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CHAPTER 1

1997

'We're not staying here long, are we?' Melinda asked, her lips curled in disgust.

'For as long as the department wants me to, I guess. Maybe one or two years.' Detective Dave Burrows pushed open the gate of his new house and ignored the hissing sound that came from Melinda as he said, 'or two'.

He'd been told his new partner, Spencer, was going to meet him at the house with the keys, but either they were early or he was running late because there was no sign of him. Maybe there was a key somewhere, so they could get out of the incessant heat.

He ran his fingers along the doorframe. Nothing. He lifted the frayed mat before moving on to the empty pot. Nope, no key.

This hadn't been the welcome to Barrabine he'd been hoping for. He'd wanted his new wife Melinda to love the place as soon as she arrived, for there to be a welcoming committee of ... well, he didn't care who, just someone to make Melinda feel comfortable and happy. To make a friend straightaway. For the house to be lovely and modern.

Sadly, it was tiny and rundown, with a patch of brown lawn at the front. The fibro dwelling had a small porch, which would keep the northern sun from the doorway, but there weren't any verandahs to keep the house from heating up or to sit on with an evening drink.

The garden was a mixture of stones and dead weeds and was distinctly unappealing.

Like the entrance to the town.

The expansive blue sky had seemed to shimmer as they'd driven seven hours east from Perth and were closer to Barrabine, and the shiny-trunked gums had large pieces of bark hanging from their branches. For a moment Dave had had to squint — the bark looked like a body hanging, swaying in the breeze.

Dave was sure he'd never seen dirt as red as this country. It was the colour of rich copper. Then there was the ground, scattered with little stones glinting in the sun. He'd pointed it out to Melinda, saying it looked like blue metal had been spread across the ground, and bushes and trees grown up through it. She'd shrugged, clearly not impressed.

There'd been no mistaking that they were heading towards a mining town. Piles of dirt which seemed to reach the sky had risen above them, so long they seemed to create a range line. Their bluey-grey dirt didn't seem to match the red on the surface and Dave wondered how deep they had to go down for it to change colour.

Then the shanties had appeared — small tin sheds on the fringes — and Melinda's lips had formed the same thin line that she wore now as she'd crossed her arms.

They'd been only minutes inside town boundaries when Melinda had made mention of the rubbish lying on the road and, yes, he'd had to agree there was a lot. Beer bottles and cans, takeaway chip buckets and plastic containers.

She'd fallen silent as they'd approached the centre of Barrabine and seen a group of Aboriginal people sitting around a campfire, their swags near the fence of a house. The children ran around playing chasey, their feet bare, their smiles wild and delighted, while the adults stared at the passing cars with blank faces.

Following the directions Spencer had given him over the phone, Dave had made a series of turns through wide treeless roads and found their street, driving along slowly until they saw the number 12 on the gate.

Not sure whether to ignore Melinda's gasp at the sight of the house or to follow suit himself, he'd decided to grab her hand and give it a squeeze. The two of them had sat in the car, the air-conditioner blowing, and stared at their new home. It was nothing like they'd imagined.

The heat had stifled them both as they'd got out of the car, and the north wind had howled around the side of the house, slamming the car door shut from under Dave's hand.

'Geez.' He looked at Melinda; her mouth was still a thin, tight line. That was not a good sign.

Nope, the welcome hadn't gone according to plan.

The streets were dusty and everything looked tired and worn and in need of a good clean.

Dave had to admit Melinda had a point — not that she'd made one out loud, but he knew his wife well enough: she didn't like it here.

He supposed he could have asked for a posting to a coastal town. Somewhere there wasn't excitement. Or perhaps he could have asked for a position in Bunbury, where Melinda's parents and two sisters lived. That held less appeal to him than living in Barrabine did for Melinda. Not that he would have told her that.

To Dave, the posting to Barrabine was exactly what he'd wanted — it was a town on the edge, the wild west. There would be excitement, mystery and intrigue here. Everything a newly badged detective looked for. But the main reason for this posting was it would help him get to where he wanted to go: the stock squad, a squad which focused on agricultural areas, solving sheep theft and rural crime. For him, that would be the perfect job.

Melinda moved closer to him just as a voice called out from over the fence.

'Oi, missus!'

Dave saw Melinda freeze and groaned inwardly. It was a welcome of sorts, just not the kind he had envisaged. He put his arm around her and turned with a friendly grin.

'G'day, mate. How are you? Bit warm today.'

'Who you mob?' the curly-haired Aboriginal man wanted to know.

'Looks like we're your new neighbours ...' He broke off at the sound of a horn and turned in time to a police car pulling up at the kerb.

A short, fat man hauled himself out using the handrail. He had a large smile on his face.

'Dave, my man! You've made good time. Didn't think you'd be here for another half an hour. I was going to open the place up and give it a bit of an air before you got here. Get the air-con on.' He gave his hand a cursory wipe on his shorts and held it out. 'The heat's made itself felt today.'

