TALLERING RISE

56485 words 127 pages

Page 3 4 7 10 13 17 21 25 29 32 34 37 40 44 48 50 54 56 58 62 66 69 72 74 76 80 83 86 88 90 93 97 100 104 106 110 115 118 121 124 126

PART ONE TALLERING RISE Chapter 01 – Flight in Terror Chapter 02 – Gold Prospectors Chapter 03 – Tallering Rises PART TWO Chapter 04 – Barney Meets Zep. (about 2004) Chapter 05 – Crayfish - Barney’s First Case Chapter 06 – Chasing Crayfish Chapter 07 – Interrogation Chapter 08 – Football Training Chapter 09 – Horse Flesh Chapter 10 – Tracking a Colt Chapter 11 – Harriers Runfest Chapter 12 – Touristing in Town Chapter 13 – The 440 Roadhouse Chapter 14 – The Evenings Activities PART THREE Chapter 15 – I’ve Struck Gold Chapter 16 – Rape Chapter 17 – Practice Match Chapter 18 – Chancey Narrier and Lennie Walsh Chapter 19 – First Body Chapter 20 – Kojarena Chapter 21 – Willcock Drive Chapter 22 – Opening Game Chapter 23 – Returned from Kojarena Chapter 24 – Defacto Demands PART FOUR Chapter 25 – Second Body Chapter 26 – Interviews Chapter 27 – House Sales Chapter 28 – Fingerprints Chapter 29 – Dinner Judgement Chapter 30 – Bar-room Brawl Chapter 31 – Yetna Farm Chapter 32 – Hospital Inquisition Chapter 33 – The Hunt Is On Chapter 34 – The Hunt Continues Chapter 35 – Closing In Chapter 36 – The Train PART FIVE Chapter 37 – Confessions Chapter 38 – More Confessions Chapter 39 – Gold Tantrums Chapter 40 – Tribal Conference Chapter 41 – House Warming

1860s 1860s 1860s Sunday afternoon, 28^th Feb Tuesday morning, 2^nd March Tuesday afternoon, 2^nd March Tuesday evening, 2^nd March Thursday evening, 4^th March Friday morning, 5^th March Saturday morning, 6^th March Saturday morning, 13^th March Sunday morning, 14^th March Sunday night, 14^th March Monday evening, 15^th March Monday evening, 22^nd March Tuesday morning, 23^rd March Sunday afternoon, 28^th March Tuesday afternoon, 30^th March Thursday morning, 8^th April Thursday afternoon, 8^th April Friday afternoon, 9^th April Sunday afternoon, 11^th April Monday afternoon, 12^th April Tuesday afternoon, 13^th April Thursday morning, 15^th April Thursday afternoon, 15^th April Friday morning, 16^th April Friday afternoon, 16^th April Friday evening, 16^th April Sunday afternoon, 18^th April Monday evening, 19^th April Tuesday morning, 20^th April Wednesday morning, 21^st April Thursday midday, 22^nd April Thursday afternoon, 22^nd April Thursday afternoon, 22^nd April Friday morning, 23^rd April Saturday morning 24^th April Saturday afternoon 24^th April Friday midday 7^th May Wednesday night, 16^th June

Index = 353 words

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Flight in Terror – 1860’s

Thaddeus Mahoney knew he was in deep trouble. They were closing in on him and there was nowhere to hide. Every one of the pack hunting him had excellent tracking skills.

He had one last hope. He removed his canvas backpack and left it in the middle of the dry creek bed, where he knew they would find it. It contained what they wanted. He just hoped they would stop there and not come any further after him.

He staggered on painfully as well as he could. The throbbing spear gash in his side was probably not going to let him go on much further. He was exhausted after travelling over twenty five miles today. This was the fourth day he had been travelling away from their gold discovery.

They had fatally speared his partner yesterday.

Chapter 2

Gold Prospectors – 1860’s

Thaddeus, or Tad as most people called him, was a gold seeker out of Killarney in County Kerry. Dinny, his partner, was Dennis Ahern from Tralee in County Kerry. They had met on the boat to Melbourne and decided that they were soul brothers to the last.

After spending four years at the Ballarat gold diggings with very little to show for it, they had come to Western Australia and gone ‘up-country’. With true Irish pessimism they were looking to discover some new gold find. Neither of them had realised just how inhospitable this country could be, even in the moderate winter season.

Their four horses, financed with their meagre profits from the Victorian diggings, had survived to get them deep into the hinterland from the town of Geraldton. Their track had taken them north for 100 miles from Geraldton and then followed the Murchison River inland for over 200 miles. The river had branched several times, so each time they picked the biggest river to follow. The further they went, they saw less and less water in the puddles or ponds along the riverbed that was quickly drying in the changing season. They would not be able to spend much time here before the water dried up altogether.

Their technique for seeking gold was to stop and pan for alluvial gold at every possible location, but for the first 190 miles upriver they had found no colour. Then they struck pay dirt. They were totally ecstatic and danced and whooped with the Irish jig in the small puddle of muddy water.

In an almost dry creek bed, they had panned the muddy hole and found the specks of gold that they were seeking. Further up a side-stream the specks became more frequent, and then they began to find small pebbles of gold. They were cock-a-hoop when they discovered a few dozen marble sized nuggets and a pair of golf-ball sized ones. They camped there for a week, filling a canvas knapsack with gold dust and small nuggets weighing over thirty pounds. That was quite a small fortune. It was very heavy but comfortable enough to carry on one of their backs for short distances if the need arose.

On the seventh day Thaddeus wandered into the nearby rocks and found himself in a small alcove. The surrounding rock faces were daubed with red and yellow paint, showing strange figures and shapes. There he saw, spread out as a display, three golf-ball sized nuggets. They were all strangely shaped and sat in a straight line on a flat-topped rock. The first looked vaguely like an upright kangaroo, the second like a racehorse goanna, and the third like a nesting bird. He put them in his pocket and turned to retrace his path.

Before him stood a young dark-skinned man, completely naked, except for a pouch slung across his shoulders. The strap was woven grasses and the pouch appeared to be an animal skin. The man began speaking in a language that meant nothing to him, but he pointed at Tad’s trouser’s pocket and at the empty rock platform behind him. He put out his open palm. There was no mistaking the gesture, but Tad raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders. He pushed past the Aboriginal man and strode back to the camp.

There he found Dinny tending to one of the horses. It lay on the ground, shaking uncontrollably, frothing at the mouth and sweating profusely. It had obviously been poisoned by one of the natural flora but neither man knew enough to do anything for the stricken beast. It was dying and in agony, so they used one of their two pistols to put it down.

That day they decided to return home. The three odd-shaped nuggets were scrutinised and then added to the knapsack. Their camp was packed and loaded between the three remaining horses, and they set off downriver for Geraldton.

After travelling just a few miles, a group of three Aboriginal men armed with spears appeared before them. The warrior in the middle was the one who had confronted Tad at the alcove. Speaking softly in his unknown language, he again pointed to Tad’s trouser pockets and held out his hand.

Tad shook his head, and both prospectors reached into a saddle bag and retrieved their percussion pistols. The three natives looked confused. Those shining objects taken by these white ghosts were their special sacred rocks. They would mean nothing to these strangers. Dinny sensed they had not seen a gun before, so to avoid further confrontation he fired his pistol into the air. The Aboriginal men ran from the magic stick that produced thunder, lightning and clouds all in an instant.

For two days they kept riding their horses, moving at a brisk pace, following the Murchison River westwards towards the coast. The continuous speed was taking its toll on the three animals, even when spelling one of them in rotation, but they were travelling faster than a normal man could trek on foot. Figuring they were safe from pursuit, they paused at midday on the second day, boiled a billy and opened a tin of beans.

As Dinny kicked dirt into the fire and Thaddeus reloaded the horses, they were suddenly confronted by a dozen Aboriginal men and all brandished their spears. They were all lithe, young and fit, almost naked and all showed the sweat of their long sprinting pursuit. Dinny moved quickly to his horse and both white men drew their pistols from the saddlebags.

“It looks loike we will haveta shoot this one out me boyo,” declared Dinny. “They’re not goin ter be outrun.”

“We’ve only got single shots,” insisted Thaddeus.

“Yeah, but they dinna know that,” replied his mate. “They loikly don’t even know what these guns can do.”

Dinny pointed his pistol at the leading native who had approached well into lethal spear range and was threatening to let loose his missile. He made sure that he would not miss and fired at the chest. The loud report, the puff of smoke and the belch of flame was the prelude to the scream of agony as the Aboriginal went down backwards, mortally wounded. He lay writhing on the ground as blood pumped through the hole in his chest. His fellow warriors backed away.

The two prospectors leapt to their horses, Tad grabbed the reins of the spare horse and they galloped away. The natives gathered around the dying warrior, but within half an hour it was all over. Angrily they resumed the chase.

With the midday spell the horses were fresh, so Tad and Dinny managed to put a good distance between them and the pursuers. By nightfall they were feeling quite safe so paused briefly and allowed the time for their tired animals to feed and water, but then rode on through the night, often walking to try to keep the horses fresh. At dawn they rested again and grabbed a little food for themselves, which also allowed the horses time to graze on the river-bank grasses.

Throughout the morning they kept the riverbed in sight, travelling first southwards for quite a distance, then west for a short time, followed by another long trek north. They did not fully realize that this was a serious error on their part until the group of Aboriginal warriors appeared on either side of their track. The natives had anticipated their route and short-cut across the loop in the river. Tad and Dinny desperately spurred their horses onwards.

Dinny was much closer to the group of hunters on one side and got the full treatment. He was fatally hit in the body by three accurately launched spears. His horse took a fourth missile deep into the chest and went down, spilling its rider in a head-over-heels dusty plunge. Both man and beast were done for.

Tad paused briefly but he quickly ascertained that little could be done for his dying mate so he kicked his mount into action, dragging the reins of the spare horse behind him. One spear at maximum range, pierced the rump of the pack animal, but it was not slowed down. The spear dropped away as Tad fled.

