Finally, before the sun set, he parked under a tree and started to collect firewood. Before long, cheery flames were licking up around the branches and Dave had unpacked his chair, swag and barbecue plate. He sat back with a beer in his hand and contemplated the bush as the stars began to appear in the salmon-coloured sky.
In the distance he could hear the hum of the closest mine but the noise didn’t bother him. He mainly heard the crackle of the fire and call of the birds as they settled in the trees for the night.
He thought about his childhood and all the times he and his brothers had gone camping in the back paddock. And the time he and his cousin Kate had told their families they were going camping at one of their favourite spots. Taking the small Suzuki ute, they’d managed to get bogged in a creek. Not letting that small problem stop them, they’d carried what they needed to a dry spot, set up camp and spent the night as planned. They were good mates and they’d had great conversations around the campfire, cementing the friendship even more.
In the whole time they’d been together, Dave had never taken Melinda camping. He would have to rectify that now. He’d always been wary of suggesting it because she was a city girl through and through and he didn’t think she’d like roughing it.
He remembered what Kate had said when he’d introduced her to Melinda. It had been at Kate’s engagement party in the woolshed of their family farm. The dress code had been jeans and RM Williams boots. Melinda had worn black pants and court shoes. The drink of choice had been beer or rum. Melinda had sipped white wine.
Later in the evening Kate had dragged Dave away from the group and said to him, ‘What the fuck?’
‘Excuse me?’ Dave had looked at her curiously. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Why Melinda?’ she had asked. ‘She is not your type. You need a country girl. Someone who’s going to get down and dirty with you. Go camping, hiking, exploring. Not shopping in Myer or drinking lattes in Fremantle.’
Dave hadn’t known what to say. Sure, Melinda came from a different world—and her parents, especially her father, weren’t exactly his biggest fans—but he’d been certain then, as he was now, that Melinda was the right woman for him.
He’d take her camping, he promised himself, just as soon they found out who’d murdered Glen Bartlett.
Chapter 27
Dave woke to the breaking dawn and lay listening to the sounds of the bush.
Out here, north of Barrabine, the birds seemed to disappear during the heat of the day, leaving the flies as the only sign of life. But on dusk and dawn the birds came out with a cacophony of sweet-sounding songs. As he lay in his swag he tried to put names to the calls he could hear. There were finches and willie wagtails, and he thought he could hear a wattle bird, even though they were rare this far north, so he couldn’t be sure.
The finches were darting in and out of the trees and knocking droplets of water from the leaves onto his swag. Rolling onto his stomach, he peered out to see if the fire had lasted through the night. It had, with red coals still glowing in the dull morning light. Wiggling out from underneath the heavy canvas, he put on his boots and did a few stretches to loosen his back before rolling up his swag and putting it in the back of the car. He’d learned to roll up his swag as soon as he got out of it on a camping trip with his brothers. A small python, completely harmless but a snake nonetheless, had crawled into his oldest brother’s swag one morning when it had been left unrolled. It was only discovered as he got into it the next night. A nasty fright for boy and snake, but a good lesson.
Dave rekindled the fire with a few thin sticks and waited until there were enough coals to put on his billy. Soon it was boiling away and he threw in tea leaves as if he were an old swaggy getting ready to set off walking for the day.
He sat on a log and drank his tea and ate the bacon sandwich he’d cooked up, the ants racing around his feet claiming any crumbs he dropped.
Last night he’d scoured the map and found a couple of places he was keen to look at today—one was ten kilometres to the west of where he was camped, and the other was a track off the main road to Oakamanda. Camping out meant he’d been able to work later and could start earlier.
It took him half an hour to drive the ten kilometres—the road was very rough and Dave wondered if the corrugations might shake the car to pieces. He tried to angle one wheel off the road and out into the bush, but then he realised he might stake a tyre that way, so he had to stay on the road and drive carefully.
When he found the track, he was pleased it didn’t seem to be used that much and therefore wasn’t as rough. It twisted and turned through the bush and seemed to go on forever…until it didn’t go any further. Dave drew in a breath and looked around. The road ended in a turnaround circle and it looked like someone had been here recently.
He shut off the engine and got out of the car, listening intently. He looked at the ground for tracks and saw a thin trail leading off into the scrub. Grabbing his GPS, water bag and camera, he followed the trail. It might be a kangaroo track and lead nowhere, but it was worth a look. Not that there’d be a car able to get through, but a look was a look. Half an hour of hard walking and his legs were scratched
