‘I’d’ve scared them if I’d got hold of them,’ Dee said bitterly. ‘Why do people to do this? I’ve spent so much time getting this place lookin’ spick and span, putting all the history together, and these mongrels come in and wreck it all in one night.’
‘Seems pointless, doesn’t it?’ Spencer agreed.
Dee raised her hands. ‘What benefit are they going to get out of it? A few smokes and drinks. I’ve got months of fixing up the joint again.’
Spencer walked to the bar and started to poke around. ‘Have there been any kids out here recently? You know, ones who got all liquored up or looked like they were out to cause mischief?’
‘Wait a moment,’ Dee answered and went through the door to the kitchen. It only took a few moments before she was back, holding a large hardback book.
‘My diary,’ she said as way of explanation. ‘I always write down if anything unusual has happened.’ She started to flick through the pages.
Dave saw the beginnings of a fingerprint start to emerge and he held his breath, hoping it would be a workable one. He carefully lifted it and stored it in the evidence box before moving on to the next room.
‘Three weeks ago five young blokes arrived in one car,’ Dave heard Dee say. ‘They stayed about two drinks too long, then got in the car and drove back towards Barrabine.’
‘Cause any trouble?’
‘Nah, just a bit rowdy, from my notes.’ She flicked the page over. ‘Oh, yeah, I remember now, there was a bloke who came in looking for someone called Glen Bartlett. Left his card—I’ve got it stapled here. He’s from HMA Mining. Ross Pollard, his card says.’
At the sound of Glen’s name, Dave came back into the room. Dee tore the card from the page where she’d stapled it and handed it to Spencer, who looked at it then passed it on to Dave.
‘Do you know why he was looking for Glen?’ asked Spencer, tapping his fingers against his lips.
‘He didn’t say. And I didn’t ask. Less I know the better sometimes. Anyway, I haven’t even clapped eyes on the man, so I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to pass the message on. I assumed he had a lease somewhere, but the name is not one I’ve heard before. Still, people come and go easily enough.’
Spencer wrote a note in his notebook and looked up, squinting.
‘What?’ asked Dee. ‘You’re thinking, I can tell.’
‘Just trying to put a few pieces together.’
‘Do you know who Glen Bartlett is?’
‘Yeah, he’s the body down the mine shaft,’ Spencer said. ‘I thought you would’ve heard his name on the radio or TV since it was released yesterday.’
‘Ha! As if I have time to take any notice of the TV,’ Dee scoffed. Then she stopped. ‘Wait, he’s the dead guy?’ Her voice held a note of fear.
‘“The body” usually indicates someone is dead,’ Spencer said, deadpan.
‘Should we be worried? There’re strange things going on out here right now. I know that bloke who was looking for Glen has been hitting up lease owners to sell their land—I heard Tim mention his name. I mean, how stupid! No one around here is going to sell to a big company. These guys are professional prospectors! This is how they make their living.
‘China was saying someone drove onto his place in the middle of the night and shone their lights on his hut. He got up to have a look but they drove off. Then Jackie’s been seeing footprints around his mine shaft—doesn’t know whose they are or how they got there because his dog didn’t bark. And Julie Goulde was saying she’s had washing taken off the clothesline. And I’ve also heard that some of the bigger machinery the guys use—you know the loaders and dry blowers—have been moved during the night.’
Dave frowned. ‘And no one has reported this?’
‘I didn’t think too much of it, but now I say it out loud, all in one hit, it sounds worse. People have only ever told me in dribs and drabs, you know? I’d hear one story from one person then it’d be a couple of days later before I’d hear something else. Didn’t join the dots, I guess.’
‘Yeah, I understand. Tell me, have you heard any more vehicles driving around in the early morning?’
‘Not for a few nights. I heard something about eleven one night last week, I think it was, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Not like the other ones I told you about.’
Dave thought about this. He wanted to get back to the station and write it all up on the whiteboard, to see the evidence set out neatly and in chronological order.
‘You nearly finished up here?’ Spencer asked.
‘Give me twenty. I’ll snap some more shots and then I’ll be done.’
By the time they were ready to leave, Dave had a film roll full of photos and one fingerprint. He packed the camera into its case and replaced it in the back of the vehicle, while Spencer patted Dee on the shoulder.
‘We’ll do our best to find out what happened here, Dee. I promise you that.’
‘Hope you do,’ she said. ‘Can I start cleaning up?’
‘Sure can. Is there anything you’d like me to do for you?’
Dee shook her head. ‘Nah, I’ll get the daughter to come and help.’
‘Right-oh. I’ll be in contact as soon as I know anything.’ They said their goodbyes and Spencer hauled himself into the driver’s seat, pulling his seatbelt on. ‘Do you think we can get a decent photo of Glen Bartlett run off, show it around town?’
‘Should be able to. I might need to see if Claire can help me lighten it a little, but the security camera footage should be okay for that.’
‘Right. And do we have a photo of Ross Pollard? Or can we get one?’
That stumped Dave. ‘I don’t think we’ve got one—we’ve got no need to have one.’
Spencer drove without speaking. ‘We