Chapter 3

Tallering Rises – 1860’s

For that afternoon he kept going at a serious pace, alternating between horses. The wounded animal seemed to be getting weaker. It hadn’t lost much blood, but the pain and stress were visibly starting to sap its reserves.

As he crossed a wide expanse of rock, he could see that he was leaving no visible trail, so he decided to leave the river and cut out southwards. He would even backtrack a little, hoping to lose any pursuers. But first he paused to water the horses and used the last of a jar of salve to dress the wounded horse to ease its pain and stop the flies from infecting the wound.

With one last apprehensive look behind, he moved out over the expansive flat rock towards the scrubby plains. The scattered bushes afforded some cover from any distant observation, and the clear space between made for easy travelling.

Throughout the night he walked the horses across the open plain, with an occasional brief spell in the saddle to rest himself. Around first light he came to another river, but the downstream direction of this one headed back towards the north-west so it was likely another branch of the river he had just left.

The wounded pack animal was exhausted. The injury and the hard riding had taken its toll. Thaddeus looked into its eyes and whispered words of thanks. He removed the saddle and camping packs, concealing everything behind a rock outcrop. He knew he could not shoot this faithful beast. He also knew that the sound of a gunshot would travel far over this open plain. With a loud yelp and a hefty smack on the rump, he sent it downstream, back north towards the main river. He just hoped that the visible trail of this horse would be enough to convince his pursuers to follow the false direction. Given enough time to feed and rest without stress, the horse should recover.

As the light morning mist began to clear, he moved upstream and cut out over another flat patch of solid rock, hopefully leaving no visible trail. Around midday, he had covered perhaps another thirty miles of scrubby plain when, on the horizon, he noticed a lone mountain peak rising in the south-west. It glowed like a beacon calling to him to travel in that direction.

He sensed that his remaining horse was becoming stressed and dehydrated, so it was necessary to walk with it quite often. At last he located another creek-bed heading southwards in the direction he needed to travel. It had to be headed seawards and towards Geraldton.

Anxiously he scanned his surroundings as he rested for thirty minutes to allow his horse to feed and water in a grass encircled puddle. He nervously worried how he was going to survive the hundred or more miles back to Geraldton. He just had to keep up the pace, even if his only horse was tired.

Following the water course downstream to the south-west, keeping on the plains above the very rocky and uneven riverbed, he could see that he was closing in on the pinnacle hill.

He stopped above a pool in the stream and slowly descended to the water. Both he and the horse drank deeply. He sat on a rock and mopped his brow and thought about opening a tin of beans and reached into his saddle bag. Suddenly the bank above was full of Aboriginal warriors. The man who had assumed the role of leader after Dinny had killed their chief was shouting and directing the others to close in and attack.

Tad drew his pistol from the saddle pouch. It was loaded but he knew it only had one shot. Perhaps he could bluff his way out. He raised the gun and pointed it towards the group of warriors.

“Who wants to be the first to die?” he screamed at the top of his voice.

The Aboriginal men had no idea of the meaning of his words but they had seen or heard about the power of that object that he was waving at them. Some of them shifted on their feet nervously. Others gripped their spears a little harder.

The new leading warrior had to demonstrate his newfound authority, so he shouted several words, took several paces towards the edge of the bank and threw his spear without using his woomera. It was a little hasty and missed Tad by a handspan. In response Tad turned his weapon on the warrior and fired his only shot.

The leader screamed and sank to the ground in pain as the bullet tore through his upper bicep. Through his pain he yelled at the rest of the tribe to attack.

They began to move forward threateningly.

Tad ran.

He desperately ran for the horse. Leaping astride, he galloped across the pool and was preparing to ride up a small branch in the river when it happened. One spear went into the horse’s neck, and it wavered once but then kept going. Then disaster struck again, as a spear thrown from a long distance thudded into his own side.

He rode on in absolute agony for several hundred yards, the movement of the horse causing the shaft of the spear to rise and fall, enlarging his wound, until it loosened and fell out. He continued up the river branch, but the horse soon faltered, staggered and began to go down. He painfully dismounted, holding a handkerchief to his side as he attempted to stem the flow of his own life’s blood.

He untied the knapsack of gold and tried to stumble away from the shuddering horse. He had covered only several hundred yards before he too began to weaken through the loss of blood. As a last resort he positioned the canvas pack on a prominent rock in the middle of the riverbed and lurched away to shelter behind distant boulders. His empty pistol was now useless with the powder and ammunition still in the horse’s saddle bags.

He watched as the Aboriginal warriors walked confidently up to the pack. One young man, likely the original keeper of the stones, picked up the knapsack and emptied its golden contents onto the riverbed. As he shook the pack, golden nuggets, golden pebbles and gold-dust were strewn all around. He carefully selected the three odd-shaped nuggets, wrapped each one separately in leaves and placed them into his shoulder pouch. He then pointed at the pinnacle, saying to his companions in his Tjupani language, “We are nearing Watjarri country and also nearing Badimaya territory. We must go before we offend either tribe.” He turned and walked away towards his wounded leader who was moaning on the top of the riverbank.

Several other warriors, with protective spears thrust out in front of themselves, tentatively approached Thaddeus. They separated and surrounded him as he lay on the rocky riverbed with rivers of blood seeping from his wounded side. Seeing that he was down and dying, the three warriors also turned and strode away.

PART TWO

Chapter 4

Barney Meets Zep

Sunday afternoon, 28^th February

Barney Merrick purposefully strode up to the crusty old station Senior Sergeant seated at his office desk. He stood there as the experienced police officer nodded to acknowledge his presence and continued his telephone conversation.

“Yes sir, I hear. Six or seven drunken youths pushing your patrons around and disturbing the peace. Detective Marcon should be there by now, coming to check out that stolen car that you reported abandoned in your car park. Have a word to him and he should be able to sort it out. He will phone this station for more help if it is needed. Okay? G’night sir.”

The Senior Sergeant hung up and looked at Barney, a young fit looking man, standing there in a dark suit and tie.

“Can I help you sir?” he enquired politely.

“Detective Barney Merrick reporting for duty, Sarge,” spoke the young man. “I am to report to Senior Detective Guiseppe Marcon.”

“Welcome aboard Barney,” smiled the sergeant, rising to shake the hand of the newcomer. “Senior Sergeant Gary Perkins and pleased to make your acquaintance. Zep is out, busy at the moment. He’s down at the Gero Hotel, and if you heard that conversation, he will be busy for a time yet.”

“If you don’t mind Sarge, I’ll go and meet him there. Which way do I go?” requested Barney.

“Straight down Marine Terrace for about a kilometre, turn left after the KFC, and it’s behind there,” were the succinct instructions, with a thumb that pointed out the necessary direction.

#

Barney was there in ten minutes. He carefully negotiated past a police tow truck as it was loading the stolen sedan onto its tray top. He parked and wandered into the wall-enclosed beer garden. He knew where to go, as the raucous noise of beer drinking customers heralded the location. As he walked through the hotel towards the garden, the whole place went eerily quiet.

Entering the open space, Barney could see a single well-built man surrounded by seven youths, all closing in on him. The rest of the hotel’s clientele were watching intently and silently. He had found Zep Marcon just after he had ordered the drunken louts to leave these premises. They were not happy to be ordered out and look like they were preparing to object to the policeman’s command.

Barney kept walking, pushed between a couple of the youths, and fronted up to the detective.

“Hey, watch it c…t,” growled one of the inebriated lads.

“Sorry,” uttered Barney offhandedly, without taking his eyes from Zep. “Mr Marcon. Detective Barney Merrick reporting for duty, sir.” His voice was calm but strong, loud enough for everyone in the beer garden to have heard.

“Hello Barney,” Zep replied calmly. “Welcome to Geraldton.”

“Do you need a hand, sir?” asked Barney.

Before he could answer, one of the louts, who felt insulted by being interrupted, rushed at Barney’s back and began to wrap his arms about his shoulders. Without apparent effort, Barney’s arms rose sideways, so the attacker’s arms slid up, and as they reached head high, Barney bent his neck under the arms. He then grabbed both outstretched arms and dragged them forward, rammed his hip backwards and threw the youth to the ground. He landed hard and was winded, both by the heavy hip and the heavy fall.

Two other louts rushed forward. Barney stepped towards one and kicked at his kneecap. The lad continued to stagger forwards, reaching outwards, seeking to gain his balance. Barney stepped back, grabbed an outstretched arm and swung him around his body into the other attacker. Both went down in a heap.

An outsider, coming from the nearby bar area, yelled, “My brother. You bastard, you kicked my brother,” and began running through the crowd at Barney. “You are going down for that. Pig.” As he passed a seated group of patrons, a foot appeared before him and he tripped, and landed splayed at the feet of Barney and Zep.

Zep rested his foot in the middle of his back and spoke quietly but firmly, “Stay down there.”

The remainder of the group could see half their number had been splayed onto the ground, immobilised by one police officer, so decided on discretion. They began to step away.

Barney walked calmly over to the lad with the kneecap injury and knelt beside him. “Are you okay? Sorry about that, but I pulled the kick as much as I could. You should only have a few ligaments damaged, so you probably should keep off it for at least a few days.”

He then called to a couple of the retreating youths, “Hey you two. Give your mate a hand to get out of here. Okay folks, shows over.”

As the youths collected themselves together and moved out of the beer garden, the crowd went back to their normal loud conversation mode.

Zep turned to Barney and eventually was able to reply to his earlier question, “Call me Zep,” and they shook hands. “And by the way,” grinned Zep. “No thanks. I didn’t need any help. I could have managed without having to kneecap anyone. But thanks anyway youngster.”

“Excuse me a minute, sir,” mentioned Barney.

“Zep.”

“Zep,” corrected Barney, as he wandered over to the table where the brother had stumbled.