'We had a smooth run,' Dave answered, taking Spencer's hand and shaking it hard. 'How're you going?'

'Excellent, excellent.' He turned to Melinda. 'You must be the new bride! Congratulations. Welcome to Barrabine.'

'This is Melinda.' Dave turned to introduce her.

She nodded before saying, 'Thanks.'

Dave wanted to cringe. One-word replies were an even worse sign than tight lips. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw she was swallowing hard. Maybe she was on the verge of tears.

'Come in, come in.' Spencer ushered Melinda towards the house.

'Oi, who you mob?' the Aboriginal man reminded them all he was still waiting for an answer. 'G'day, Mr Spencer.' 'G'day there, Ernie.' Spencer turned and said to Dave, 'Ernie will make a great neighbour. Always keeps an eye on what's going on, don't you, mate? Loves a chat,' he said by way of introduction. 'Ernie, Dave and Melinda Burrows. Our new detective and his missus.'

Dave felt Melinda recoil at the word 'missus'.

'G'day,' Ernie nodded to them both. 'Good neighbours, good neighbours.' He gave a grin, showing a perfectly white and straight set of teeth, and Dave couldn't help but smile back. His cheeriness was infectious.

'Go on with you now, Ernie,' Spencer waved him away. 'Let these good people settle in before you start having a yarn. All right?' He turned back to Dave.

'I don't mind having a yarn,' Dave began but was silenced with a look from Melinda.

Spencer slipped a key in the lock and madly shooed all the flies out of their hiding place in the shade, then threw open the door. 'Now I know this place looks a bit ratty from the outside,' he said, 'but it's nicely renovated inside. Come on in, Mel. You don't mind if I call you that, do you? Have a look at your new home!' He gave another wide smile and gestured as if he were a gameshow host.

'I'm Melinda, not Mel,' she said, walking in front of Spencer and into the house.

Spencer paused. 'Apologies. My mistake. Everyone seems to have nicknames around this place. Melinda it is.'

'Sorry,' Dave said softly to Spencer's back as he followed him inside. 'Long day, and I think it's all a bit of a ...'

'S'all right, mate.' Spencer stopped and gave him a wink. 'I've been here for a few years. Seen it all before. Barra can be a bit of a shock to anyone, let alone a new bride. Don't worry about it. Gawd, you should've seen Kathy when she first got here. Cried for days. They adjust after a while. Come on, in you go.' He patted Dave's shoulder and turned back to the dimness of the house.

Dave was pleased to see the house was certainly better from the inside. It had the smell of new carpet and paint, and even though the kitchen looked a little tired, it was clean.

Dave watched as Melinda ran her fingertips across the benchtop, then looked at them to see how much dust they had collected. She brushed her hands across her shorts and moved off down the dark passageway. He could feel her eyes everywhere, taking in her new home. What he couldn't see was her reaction.

Spencer continued to talk as if he hadn't noticed Melinda's aloofness or the fact she'd walked out of the room. 'I'm sure you'll feel much better once your furniture gets here, Melinda. Should only be about an hour away. I rang head office to check and they gave the driver a call on the radio. Having familiar things around you always makes a place feel like home. And I guess you've got some nice photos of the wedding to hang on your wall. Pictures always make a house seem homelier too. I know my wife has covered almost every spot. Photos of the kids when they were at school, holiday snaps, landscapes. You name it, it's up there.' He gave a bit of a chuckle. 'Bit of a mad photographer, so she is.'

Dave frowned as Melinda didn't answer. He hoped her rudeness wasn't as obvious to Spencer as it was to him.

Spencer slapped his knee. 'Oh, hell, I forgot. I've got bread, milk, coffee and butter in the car. I'd better grab the bag before the heat gets to them. And Kathy, that's my wife, she's coming over to see you tomorrow, Melinda. She's more than happy to help you unpack and show you around. Local knowledge is good to have when it comes to Barra: where to shop, when the fresh fruit and veg trucks come in, and all of that. Be back in a sec.'

The front door slammed, leaving Dave and Melinda alone.

Dave made his way to what he thought was the main bedroom and stood in the doorway watching as Melinda turned in circles looking at the room. He could see the outline of a dark brown stain on the ceiling, under the new paint, but the walls were a clean, vivid white. Briefly he wondered how long they would stay like that with all the dust around. He hadn't been here ten minutes and the red dust was already over his hands and shoes.

'What do you think?' he asked, then quickly wished he hadn't. Her thoughts probably weren't going to be good ones.

Melinda remained quiet.

'It's comfortable,' Dave said, hoping to get Melinda talking. 'And we don't have to pay rent. We're going to be able to save a heap of money here, honey.'

She nodded and swallowed hard. Realising she was indeed close to tears, Dave went to her and put his arms around her.

'It's okay.'

Melinda rested her head against his chest and muttered something.

'What's that?' He leaned down to hear what she was saying.

'I'm sorry,' she gulped. 'I'm being a cow.'

