘It was a few weeks ago now. I decided I was going to camp out, but early in the morning there was a dingo or something howling and it spooked me, so I packed up and left. Trouble was, I did it in the dark and left my GPS behind, so I had to go back for it. I reckon I was about half an hour past Oakamanda when I realised what I’d done. Had to go back and get it. Do you get many dingos out here? I swear this one was so close to my tent it could have come in.’
Spencer let out a loud laugh. ‘They’re all around here, mate. Usually all you see of them is tracks. It’s a bit unusual to have them come so close. He must’ve thought you smelled good enough to eat!’
‘Glad I hightailed it then. All right, I’ll be off and I’ll be sure to let you know when I find our man. I thought I might go to the hospital and see if he was in there. See you later.’ Ross put his vehicle in gear and drove off.
Dave glanced at Spencer and yanked open the door. ‘I’m even more sure now that our John Doe is Glen Bartlett. I don’t believe in coincidences. And it sounds like this bloke is Dee’s phantom vehicle. Nothing suspicious there.’ He got in the car and waited for Spencer to get in.
‘I think you’re right,’ Spencer answered as he started the car up again and followed the winding track. They didn’t say anything else until they arrived at Fractured Hill. Dave was too busy sorting the information he had in his mind. He needed it straight and clear before he started talking.
The shack there was like the one at Tim’s place. The walls were made of tin and there were four rooms: a kitchen, two bedrooms and a laundry. The cupboards were brittle, and a thick layer of dust covered the beds and table. Instead of having the homely feel to it like Tim’s place, it was rundown and shabby.
‘Doesn’t look like anyone’s lived here for a while.’
‘Don’t be fooled,’ Spencer said. ‘It only takes one dust storm to make a place look like this. You’d think no one had lived here for thirty years and yet someone could have walked out yesterday and it’d look like this after one of those mongrel storms.’ He lifted up the sheet, which was still on the bed, and opened the door to the cupboard. Nothing.
Dusting his hands down he said, ‘Don’t think there’s much here, though.’
Dave wandered out the other side of the hut and saw a crumbling wooden headframe rising out of the ground.
‘Look at this,’ Spencer called.
Dave looked around and saw he was being waved over to a grove of thick bushland. He jogged to Spencer and pushed his way in behind him, then pulled up quickly, eyes roving over the landscape.
There was a camp set up inside a small clearing. It looked like someone had gone to a lot of effort to cut down trees and make a spot for a camp. But not recently…years ago. A swag was rolled up next to a ring of stones, which clearly had had a fire burning in it. An esky was off to the side and a fold-up chair sat facing the campfire.
Dave flicked open the lid of the esky and dropped it again very quickly. ‘Ugh,’ he said. Rotten lamb chops were covered by melted ice and beer cans.
Dave unrolled the swag and unzipped it. Although it was covered in red dirt, it was obvious the swag was very new, as was the other equipment. Ginger had said Glen Bartlett had had a car full of camping gear when he’d checked out of the pub. With any luck there’d be a GPS in amongst it all, which would have a serial number they’d be able to match to confirm whose campsite this was.
‘I reckon there’s got to be a hire vehicle around here somewhere, don’t you?’ Spencer said.
‘Totally agree. But why would he have decided to camp out in the bush when he had a perfectly good hotel to sleep in?’ Dave wondered out loud.
‘Another question we need to answer.’
Dave turned and walked back to the headframe to have a look into the mine. This one had a larger mouth than he’d seen before, certainly large enough to drive a car into, but it wouldn’t be hidden. With his flashlight he searched for the