“Thanks for the foot aid,” he grinned to the seated patron. “Barney Merrick,” as he held out his hand in introduction.

“I know,” was the reply as they shook. “We played footy together at uni four years ago.”

Barney stared for a long time, then exclaimed, “Bill Armstrong. I didn’t recognise you without all your long hair and beard. You look almost human now.”

“So, who you going to play for here in Geraldton?” was an immediate searching question from Bill. “I know you. You have to play footy. I’m with Railways, and we’d love to welcome you.”

“I’ll have to think it over. Thanks again Bill,” Barney replied as he walked off to return to Zep.

“Those were some slick moves,” commented Zep. “Where’d you learn them.”

“The shoulder slide-up is a footy move, to stop the opposition from smother tackling you and trying to hold the ball into you. Learnt that from experienced players, and I’ve used it quite often. The knee kick comes from Tae kwon do which I began to learn as a kid but didn’t go on with it. I have since watched many bouts of professionals and tried a few moves.”

“It looks like it’s all settled here,” Zep looked around the quiet beer garden. “We can get back to the station and get you sorted. Where are you staying?”

“I haven’t yet booked in anywhere,” admitted Barney. “I figured on a motel room for a few days until I can rent a unit.”

“Tonight, you can stay with us,” decided Zep. “Get the motel room tomorrow. It will give us a chance to get to know each other. I’m sure that Shirley and the kids would like to meet my new partner.”

“New partner!” Barney was surprised. “What about the other detectives here?”

“They are already working together as a team,” explained Zep. “You are replacing Ian Hanger who has moved on to further his career. You look like you can handle yourself, and I could do with someone who could do all the work.”

Chapter 5

Crayfish – Barneys First Case

Tuesday morning, 2^nd March

The truckload of crayfish left Kalbarri bound for Perth with a full load of 2000 live crays. They were packed into 40 containers, spraying recycled refrigerated seawater over them to keep them alive but docile. They were headed south for Perth and the airport to be freighted overseas for the very demanding live cray markets. Valued at around $80 each cray, this load was worth around $160,000, so every care was taken to guarantee they would reach their foreign markets in prime condition.

After passing through Geraldton, the truck began a section of 8 kilometres of road designated dangerous, with double white lines along the centre, and frequent signage saying, ‘Do Not Pass.’ As the truck went past a farm road, a farm harvester pulled out onto the highway behind it. All cars heading the same way southwards behind the harvester were reduced to the pace of the slow farm machinery on the main road and were unable to bypass it due to the ‘Do Not Pass.’ restrictions and heavy oncoming traffic.

Out of sight in the distance, the crayfish truck in front, now isolated from the traffic, soon encountered warning orange cones on the road and a sign saying ‘Workmen Ahead. Prepare to Stop’. Shortly ahead stood a helmeted and viz-vested road worker waving a ‘STOP’ sign and talking into a two-way radio covering his face. The driver obeyed the road sign and pulled up as the worker wandered up to him. Suddenly there was a pistol in his face.

“Get out of the truck,” a gruff voice ordered from behind the two-way radio. “And turn around.”

As he did so the road worker immediately climbed into the truck, turned it around and accelerated away. The crayfish driver never caught a glimpse of the face of the robber. A short while later the crayfish truck stopped as the farm harvester approached, which then halted immediately blocking its south bound lane. The harvester driver climbed out and joined the robber driver and together they raced away in the stolen truck, heading northwards back towards Geraldton.

With an increasing traffic blockage, it took some time before the confusion was negotiated. It took level heads to slowly bypass the blockage in both directions. The driver of the hijacked crayfish truck was located wandering alone and forlorn along the road. By then his truck containing the precious load had disappeared.

#

“Come on Barney,” Zep called across the detective’s office as he put the phone down. “We have your first case in Geraldton to solve. A truck has been hijacked on the main highway to Dongara. Grab your gear and get to my patrol car. A firearm was used so pack your pistol too. I’ll fill you in with all the details that we have been told on the way there.”

“How about I do the driving and chauffeur you around?” prompted Barney. “Then you can sit back and enjoy the ride just thinking police business instead of watching traffic.”

“Just you listen, Junior,” sternly growled Zep in jest. “I love driving, and that car is my dream chariot. I signed it out, so it’s my car, my steering wheel. Capiche?”

Barney raised a two-finger salute to his brow, grinned and lightly replied, “Sure boss. Happy to kowtow to the racing driver in you. But I also do need to keep up with my patrol car skills with occasional practice runs.”

“You seem to get a lot of practice cruising about in that big blue monster of a Toyota Sportivo of yours,” commented Zep. “Lucky you are in the force, or you could get done for hooning.”

“I am orienting myself to the town,” replied Barney. “And also looking around for a place to stay. Anyway, I don’t speed or run red lights. I love my job too much.” “Me too,” exclaimed Zep, and with that comment he switched on the unmarked patrol car’s police siren and lights and sped off down the main highway doing at least 20 kilometres per hour above the town’s speed limits towards the crayfish hijack.

#

Zep and Barney arrived on the scene just over half an hour later. A frustrating ten minutes of that time was trying to get around a long line of vehicles stopped on the highway by the incident. In time they all pulled onto the roadside verge to allow the flashing blue lights of the patrol car to have the right of way.

They joined another police car from Dongara that had arrived earlier from the opposite direction. The farmer who owned the harvester that had been stolen from his paddock was anxiously defending himself from frustrated road users as they crept past the blockage. With police permission, and using latex gloves provided by the police, he carefully handled the key left in the ignition to start the machine and move it several hundred metres to a wide road verge. Traffic began to flow again, slowly, as the curious onlookers driving past peered at the situation.

The Dongara forensic technician team arrived after carefully picking up the orange cones and the abandoned road sign. They diligently processed the harvester, but their immediate report was that the harvester thief was wearing gloves, and the key and the steering wheel were wiped clean. They would do a further analysis on the rest of the cabin later and dust the cones and the ‘stop’ sign for prints. They were not confident of finding anything useful as the robbers had certainly both been wearing protective gloves.

“The crayfish van can’t just disappear,” asserted Barney. “Neither we nor the Dongara Police passed it on the main road, so it had to go off onto a side road. What other small roads exist within the short length of this highway?”

“There are dozens of farm roads leading off to the east of the highway, and a few more fishermen’s sand tracks leading into the sandhills in the west, but they just go through to the beach,” reported the Dongara police. “Further out east are the Mount Horner Oil Fields with many more minor rural roads, with north-south inland highways further out.”

“So most locals would know how to negotiate a route through to anywhere in the east?” queried Barney.

“That’s about the gist of it,” confirmed the officer.

“Time to back-track,” announced Zep. “The harvester robber had to get to that paddock to steal that machine. Also, the road worker with the ‘stop’ sign had to be set up further on down there. They both must have been dropped off. There had to be a third person in a vehicle. They are likely to meet up. But where?”

Zep called over the crayfish driver, “Can you remember anything more about the hijacker? His height, build, or hair colour?”

“Not really. At first, an orange helmet covered his head and I believe that he deliberately covered his face with his radio. After he stuck a pistol in my direction, I was too nervous to notice anything else. Anyway, he did not stay around for long, so all I saw was his back as he climbed into my truck. Standard road worker’s viz vest, helmet and jeans, with gloves and work boots.”

“Thanks anyway,” acknowledged Zep.

“Oh, by the way,” went on the crayfish driver. “These trucks have a GPS locator built into them.”

“What?” shouted Zep and Barney simultaneously.

“It is there so that the depot in Perth knows exactly when to expect them, so that they can fast-track the unloading,” explained the driver.

“Tell us the name and number of the company,” urged Zep.

He did. Barney was on his mobile immediately. But he straight away got a “no signal” on the screen. Perplexed he showed Zep his screen. His partner reached into his pocket and passed his own phone to Barney, saying:

“You will have to sign out a police satellite mobile phone. If we are more than fifteen K’s out of most towns, normal phones have a dubious signal or none at all.”

Barney punched in the phone number of the crayfish haulage company and promptly asked for the company logistics office.

“This is Detective Merrick of Geraldton Police. You have a hijacked truck that is no longer en-route on the main highway towards you. The driver is safe and with us. Can you give us the co-ordinates of the truck right now? Here is the driver to confirm this story.”

A short time later they knew that the truck was stopped on the Water Supply Road just off the Mt Horner West Road, about six kilometres inland from the highway. Within 20 minutes the two police cars pulled up near the abandoned highly visible logo-emblazoned crayfish truck parked on the verge of this claypan road. The Geraldton detectives parked 100 metres to the North, and the Dongara crew parked 100 metres to the South of the crayfish truck. They all approached the parked vehicle, scanning the roadside as they went.

“By the tyre tracks it is apparent that this truck backed up to another truck. They used a loading lift to bridge the gap between the two trucks,” established Barney as he examined the faint tyre track in the dust on the verge. “There are no visible footprints around the trucks tracks so they both must have got out on the side of the hard road. Then they shifted the load across. It may have been a chilled truck something like a milk transport.”

“Or it could have been a freezer truck like an ice cream carrier,’ added Zep. “It would have been a heavy lift to move all those trays, but we are pretty certain there were at least three guys.”

“And I’ll bet there will be no fingerprints, and probably because of the cold inside the trucks, there will be no sweat droplets,” speculated Barney. “With luck forensics may find stray hairs.”

“I’ll organise road checks on all major and minor roads heading South,” conceded Zep. “For all types of larger trucks.”

#

As Zep drove them back to Geraldton around 1:30 p.m., Barney went into some sort of a trance, just thinking about the hijack. Passing the road to the Greenough river-mouth, something connected, and his mind started racing. Minutes later he shouted, “I’ve got it.”

Zep was tempted to say something banal like “You can probably get injections for it,” but he refrained to allow Barney to come forward with his thoughts.