Dave smiled. 'Look, all of this is new and I know it's a long way from your mum and dad, but you'll settle in quickly. If Kathy is anything like Spencer, she'll be warm and friendly. In a couple of months you'll have new friends and a new job. We'll both have new friends and new jobs.' Dave's tone was earnest, as if he were reminding her he was new here too. 'Spencer said Kathy had a bit of a hard time settling in too — maybe you guys could chat about it.' He hoped those words would bring some kind of comfort.

'I know, I know,' she nodded and Dave felt hot tears on his chest.

'Look, I know Barrabine seems a little ...' He paused, not wanting to say rough or backward and give her more reasons not to like the place; finally, he settled on ' ... isolated. But we'll both get used to it.'

'What if I can't get a job?'

'I'm sure the hospital couldn't say no to a paediatric nurse as good as you.'

'They can if there aren't any vacancies.'

'We'll work it out, Melinda. I promise.'

* * *

'And this, Dave,' Spencer said in a loud voice, 'is Plenty Street. There's always plenty on offer here.'

Dave looked around at the buildings trying to work out what the plenty on offer was. They were plain and without signage.

'They're the brothels of Barrabine,' Spencer explained with a flourish. 'Now, what you need to know is brothels are an important part of Barrabine — single men make up the larger part of the population and there's a need for sex workers here. As a copper, you have to understand the history and why we leave them to their own devices. If they weren't here there'd be trouble, if you get my meaning.' He looked over at Dave and raised his eyebrows. 'There are only five left. Used to be ten. We have a great working relationship with the madams in Barra. They come to the police first if anything goes wrong. Us. The coppers. And we need that. Sometimes they can give us the heads-up if someone is odd or causing trouble, and vice versa.'

That certainly is different to the city, Dave thought.

They drove in silence for a while, Spencer taking quick turns here and there before saying, 'Down here is the jail.' Spencer listed the number of criminals incarcerated; it was more than Dave had expected. 'I had one bloke put away last week. I've been chasing him for years.'

'What'd you get him on?' Dave asked, his eyes running along the razor wire at the top of the fence as they drove slowly by. You'd have to hope no one ever got away because the jail was almost in suburbia. It seemed to go from houses to jail without any land or break in between.

'I'd known for ages he'd been illegally prospecting on mine leases — ones that didn't belong to him — but I'd never managed to get there quick enough to catch him in the act.

'We had a bit of rain last winter and the dirt gets real slippery out here — even after a small amount. Well, Clever Clogs managed to get himself bogged on someone else's lease, with ten ounces of gold in his pocket.' Spencer let out a laugh and his large belly jiggled, touching the steering wheel. 'Of course, he tried the oldest trick in the book: he'd found it elsewhere. Trouble was,' he turned to Dave gleefully, 'I got a search warrant for his GPS and, after a little more research, I managed to come up with a wit who had heard him bragging in the pub the night before, saying he was heading back out to the same spot as the GPS had shown he'd been because he'd clean up out there! He's gone inside for a couple of years. Pretty happy with that result.' Spencer gave a bit of a laugh. 'Now if he'd kept his mouth shut, I doubt I would have been able to get him put inside. I've found that people who've found gold can't help but brag.'

'That's a good thing for the gold squad, I guess. Anyway, well done. Always a great feeling when you get a result like that. Especially if you'd been chasing him for a bit.'

'Dead right, my man, dead right. Proving where gold has been stolen from can be a bit of a problem sometimes. It doesn't come out of the ground with an address or GPS coordinates.'

'Other than gold stealing, what other type of crime is most prevalent here?' Dave asked. Just then he saw a group of young boys with a shopping trolley running down the street. There were two inside the trolley, one pushing it and the others yelling encouragement.

'Look at those little buggers! Kids making their own fun. We don't interfere with that type of thing too much, although they should take the trolley back.' Spencer shrugged. 'We have a lot of break and enters, alcohol-related crimes and DV.' He paused. 'It's the domestic violence that gets me,' he said. 'I hate it when uniforms go out to a job, come back with the perp, lock him up and when we're ready to throw the book at him — or her — then the vic decides they don't want to press charges and the lowlife walks. Trouble is it happens again and again and again. You start to recognise the address when it's called out over the radio and know what's been going on.'

'I get what you mean. When I was in uniform, same thing used to happen. It's awful.'

They drove in silence for a little while and Dave contemplated what he was seeing. The main street had lots of shops, from clothes and sports gear to gift shops. He counted three cafés and made a mental note to ask a few different people which made the best coffee. There weren't very many people out on the street and he guessed the heat was keeping people indoors.

'Usually busier than this,' Spencer said, as if reading his mind. 'But school went back today and the mums will be breathing a sigh of relief at not having to be out in the heat, trying to entertain the kids. Town is always quiet the first week back to school.'

'It's fierce, isn't it? Different heat to Perth. Dry and ...' He tried to find a word to describe it. 'Like the air wants to crackle. And the flies! They weren't this bad when I lived out in the wheat belt.'

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Excerpted from "Fool's Gold"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Fleur McDonald.
Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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