‘It took some time but he finally told me. He’d come across a woman in the bush, in 1945 I think it was. She’d committed suicide and he buried her. Paddy was consumed with trying to find her family.’ Her voice got stronger. ‘I never really understood why. Everybody knows the goldfields are harsh places and people die every day. I was brought up on them over here in Victoria. My parents were miners.
‘But for some reason this woman haunted him, and until the day he died he tried to find out who she was so her family would know where he’d buried her. Every six months or so he’d send another letter off to the newspaper, trying to get people interested. He was toying with the idea of bringing in a private detective, but he died before he could do that. I suspect he told Glen the story and asked him to continue the search. Although why I wouldn’t know. It’s not like he’s going to find the woman’s family after all these years.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s death,’ said Dave. ‘When did he pass away?’
‘It’s only been a couple of months,’ she said, her voice wavering again. ‘I didn’t expect to lose Glen so soon afterwards.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t and, again, I’m very sorry for your loss.’ Dave paused and looked at his notepad. He had comments and thoughts jotted down haphazardly.
‘Was there ever any clue who this woman was?’
‘Not that I’m aware.’
‘Do you know if Glen had any leads on her?’
‘If he did he never mentioned anything to me.’
‘Do you think he would’ve stayed over here until he’d found out who she was?’
‘I can’t answer that because I’m not even sure this is the person he was trying to find.’
‘I understand Glen was the executor of your husband’s will?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘Do you know what your husband’s will instructed?’
‘What he had was mostly to come to me. Glen spoke to me about selling the parcel of land in Barrabine—Paddy bought the land where he buried the woman, you see. He—Glen, I mean—didn’t see the point in keeping it. It’s a long way away.’
‘And you agreed to this?’
‘I wasn’t bothered either way. I have more than enough to live my days out on. I guess it would have been hard to monitor from this distance.’
‘We’ve been told that Glen was keen to finalise the sale of the mining lease because he had a large payment due.’
Carmen paused. ‘Payment?’ she said softly. ‘Hmm. The thing you need to understand about my son is that he is…was easily led. He was very friendly and charming but easy to manipulate. He’d often get himself mixed up in harebrained schemes—the get-rich-quick type. Glen wanted to be rich but he wasn’t prepared to put in the hard work that would involve. Of course, Paddy was a soft touch and indulged our son far more than he should have. How can a man learn to stand on his own two feet if his father is constantly bailing him out?’ She sighed. ‘If it wasn’t shares, which were all the rage, it was greyhound racing, horseracing. You name it, Glen has been involved in it. And Paddy always came to the rescue when things went bad.’ Even though her tone was soft, there was an edge of steel below it.
‘When was the last time Paddy bailed him out?’
‘Oh, maybe four years ago. Certainly not since Paddy died. I won’t be involved doing that. He needs to learn to stand on his own two feet without his parents’ help.’
‘And could you tell me the last scheme he was involved in?’
‘He got involved with deer farming. It was a high-cost set-up—you know, the fences are so high and there are limited markets for the meat. The people he went in with weren’t good farmers either, and it only took a couple of years for the bank to ask for their money back.’
‘And you put up his share?’
‘Not all of it, but a substantial amount. He finished paying that back a couple of years ago. But I can tell you, sir, he has always had a weakness for gambling. If he had a big payment, maybe he’d bought a share in a dog. Or even a horse. People involved in horseracing never have any money.’
‘Can I be clear then, Glen would have inherited the money from the sale of Fractured Hill?’
‘As the executor, no, but as part beneficiary, yes, and he was both.’
Dave couldn’t think of any more questions, so he thanked her and hung up.
Grabbing the bank statements, he went back through them to see if he’d missed anything. A thought popped into his head: could the three hundred dollars a fortnight be a return on some investment?
With his ruler and pen, he read every line on the statement again and looked at every transaction. There was one debit that might match what he was looking for, but that was only for twenty dollars. Dave suspected that the fee for such a service would be much more than twenty dollars per month.
There had to be something in these statements that pointed to what new venture Glen was involved in.
He picked up the phone and called the bank again. ‘It’s Dave Burrows,’ he said when the manager picked up. ‘I’m looking at Glen Bartlett’s statements again and I’m wondering if there are any transactions here which could be attributed to any gambling agencies? Or something out of the ordinary. I know that sounds vague.’
‘Very. What type of out of the ordinary are you talking about?’
‘Get-rich-quick schemes. Racehorse or dog ownership. Regular payments or income from that type of person or business. I’m assuming the reference name for gambling wouldn’t be so obvious as TAB, would it?’
‘Ah, yes. Yeah, the TAB always has their business name on the statement. This would be a hard one to track unless you knew the