“The thing is that Perth is so far away, so any truck on the road will be visible for over 3 hours. It would be too risky to travel during either day or night. And the Perth crayfish market is fully sewn up. A couple of big companies control the distribution, so all restaurants and supermarkets are fully provided with all they require. Nobody could get rid of an additional 2000 crays in the Metropolitan area or anywhere around the South of the State without being noticed. The North-West is too limited a market and has its own abundant species of painted crays. If they were to head due East to the Central Highway and then towards the Nullabor and on into the Eastern States, the frequent checks by Border Security for illegal drugs and banned fruit would also make it too risky to even try.

My mother said that as a child in Cottesloe, there were several professional cray fishermen who lived around the suburb and people could buy the occasional kakkas from them, under the counter, so to speak.”

“Kakkas?” queried Zep.

“Yes,” continued Barney. “Crayfish that were under the legal sized limit were called kakkas. But then the Fisheries Department stepped in to protect the industry and made laws about on-the-spot searches and big fines and set up fisheries inspectors with rights to search anyone, anywhere. It was no longer profitable to catch or sell kakkas, because a cray fisherman would have his boat confiscated and his license cancelled if caught. Retailers would cop heavy fines for selling them. So those laws will now make it very uneconomical to risk buying or selling 2000 stolen crays under the counter, even in small lots.

So I expect it will be sold into a ship at port with the freezer space to take them overseas. But not in Fremantle because of the problem of encountering road-blocks along that road distance. So where to go. There is really only one port with ships big enough,” he paused.

“Geraldton,” announced Zep and Barney simultaneously.

“Head for the Geraldton Port Authority,” directed Barney.

“Yessir, Boss junior,” obeyed Zep with the two fingered salute to his forehead. “Your wish is my command.”

Chapter 6

Chasing Crayfish

Tuesday afternoon, 2^nd March

They reached the Geraldton Port Authority Building around 2:30 p.m. in the afternoon. In response to their explanation and questioning, the senior Port Supervisor gave them the shipping details.

“There are four ships berthed in Geraldton at this time. You can rule out the iron ore carrier and the wheat carrier immediately. They will be too big and too slow and going to the wrong ports around the World for the profitable resale of crayfish. They probably don’t have the free freezer space capable of holding them anyway. They have small crews and small freezers which would be packed with the ships crew’s usual dietary requirements for the journeys.

There is a giant passenger cruise ship letting passengers off for a day’s excursion around this rural city. They could be tempted to take on a cargo of exquisite local luxury food for their guests. They will need to be checked out. Then there is also that meat freezer ship bound for Asia. That would be an ideal transport direct to a very willing market. That ship should become your first priority.”

“I assume you have CCTV on the wharves?” Barney queried the Port Authority Supervisor.

“Yeah. We have cameras everywhere throughout the port nowadays,” was the cheerful reply. “With drugs, contraband and people smugglers trying to land goods or illegals into the country all the time, we have to keep a careful watch on all sizes of boats.”

“Has there been any deliveries from trucks to the freezer ship or the cruise liner during this morning?” asked Zep.

“We can check out the footage for the cameras for late this morning until the present time,” agreed the supervisor. “I’ll get the staff onto it immediately. We should know within ten to fifteen minutes.”

#

“There were three trucks to visit the freezer ship and five visited the cruise liner since about 11:00 a.m.,” explained the supervisor. “Two of the trucks to visit the freezer ship had visible markings to show that they were deliveries from the local shopping-centres, but the third was an unmarked truck with a refrigerator generator above the driver’s cabin. That same truck had earlier visited the cruise liner.”

“Bingo,” affirmed Barney.

“However, the truck stayed for about 50 minutes at the cruise liner but only spent fifteen minutes at the freezer ship,” detailed the supervisor. “Do you guys wish to see the footage?”

“No need. We have the idea of what is going on. So, we will talk to the cruise liner first,” declared Zep.

To avoid creating a panic through being observed by a possible gang member watching the ships, they left Zep’s powerful unmarked police cruiser at the Port Authority office. The supervisor drove them to the cruise ship in his aging unmarked wharf security car. As the three of them walked up the passenger’s gangplank into the reception opening, they flashed their credentials to the security personnel and requested to see the Purser immediately. He arrived shortly, out of breath and trying to look calm when faced with both the local law and port security. They forcefully explained their mission.

“We believe that you have been dealing with thieves who have been selling stolen crayfish,” bluntly began Zep.

“We observed their truck unloading at around 1:30 p.m. earlier this afternoon,” added Barney, assuming the 50 minutes spent at the passenger cruiser was the time needed to unload any crayfish that were purchased.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” stammered the Purser.

“Then please bring your chief catering officer here,” insisted Barney. “He is the one most likely to have done the arrangements.”

The caterer also appeared nervous when confronted by the two Geraldton detectives and the uniformed Port Supervisor. He became even more agitated when they began asking questions about the crayfish delivery. “Did you buy crayfish from that truck?” demanded Zep.

“Um. Er. I guess so,” mumbled the caterer.

“You guess so?” snarled Barney. “Did you, or didn’t you?” Barney leaned into his face, bad cop style.

Zep edged him aside to complete the good cop interrogation. “Please go on,” he urged calmly and pleasantly.

With nervous glances between Barney and Zep he began quietly. “He claimed he was a legitimate dealer and that they had an excess of the local produce, too many to ship to the Perth markets.” The caterer breathed a little easier. “The price for these live crays was only a quarter of the normal cost for this region, so I said I would take 400. I knew we could give the guests a really special dinner occasion with those local delicacies for the next evening meal after we sailed. We would achieve some great admiration from the passengers. It would create a resulting advertising advantage ahead of the other three cruise liner companies operating out of Fremantle and through Geraldton.” Turning to the Purser, the head caterer explained, “I used a little of the budget that I have for local purchase.”

“That may be so,” chimed in Zep. “But they are stolen property and will need to be returned.”

“Wait,” Barney sang out. “We need to find out about the rest of the stolen cargo. The freezer ship may also be buying them but has delayed for some reason and could now be getting ready to load them. If we are too visible the thieves may not turn up. I suggest we wander over incognito in case the ship is being watched and ask a few questions.”

“This ship sails in an hour,” interrupted the Purser.

“Then we had better be quick,” finished Zep. He rang his office and organised them to send a freezer truck, highly visibly marked as an ice-cream truck, to the cruise liner to quietly offload the stolen crays. Then they would be immediately transhipped to a local Geraldton depot of the original crayfish company for their later onward transport to Perth.

#

The two detectives took off their coats, pulled out their coloured shirts and donned borrowed navvy caps. Leaving the Port Supervisor and the Purser to organise the transfer of the stolen crays, they sauntered casually along to the freezer ship, boarded and asked for the Captain. The ship was Middle Eastern and the Captain spoke English with an deep accent. He was a little curious about these two strangers until they presented their credentials.

“We believe that you are negotiating with thieves who are selling stolen live crayfish,” Zep began with his opening line which had worked in the cruise ship. “Their truck was seen to visit you this afternoon.”

“Zat is ridiculous,” responded the Captain. “Ve are only buying frozen crawfish from a good company.”

“Where are they now?” questioned Barney, noting that the Captain had used the Americanism for the crayfish.

“Dey are at der varehouse preparing the crawfish for later delivery. Ve expect dem in a short while.”

“Sir. I can totally assure you that they are stolen property.” Zep spoke sternly.

“You have broken the Australian Law if you have purchased this cargo. You can be jailed for receiving stolen goods. On the other hand, if you help us to catch these thieves, we will go easy on you and not prosecute you.”

There was a long pause in the proceedings as the detectives watched the captain consider his plight. In the end he nodded.

“I vill help,” agreed the captain. “I must add dat we heard dey were actually live crawfish, but ve have no facilities to keep dem alive. So the men promised to deliver dem as a frozen cargo. I beliffe dey had arranged to freeze dem in dry ice before delivery tonight.”

“We will arrange for a couple of unmarked patrol cars to wait nearby,” planned Zep. “We will close in as soon as they begin to deliver them.”

“In the meantime, we have to collect the other shipment,” added Barney. The two detectives sauntered off like wharfies back to the liner to help unload the live crayfish into the ice cream truck. The cruise ship was just 30 minutes late when it sailed.

As the cruise ship was towed from its wharf by the two Geraldton tugs, there were two amateur fishermen sitting on the wharf. They were decked out with fishing rods, bait and old greasy plastic buckets provided by the Purser of the cruise ship. Barney and Zep waved their donated rods about like real fishermen while sitting on bollards a few dozen metres apart. Zep decided it was time to move the car closer, so he informed Barney over his phone, which was also transmitted to the two other unmarked patrol cars hidden among the nearby sheds. He returned immediately and smuggled Barney his gun inside an old jacket. They kept fishing.

“This Geraldton lifestyle aint bad at all,” Barney commented as he flicked his rod to send the line arching into the water. “Here am I on a beautiful Autumn afternoon, sitting watching the sunset, and being well paid while I am fishing.”

“If you concentrated more on fishing rather than daydreaming, you might be able to catch us something for supper tonight,” Zep replied as he jerked his own rod in response to a nibble. They kept fishing.

Just on dark the unmarked truck arrived. It backed up to the open loading bay at wharf level. Barney picked up his empty bucket and held his fishing rod in a highly visible front pose and wandered curiously along the wharf towards the freezer ship.

Zep yelled at him, “Hey Junior. You can’t catch fish unless your hook is in the water. They don’t jump that high.”

“I just need to stretch, Dad,” Barney yelled back. “I may have more luck along a bit further.”

“Oh alright,” followed Zep, as he too picked up his gear.

Barney walked around past the truck and wandered on a few paces. Zep gave a command into his phone, “Go. Go. Go.”

Two unmarked police cruisers with lights and sirens appeared from behind the wharf buildings closed in on the truck. Two of the thieves were halfway across the level gangway and were caught with hands full of cray crates as the captain appeared with three burly seamen at the end of the ramp. The third man, standing at the rear of the truck, reached for his gun, until both Zep and Barney yelled at him from both sides.

“Armed Police. Drop the weapon.”

He did.

Suddenly there was a crash on the gangway. One of the men had dropped the crate of crayfish that he was carrying and frozen crays spilled everywhere, some falling into the water some metres below as everyone watched. While the distraction lasted the man dived straight down to the ocean between the ship and the wharf and began swimming alongside through the gap towards the front of the ship. Barney glanced down, and decided that it might be a little too dangerous to follow into the water to try to apprehend the escapee.

He nodded to Zep for him to keep the other two robbers under control and yelled to the captain to throw him a coil of rope. As he ran along the wharf to keep beside the swimmer, a crewman followed the captain’s orders and hurled a coil of rope from the ship to land at Barneys feet. He picked it up and raced to the bow of the ship and uncoiled it, ready.

The swimmer drew level and looked up. Barney yelled and pointed. “Shark, shark, shark, a big white pointer, look out.” The man looked around in fear, and could see nothing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t below him and closing in. Barney threw him the end of the rope and braced himself against the edge of the wharf, hoping the man was strong and fit enough to lift his own weight. Within a minute or two the escaped robber was standing beside him, shivering and staring down into the water. A police car pulled up beside them and took the man into custody.

“I don’t see any shh…,” began the robber and then glared at Barney as he was led away.

Chapter 7

Interrogation

Tuesday evening, 2^nd March

Oscar, Elliot and Josh, the three thieves, were taken into custody and transported to the Geraldton Police Lockup. The crayfish company was called in to collect the remainder of the 1600 crays, except for 30 frozen crayfish, remnants of the fifty in the dropped crate, which were donated to the captain and the crew of the freezer ship.

Zep decided to interview each of the hijackers separately. Since none of the charged men claimed to know any lawyers, they agreed that a local solicitor would be summoned to represent them all. Oscar, the hijacker was the first one to be brought into the interview room to face Barney and Zep. Wearing a set of prison scrubbs because his clothes were all soaked from his attempted escape in the harbour, he sat beside his lawyer, squirming uncomfortably as he faced the camera and the two detectives in the brightly lit room.

“Armed robbery with a deadly weapon,” brashly stated Barney. “That’s a life sentence, Oscar.”

“It wasn’t a real gun, only a toy,” screamed Oscar. “Josh had the only real weapon. It was for security he said.”

Zep calmly interrupted, “Give us the full details and we may be able to convince the judge to be lenient on you. Or if your mates speak up first, they may get that concession instead of you.”

Oscar explained that his part in the action was to get the imitation gun and arrange to steal the ‘STOP’ sign and half a dozen orange traffic cones from road construction gangs during their long meal break. He was following orders from Josh. During the heist he was dropped off along the road with instructions from him to “take down the truck driver, but don’t get seen and don’t leave prints.” To co-ordinate the actual crayfish truck take-down, they kept in touch using two-way radios and had prearranged the meeting place afterwards to offload the cargo. It was chosen as a place off the main highway but close enough to be quickly accessible, and with back-road escape routes.

“I was just following orders,” he concluded.

“If you sign a statement admitting the crime and include your fellow robbers, I will only charge you with robbery, not armed robbery, which is a much-reduced sentence,” concluded Zep.

The next man to join them in the room was Elliot, the harvester driver.

Again, Barney began aggressively, “Stealing farm machinery. That’s 5 years and then being involved in an armed robbery that’s up to another 15 years in prison.”

Before Zep could begin his spiel, Barney continued loudly and strongly, “Tell us everything or you may be the number one convicted here.”

Zep frowned at Barney, and then interrupted his partner’s venomous tirade with a hand waved in front of himself, and spoke quietly. “Elliot. If you give us full details, we could speak up for you in court so that you could get a lesser sentence.”

After a few more calming sentences from Zep, Elliot gave his version. He had been tasked a week earlier to locate a piece of farm machinery, anything that was big and slow, that was to be found somewhere along that particular stretch of road. By luck he found one that had a key in it so made a plastic impression of the key and had a duplicate cut. He then knew that he would not need to hot-wire the machine later when it was needed. The farmer had stored it in an open shed away from the house and not far from the road, so he just took it at the appropriate time.

Josh had deposited him at the open farm gate on his way to drop off Oscar with the road signs. The farmer may have seen him from a distance but by then he was well on his way.

Zep concluded the interview with, “In order for us to really help you, you will need to sign a statement admitting the crime and include your fellow robbers. With you evidence, your charge could be reduced to being involved in the robbery, not armed robbery.”

Barney added, “I don’t know which way the magistrate will go with your creative use of the stolen farm machinery. That was clever but quite illegal.”

Before the third hijacker Josh arrived, Barney asked Zep if he could conduct the main part of the interview. Zep nodded, so Barney began reading from his laptop as Zep began the interview.

“Involved in an armed robbery, that’s at least 15 years, then drawing a gun on police officers, an unlicenced gun I might add, that’s another five years in jail.”

“Wait a minute. I just drove the pick-up truck,” exclaimed Josh. “I didn’t do any armed hold-up.”

“That’s not what your two mates have told us.” Boldly announced Zep. “They have dobbed you in as the total organiser of the whole operation.”

“Just a second, Zep,” interrupted Barney. And turning to Josh, talked quietly. “Josh, I hear that you were quite a talented footballer, played several seasons for the Brigades Football Club, and you were a well-respected club man.”

Josh said nothing.

“You have a Police Record that says you were a bit of a wild thing, but nothing serious. A few celebrations after football games that went too far.”

Josh said nothing.

“So why did you organise this hijack?” asked Barney.

Josh said nothing.

“I know football. I have played my share of A Grade Amateur games in Perth and know the commitment required to be at the top of your game. I am thinking of joining Railways here in Geraldton. These old newspaper articles say you were so good. So why have you reached rock bottom to be now looking at a long prison term? Tell me why.”

Josh lowered his head and sighed. “I got injured playing footy. I damaged the cruciate ligament in my left knee, and in my permanent job at the crayfish factory I was unable to move the heavy crates around. Because it was not a work injury, I was not entitled to workers compensation so was suspended without pay until I was able to work again. After six weeks I was flat broke, owed rent and my credit card was maxed out. I had nothing.”

Barney nodded in sympathy and enquired, “So then what?”

“Working in the cray industry, I knew the organisation structures, so I figured out how to make a few hundred thousand to get me back on the level. I hired a freezer truck from Perth and waited until there were appropriate ships in Geraldton that could take the crays. Then I convinced Oscar and Elliot to do their part for a share in the profits. I dropped off the other two and then stationed myself in my truck to watch for the crayfish truck to go past. I then radioed them to go, go, go. I thought the cruise liner would take the lot, but the Asian freezer ship was a back-up, although at a much-reduced price. It all worked out well until you two interfered.”

Barney interrogated him on a few more details of the planning and carrying out of the crime and concluded. “We will see what we can do for you three in court, but you will all serve some time for such a reckless act.”

The next morning, the daily conference in the office was attended by the other detectives Jamie Hancock and Rod Morley, Senior Sergeant Gary Perkins and a group of constables. Zep summarised the crime and capture results for his officers including Barneys skilful use of fishing rope to haul in a swimming escapee, and then he concluded with,

“There would have been a problem with the 400 live crays that had been roughly trans-shipped four times in twelve hours. They would no longer be chilled and calmly half asleep, but they would be actively seeking food and water. The 1600 other crays were no longer live crays, but frozen using dry ice. The crayfish company’s Geraldton depot decided it would be necessary to freeze all the shipment before transporting them to Perth. They will become part of their normal retailing distribution across the supermarkets of metropolitan Perth and country centres. The Geraldton depot allocated another freshly caught 2000 live crays into the truck bound for Perth Airport and overseas markets. The driver will leave Geraldton one day later than planned with his truck bound for Perth with a full load of live crays.”

Barney added, “And the three hijackers will go before the magistrate sometime this afternoon, with us as arresting officers and prosecution witnesses. They should be held over for trial. In the meantime, we will suss out their lairs to document their full operation. Their truck was a rental freezer from a refrigeration firm in Perth. They had rented a large cooler shed in Wooree that was previously used for long cold storage of fruit and vegetables.”

“Well junior,” praised Zep. “You did bloody well to analyse that heist. It was your first successful Geraldton detective case.”

The others agreed “Here. Here,” and someone added, “Bloody bewdy Barney”

Chapter 8

Football Training

Thursday evening, 4^th March

They were all in pain, and yet he applied more pressure. The muscles were being stretched to the limit, but he still pushed them harder.

“Stop whining. I’ve only just started on you. It’s gunna get a lot worse before I’m through with you all,” his raspy voice was digging deeply into the psyche of the tortured men.

Yet still they resisted the temptation to give in.

“You think this is tough,” he snarled. “Wait until we get into real training.”

Forty men groaned almost inaudibly as they completed their third set of body presses for the evening.

“Right,” he snapped. “Teams of four, ten sets of sprints, 100 metres in relays.”

It was a hot, late summer’s evening, with still plenty of heat in the day, so all were sweating profusely. Barney leaned on the boundary fence and watched the spectacle, feigning disinterest. The man at his side glanced his way, and then returned his gaze to the squad of sprinting footballers going through the pre-season toughening-up program. The fitness trainer had charge of the session tonight while the coach watched and assessed the potential of all the players.

This senior football coach was standing beside Barney. He nodded at the collection of determined men and announced, “We have a good team. Bill Armstrong says you’d fit in well. Care to join us?”

Barney had already made up his mind, but he had to reveal to coach Brad Cocker that he was always on call. He explained that as a detective he could be phoned at all hours, and he would be expected to leave immediately, even in the middle of a football game. It might never happen, but it could.

“The first pre-season scratch match is in two and a half weeks,” concluded the coach. “Training is always Tuesdays and Thursdays with pre-season on Sundays and if you’re fit enough, you’ll be considered just like everyone else. If you cop a call-out, so be it. We will have to live with it, Barney. Welcome to the Railways Football Club.”

#

For the next couple of weeks during training, Barney’s mettle was tested by the coach Cocker as well as many of the young bloods. They hoped to squeeze him out of contention before he could compete for their position within the league team. Grudgingly they accepted that he was going to be a little too tough to quickly push him away, so most began to work beside him.

However, a small group of three experienced players displayed outward resentment of Barney. He began to realize it was not his football prowess they objected to, but his position as an officer of the law. He overheard comments within the group, hearing ‘pig’, ‘fuzz’ and ‘filth’ being quietly bandied about. During some contact tackling and shepherding practice, he noticed that occasionally there would be a late tackle, a sly thump or an accidental elbow or knee thrown his way. He adjusted his game to make sure he never left himself fully open when these three were around him.

After practice one evening in the bar, Barney was enjoying a quiet mid-strength beer with Bill Armstrong and few others. Gerry Davies, one of the three antagonistic players, sauntered into the group and called him aside.

He talked in a quiet syrupy voice. “We Railways players need to stick together, and I know that you are a copper. I need your help”.

Davies dark green eyes stared into Barney’s face. “Last night I got pulled over and my saliva tested positive for THG. It’s my second time so it will cost me $1000, and my driver’s license will be suspended for six months,” he blurted out, showing little shame, and then his voice changed back to a drawl. “As a team-mate I would expect you to try to do something for me. How about it?” he paused a few seconds and then added emphatically, “Mate.”

Barney looked at him intently. Then turned away to re-join his drinking group, but Davies tightly gripped his arm to hold him back and earnestly hissed. “Surely you will help out a clubmate.”

Lifting the restraining hand from his arm, Barney turned to face him, saying quietly and judiciously, “Once caught and cautioned, that should have been enough of a warning for you. Being caught twice suggests that you are a danger to yourself and to others. As a league football player, you need to be on top of your game.”

He raised a hand and gently tapped his finger into the middle of Davies’ chest. “Your health is important to us, and you should expect to be a role model for all the up-and-coming young footballers. I will definitely not help you avoid the upcoming prosecution. Indeed, I’ll be watching you around the club to confirm that you are behaving appropriately around all the young players. I’m quite prepared to personally bust you for the third time. . . Mate.” Barney left him standing there.

#

As the start of football season drew closer Barney kept an eye on Davies. He was a nasty piece of work. Just for show, to keep in Davies’ good books, his two colleagues continued to harass Barney, but they were generally disinterested when their lead protagonist wasn’t around.

Davies relentlessly bullied all the young players, and he had the physique to do it, being of medium height, but built like the proverbial brick dunny. He was quite skilled, but he noticeably avoided the fury of the scrum. He expected the ball to be served up to him, making him the focus of attention. Any youngster who missed a chance would later feel and regret his physical presence.

A quiet opportunity presented itself as Barney found Davies alone in the change rooms. “It’s about time you left those kids alone,” he frowned sternly. “I‘ve seen how you operate, intimidating those guys. If you want their respect, earn their respect. Do your own hard yakka.”

“What’s it to you, pig,” snarled Davies.

“My job is to protect the innocent from mistreatment, in all walks of life, and this includes on the football field. You are not innocent. Unless I see a rapid change in your bullying of the youngsters, I will take action. Police action.” He turned and walked away.

Gerry Davies appeared to take note of Barney’s warning. For just a couple of days during training he tried to adapt, but found he was losing touch with the control of the ball. He was left out of the general run of play. Within a short time, he returned to vigorously harass the young footballers, to regain his own successes.

Some days later, Zep picked Barney up from training just after sundown. As they left the parking area, Barney noticed Gerry Davies and his two cohorts leave the bar and go to Davies’ car. He saw that Davies was the driver, so gave instructions to Zep to wait a while, and observe the direction which they took. The unmarked patrol car followed up some distance behind.

Barney reached for the radio and called for the nearest marked police cruiser, and gave them the location, direction and instructions. Minutes later they watched from a discrete distance as Davies was pulled over, so they turned away and left.

They heard next day that Davies had blown just under the legal limit for alcohol and only traces of drugs, but he had been unable to produce a current driver’s licence. “Surprise, surprise,” commented Barney, knowing that his licence had been just suspended for the second offence, and he was still driving.

During training a few days later, as he rested between exercises with Davies, he commented wryly, “I see you were picked up again last week. My lads have been asked to look out for the bloke who terrorises young footballers. I guess they found out about you.”

“So. You did that,” Davies hissed, and swung a fist.

Barney stepped back, and it whistled past his face. “You didn’t listen,” he glared into Davies’ eyes.

Davies prepared to swing again, so Barney stepped a few paces back, saying, “I gave you full warning, but you chose to ignore me. Before you act rashly again and throw another punch, I would suggest you think about consequences of any further actions. I am not one of those young inexperienced lads.”

Davies was not known for his intellect, but he usually had more self-control. But this time his anger had got the better of him. He let himself go and came in swinging, throwing a left, intending to follow with a right. It was fully telegraphed, so Barney blocked the left and grabbed his right fist as it swung by, out of rhythm. He twisted it, swung it backwards and turned his assailant around, so that his arm was pinned to his back, with his stomach wedged onto the boundary fence. Gerry Davies grunted in pain but was powerless to move.

“You still don’t listen,” Barney rasped into his ear. “Stop struggling and it won’t hurt.”

“What’s the problem guys?” The forceful voice of coach Brad Cocker blasted from the field. Barney slowly released the pinned arm of Davies, not sure that the presence of the senior coach would cause him to restrain himself. Davies straightened but did not visibly relax. He turned from the fence to face Barney and glared venomously into his eyes.

“I can’t have you two squabbling in my team. It doesn’t look good for the cohesion of the squad.” The coach spoke calmly as he walked up to the quarrelling pair. “We all must work together to achieve our goals.”

“Sure coach,” agreed Barney.

“Mmm,” mumbled Gerry Davies.

“So listen carefully you two. Merrick, you have just joined this team, and Davies is a well-recognised member of Railways Football Club, so if you can’t sort out your differences, then Merrick you will have to go.”

Barney was taken aback and merely nodded. Davies smirked and chuckled “Okay by me coach.”

Chapter 9

Horse Flesh

Tuesday evening, 2^nd March

It was such a beautiful colt. For several weeks in the late evenings, he had been visiting the enclosure and offering him horse treats of apples, carrots and watermelon slices. He decided that he must have him.

Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, he returned with bolt cutters to remove the padlock on the gate and gave his visiting whistle. The three-year-old colt obediently trotted up waiting for his treats. After a couple of half-apples, he slipped the halter over the horse’s head and led him through the open gate. He was thankful that the owner had made the colt accustomed to being led about.

#

Friday morning, 5^th March

“How are you settling into your apartment,” Zep asked Barney during a quiet time in the station office.

“It’s okay, I guess. In a quiet neighbourhood, with easy access to the local stores and amenities. Not far from work and the footy ground. But it’s a little bit too quiet at times,” pondered Barney.

“Perhaps you need …” began Zep, just as the office phone rang. “Zep,” he answered and listened for a moment. Then “Okay, we’re on our way.”

As Zep drove out towards the incident he informed Barney, “A thoroughbred colt worth thousands has been stolen out at Woorree. The thief or thieves cut open a gate and walked away with it.”

They pulled up on the gravel road at the rear entrance to the five-acre farm, near the open gate where the farmer was waiting. After the introductions, the farmer led them to the tracks in the sand beside the open gate with the cut padlock and chain on the ground.

“As you can see,” he indicated. “There are the horse tracks being led away by the thief wearing those shoes. But there are many footprints with those same shoes, so he has been outside this gate many times. I’ve never seen him.”

The farmer continued, “I followed the visible horse tracks along the gravel road for about five hundred metres until it reached the main bitumen road. There they disappeared except for a few wheel tracks on the side of the gravel road, and a line across the rear of them where a horse float ramp would have been lowered. That thief was well prepared to steal my very valuable three-year-old thoroughbred colt.”

Zep thought for a while and then began, “We will get forensics out to do a full examination on the gate, the lock and chain, the shoeprints and then the wheel tracks on the verge up near the bitumen. If the thief visited several times beforehand, he may not have had the forethought to avoid earlier fingerprints on the gate or got careless when he removed the lock and chain. The wheel ruts may have characteristics that could be later used to match his horse float if we can find it. We will put out an ‘All Points Bulletin’ to have all horse floats checked that are heading away from Geraldton. What identifying physical description do you have and what is the microchip information of your colt?”

Zep sent messages to forensics to scrutinise the gate and surrounds and then with the information provided by the farmer, he informed the Geraldton Police Station to issue the horse search in any mobile horse floats by the patrol cars, locally and in surrounding towns. The two detectives returned to the station to consider other options.

“There are several possibilities,” began Barney. “The colt could be shipped overseas for resale where the microchip will not be a major factor, so we must put the word out immediately to security at the airports and harbours.”

Zep grabbed his desk phone, “I’ll do Airport Security, while you do Australian Border Force for Shipping.” Fifteen minutes later the word was out to Geraldton and Australia wide.

Barney continued, “Next possibility is that the microchip is removed and may be replaced by a forgery to maintain the thoroughbred status. Or the chip may not be replaced and the colt is left as just a hack and sold for pleasure purposes like polo, circus or joy riding. Later we can put the word out through the multimedia for people to keep an eye out.”

Zep interrupted, “It may be kept locally, stored for months until the intensity dies down and then shipped up-country or interstate. If it is kept locally there may be tracking steps that we can follow.”

“Like location, feed and exercise,” added Barney.

“Right on.” Agreed Zep.

#

“Location,” Barney verbalised. “could be anywhere in Geraldton District. But would need to be concealed from the horsey set neighbouring eyes. A shed, a barn or a garage. Probably far too many options for us to begin with.”

“Feed for a horse,” Zep went on. “needs to be quite specific, mainly hay or pasture. But if the colt is housed that eliminates pasture feeding, so the thief is going to need access to hay.” Zep reached for the mouse and keyboard for his desktop and after typing a few commands, said, “There are four stock feeders in Geraldton. Woorree, Utakarra, Wonthella and Webberton, all close by. Let’s go.”

The questions they were preparing to ask each of the stock feeders were all the same. 1. Have you gained any new customers for stock hay feed in the last week? 2. How much did they purchase? 3. Was it collected or delivered to them? 4. Was it paid for by credit card or cash?

If the first answer was negative, they had little need to continue, but two stock feeders had new customers that needed to be checked out. The Webberton purchase on credit card was delivered to a farmlet after they had just bought a Shetland pony for the children. But the Woorree Stock Feeder had a customer who bought 8 bales, loaded them into his utility and paid cash. No name was given. Little else could be remembered about a nondescript bloke aged about 23 to 25 years, driving a nondescript white utility. He became suspect number one.

Back at the office in the late afternoon they were contacted by the forensics team who had checked the farm site. “There were a clear set of fingerprints on the metal gate, but no hit in NAFIS (National Automated Fingerprint Identification System), so the thief has been previously clean. The tyre impression of the horse float on the road verge had identifying features that we will be able to match when you find the float, but licensing shows that there are 78 licensed horse floats in the Mid-West, and who knows how many old unlicensed ones too.”

“Probably too many horse floats to do a house-to-house search just to look for a pattern in the tyres,” mused Barney. “But a pattern is emerging. The colt was stolen from a back lane in Woorree where the thief had visited quite a few times. It suggests that he was a local walking that way quite often. Then the Woorree Stock Feed is used for horse hay, suggesting that it was the closest for the buyer.”

“That might be so,” interrupted Zep. “But Woorree is the breeding ground for the Geraldton City’s racehorses, and just about every farm has a horse or five or ten.”

“However, we may be closing in on a circle of possibles,” argued Barney. He grabbed a map of the city and placed a dot on the farm location of the stolen colt and drew concentric circles around it.

“If the thief lived too close, he could have walked the horse home to hide it. But he used a horse float, suggesting a little further than just the 500 metres away,” declared Barney.

“Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen walking the horse through Woorree at night, so perhaps only a couple of K’s further,” added Zep. “By then he is off the gravel track onto bitumen roads. But which way was he heading, forward, back, left or right?” Zep took the pen from Barney and crosshatched the ring around the farm that was about two kilometres in radius, saying, “This may be the location if he is one of the locals, but it covers most of Woorree.”

“So we need a nondescript white ute and a horse float. licensed or unlicensed, in Woorree,” summarised Barney. “It can’t be all that hard to find.”

“Yeah, right,” said Zep.

Chapter 10

Tracking a Colt

Saturday morning, 6^th March

On a quiet Saturday morning, Zep had family duties with his teenage children playing hockey. Barney was bored at his apartment so went into the office. He played around with figures from the computer, checking Mrs Google’s data and maps and the police databases. He finally figured he had something, so phoned Zep on his mobile.

“There are just over 1200 houses in Woorree, some with barns or sheds and some without. Ones that are within a strolling distance of the laneway number only about forty. They are attached to roads that I have listed.

Automobile records of white utilities with Woorree addresses number about 90 vehicles, but within the listed roads there are only 8 white utilities. It may be worth our while to visit these farms to check the ages of clientele and any that have horse floats, whether registered or unregistered.”

Zep sounded interested, but replied, “The kids are having a ball at their hockey games. I want to watch them for the time. I ‘ll be in later, after 11:00 o’clock when they have finished and I have dropped them at home, but only after sausage sizzles at the hockey club. Cheers,” and he hung up.

“So, what’s on the agenda,” began Zep as he entered the office around midday.

“The eight likely white utilities are all in the rural block up near the Chapman River that forms the northern boundary of residences in that district. I figure we can visit them one at a time to suss out the locations. If that fails, we can widen the search perimeter with this second lot of five residences.”

“My chariot awaits,” stated Zep before Barney could argue that it was his operation so should be his turn to drive.

#

The first five residences produced negative results, having older couples with young families or were large enterprises with visible pastures and hay fields. Any horses seen out grazing or in barns were not the young colt. Four horse floats were checked for tyre pattern but were not the right one. But the sixth house clicked.

They parked outside the front gate and walked in. It was quite a large aging house on a five-acre farm, with a large barn. Nobody was home, and the barn was empty. However, the stall inside the barn was set up to accommodate a horse with hay and water and strewn with a hay surface to enable cleaning on occasions. There in the garage next to the house was a white utility, and beside the shed was a horse float, unregistered and aging. The right-hand tyre tread had the characteristics that were a match to the photo carried by Zep.

“Gotcha,” they said in unison. But where was he with the horse.

As they walked back to the car, Barney pointed out horse tracks that led from the barn. After the gate they headed east along the dirt road. So they followed, Barney walked and Zep drove. They were stopped at a sign where the tracks led off into the Chapman River. “Track subject to flooding,” with high fences either side.

“I have been out through that way before with Detective Jamie Hancock. He loves his off-road jaunts and we went exploring over there in summer. That track is used by all manner of off-road vehicles as a service road to check the other side of the river, but it would be under water now,” explained Zep. “It follows up or down river and has fenced pastures all along the river, usually not accessible by vehicles. He would be able to walk the horse through the water over the culvert, but he can’t get very far going east as it is the Moresby Ranges country, too rough terrain for a horse or car. So he must follow along the river north-west or over a few rough farm tracks north and all lead to the one northern suburb. There are no other river crossings, so he is funnelled into the three exit gates leading into the suburb of Moresby. He is trapped in the open if we wait here and send patrol cars to the three other exits.” He reached for the radio.

Thirty minutes later he was reported to be under arrest in Moresby with the colt in quite an unhealthy condition after transversing the bad terrain for 7 kilometres.

#

Monday morning, 8^th March

“Tell us your story of why you took the colt,” quietly enquired Zep.

“I grew up on that farm with my folks, and Dad used to agist a few racehorses for some of the local businessmen. I got to work with them and ride them for much of my growing up years. Then Dad and Mum retired and moved to Perth to be near my three older married sisters and their growing families of grandchildren. I was left alone for the last four years and found it too hard to manage horses alone on the farm. I occasionally accommodated a single horse for a few days when Perth owners wanted to race in Geraldton, but it wasn’t the same. So when I saw this lonely colt in the back paddock a couple of kilometres away, I just adopted him for the company.”

“Why did you suddenly decide to ride off?” asked Barney.

“I was out in the yard and I saw you visiting two of the neighbours property, looking very much like cops. So I saddled up and took off to hide among the trees in the river bed, but then you two parked nearby. So I left for parts unknown.”

At the trial with the magistrate later that week, he was found guilty of horse stealing of quite a valuable thoroughbred, and sentenced to six months imprisonment, but this was commuted to twelve months Community Service, serving in and around the Geraldton Police Horse Stables. “Why waste talent,” said the judge.

Chapter 11

Harriers Runfest

Saturday morning, 13^th March

“We want you in our team of ten runners in the half marathon,” Bill Armstrong had explained to Barney during his first official football training session. That was during the first Sunday afternoon after he had signed on with Railways Football Club.

“It’s an unofficial competition between some of the footy clubs and it helps us with a stronger pre-season. It’s on next Saturday morning if you are up to it. The coach gives us competitors only a light workout in training on the following Sunday afternoon. We are a couple of runners short at present.”

“Cripes Bill. That’s bloody short notice,” exclaimed Barney. “Is it an official half marathon of 21 kilometres?”

“Yep. It’s twenty-one point one kilometres,” responded Bill. “At the same time they also conduct a full marathon, a ten-K and a five-kilometre run, but us blokes prefer to stretch out to the half one, but not the full 42.2 clicks. Others from around the local footy squads and other sports associations will try the full marathon or just the ten-K’s. It’s the big event of the Geraldton pre-season.”

“Why pick me?” Barney enquired.

“I have seen you in action in Perth and I know your work rate,” laughed Bill. “You are always running when you can and would easily do close to a half marathon during most matches. This will be good for your pre-season training.”

“Okay,” agreed Barney. “When and where, and what do I need to arrange?”

“Geraldton Yacht Club on Town Beach, 8:20 a.m. ready to race. All the support is organised by the Harriers Club. They provide isotonic rehydration throughout the course. Bring some supporters if you need a personal cheer squad.”

#

Barney arrived an hour early before the race, not just to get a good parking place for his Toyota Camry Sportivo, but also to give him time for a solid warm-up and stretch. He knew the value of being prepared for solid exercise.

As he was going through the last stages of stretches, taking a few sips from his belt bottle of isotonics, he noticed a group of three young ladies who were lazily doing a few stretches. Nice looking but not going through a real preparation. He caught the eye of one of them and smiled. She returned the smile with a cheerful grin and wide radiant eyes.

“Keeping your mind on the race ahead, I see,” commented Bill Armstrong as he walked up to Barney.

“How does this race get scored,” began Barney turning his attention to Bill. “Do we run together as a team and help the weaker runners so that we all finish together? Or is there some other way?”

“Everyone runs their own race, and the finishing positions are all added up in the Footy Half Marathon Challenge. Non-finishers are classified as equal last place, at whatever number of starting competitors there are in that half marathon category. The footy team that has the lowest team total in the half marathon is the winning GNFL side and gets the bragging rights for the season, until the next year.

At the start of the races, each distance group is organised to start five minutes apart. The shorter five-kilometre length runners beginning first, and the full marathon’s runners are away last. Our group of half marathoners will comprise around 200 runners, with at least eighty of them from the eight football teams, with team competitors drawn from league, reserves and colts’ squads.

There are other teams of runners from men and women’s hockey, basketball, and many other sporting backgrounds, or are just Harrier Club runners. Some are running in teams, while others are running as individuals. A total of over 1000 men women and children will be started within the four distance groups. We will be the third group away. Assemble over there in the blue space to get your name recorded and your number written on your arm. We should begin in 25 minutes.”

Barney decided to pace himself for the full race, beginning at a comfortable medium pace for the first half of the distance and increasing the tempo later. As they congregated in their group, he noticed that the three young ladies were among the half marathon runners. “Oh well,” he thought. “I am sure they know what they are doing.”

“They’re off in the half marathon,” the local commentator bellowed through the loudspeaker as a starting hooter bellowed. Barney was racing but stayed in the middle section of the runners. Knowing he had the stamina, there would be time to pass the others later. For the first ten kilometres he set his speed at his match-day ground covering pace.

He was about to increase the rate when he drew up to the young lady, but she was no longer cheerfully smiling. She was struggling with pain etched over her face.

“Are you alright?” he asked as they paced together.

“I’ve got cramps,” she breathed out heavily. “And my girlfriends are way behind me.”

“Are you keeping up with hydration and staminade,” questioned Barney.

“I missed out at the last drink service,” she winced as she spoke. “It was too busy to wait, so I pushed on to the next one.”

“Slow down and walk a bit,” ordered Barney. “Here drink some from my electrolytes bottle, but not too much at one time. I usually carry one when running over distances. Keep this one and use it all up. I can get another at the next drink station.”

“Thanks,” she rasped.

“I suggest that you walk it out while your girlfriends catch up with you. Then you can make a decision on whether to push ahead again. Meanwhile I have teammates that need me to finish fast. So long,” and away he sped.

Again, Barney paced himself, but at a higher tempo. For his last five kilometres he put in as much effort as he could, passing quite a large number of the tiring field. He crossed the finishing line and was given a placing ticket of 25^th. He was happy with that, considering his lack of preparation for long distance running.

He walked about cooling off for a few minutes and then logged his placing with the race record marshals. As he rehydrated within the next 30 minutes a few more of his teammates joined him, with everyone congratulating each other on just finishing in the upper echelon of the runners.

Around the 150 minutes mark the three young ladies ran in towards the back of the field. Her two friends were jogging along with the struggling one, no longer cheerfully smiling but relieved to be at the finishing line.

After a few minutes Barney wandered over. “Congratulations on finishing despite your cramping. You looked to be in a bad way.”

“Thanks for your help back there,” she acknowledged. “I was just about ready to give up. But I really had to finish.”

“Really?” questioned Barney.

“The three of us have come from Queensland for this run. Just on a whim we wanted a holiday in the West, so we organised for it to be a fund raiser for charity. As long as we finished within the 3 hours, we get the airfare paid by a major sponsor and it raises at least $5,000 from each of us towards breast cancer research through our own raised sponsors. Now we get to have the rest of the week for a holiday in Geraldton on our own time.”

“That’s great,” exclaimed Barney. “So now you will need somebody to show you all around.”

“But we know nothing about you,” she replied sternly.

“I am Barney Merrick. I am a football player for Railways Football Club,” announced Barney, and in post-race elation continued with, “And I just finished a half marathon in 25^th position.”

“I’m Carol and these two are Rebecca and Caitlyn. We all finished the half marathon too,” at last she smiled again.

“How about I pick you three up and I show you around town tomorrow morning. It can’t be in the afternoon as I have football training at 3:00 p.m.”

“We have our own hire car,” Carol replied demurely.

“But you don’t have a well experienced guide,” countered Barney who had been in Geraldton for all of two weeks.

“What do you think girls?” she enquired, turning to her running mates. They briefly nodded, so her reply was positive.

“So what are your interests? What sort of attractions would you like to see?” probed Barney.

“We’ve heard that Geraldton is an old historical town so those sorts of sights are probably the ones we should see first,” confirmed Carol. “We are staying at the Africa Reef Motel in Tarcoola Beach.”

“That’s it then. I will pick you three up at nine,” finished Barney.

Chapter 12

Touristing in Town

Sunday morning, 14^th March

Barney spent that Saturday afternoon on Google checking out the main historical tourist spots of Geraldton and their map locations. By evening he considered he was a full bottle and an expert guide.

At 9:00 a.m. on Sunday morning he drove into the Africa Reef Motel to find the three young ladies ready and waiting, dressed suitably for touristing in jeans, long sleeve blouses and joggers, with proper wide brimmed hats for sun protection.

“Are you all ready for the Magical Histery Tour?” he jollied. “I have planned a journey that will entertain and enlighten you.”

Caitlyn was a little sceptical of his overboard frivolity but the other two just laughed. Carol seemed to be the natural leader, so she grabbed the front passenger seat. Or was it, he thought, that she had the closer affinity to him as he had helped her when she had needed it in the half marathon.

Barney began, “The first historical highlight that we will visit will be the ‘HMAS Sydney’ Memorial. This is situated on the hill overlooking the Geraldton City and Port and looking out into the ocean beyond.” In the short journey to the site, Barney continued deep into his guided tour spiel.

“The Memorial is a monument to the 645 sailors who died when the Australian warship was sunk by the Kormoran in November 1941. This was the German armed raider camouflaged as a merchant ship, who lured Sydney into point blank range before firing all hidden guns. Both ships went down in the battle, Sydney with all hands, but in the Kormoran most survived. After 67 years of intense searching for the sunken wrecks, both ships were discovered in March 2008 between Geraldton and Carnarvon. Both sunken wrecks are now protected as Historical Shipwrecks in a National Heritage Site. They are out there in that general direction.” He pointed north westwards at the ocean.

After about 30 minutes looking at the displays and the scenery, Barney drove them to the Old Gaol Cells. As he parked the car he gave his patter.

“These old gaol cells were built by convicts in 1858 and were used as a hiring centre for convict labourers. The buildings now operate as a craft centre where the cells are occupied by people actively doing their crafts. Behind the old gaol cells is the stately Bill Sewell Complex, originally the site of the convict depot, later the Old Victoria Hospital and now a tourist centre and National Trust Building. An earlier convict depot was established at Lynton near Port Gregory to the Northwest of Northampton that was begun for convict labourers to do mining and road construction. That is 90 kilometres away so is too far for this Geraldton tour. So out you all get and have a look around. Take whatever time you need to see it.”

Back on the road after around 45 minutes Barney headed for the new Marina and the museum, giving them the ideas while he drove.

“We could spend all day at the museum, but this stop will be just an orientation stop to give you an idea of what is in there. You can come back and visit later if you want to. The Geraldton Museum is a relatively new building, purpose built when the new marina was constructed. It was designed to feature the Batavia shipwreck and the mutiny, murder and rape by some of the crew on the Abrolhos Islands while the Ship’s Captain sailed away in a dingy to get help in the East Indies. This Museum also explores the region's biodiversity, mining and agricultural history, the stories of the indigenous Yamatji people and the other Dutch shipwrecks.”

A short while later Barney settled them into the car with take away coffees, ordered while they examined the museum. As he drove, he continued his chatter.

“The Greenough Pioneer Museum and Maley’s Mill is 15 kilometres out of town but well worth a look because of its historical significance. Again, I will give you time to look around. But as we go past that turnoff,” and he pointed to the right side. “There is the road to the Cape Burney Greenough Rivermouth. If you get time during your stay, it is a pleasant place for scenic walks.

Another five kilometres beyond the Pioneer Museum is the Greenough Pioneer Settlement, another part of the National Trust. This was to be the centre of a large community, but it is built on a flood plain and has been inundated several times. The limestone buildings date back to the 1860’s and have been restored to show the old village buildings as they once were.”

Barney gave them time to spend looking through the Pioneer Museum in the Maley’s Mill buildings and then they drove on to wander about the Pioneer Settlement.

“Now back to town. Now that the Sunday Mass is finished, we can visit the Monsignor Hawes Heritage Centre and St Francis Xavier Cathedral. John Hawes was a qualified architect who became an Anglican Deacon and then a Catholic Priest. He spent 24 years in Western Australia from 1915 to 1939 and during that time built many fine cathedrals and churches while serving the parishioners as a much-loved clergyman. After visiting the Monsignor Hawes Heritage Centre, you must see the Cathedral that is renown world-wide. It will be available now that Sunday Mass finished at 11:30 a.m.”

Barney just tagged along as the three girls moved between the buildings taking in the diverse activities of the architect and structural majesty of the church.

“Well ladies. That concludes your Magical Historical Tour of Geraldton,” began Barney. “I am afraid that I have to drop you off at the African Reef now. I have to get to football training. The season begins in four weeks’ time, and I have to get match-fit. The half marathon was just a warm-up for some of the team.”

With exuberant thanks the three women waved him goodbye as he drove away.

#

In deference to the Railways players who had represented the club in the half marathon, in which the team had come an honourable third, the coach allowed that group just a light physical workout before commencing the skills training and tactics. He mainly kept to non-contact exercises and skills to protect weary bodies. Nevertheless, Barney was really feeling it by the end of training, and he knew he was not alone.

As he walked slowly from the oval with shoulders drooping, he noticed a face in the small number of spectators that was unexpected.

“Carol. What are you doing here?” he exclaimed. “I thought you would be doing a bit more touristing, swimming in the waves or just relaxing by the motel pool with Rebecca and Caitlyn.”

“That was their plan for the afternoon,” she responded. “But I wanted to watch a training session of Geraldton football. We have had AFL football in Brisbane for nearly 20 years, and my team, the mighty Brisbane Lions, last year completed their third premiership in a row, the first ever triple crown for the expanded AFL Competition. So I jogged the 4K over here. It’s a short run along the beach, under the railway tunnel and then through the suburbs to this ground. I am impressed with your style. You should have tried out for AFL.”

Barney breathed in deeply to try to look a little stronger than he felt. “I thought about it through university, but the rigour was too demanding, competing against my study time and energy. I loved my footy, but the AFL level wanted much more than I could afford to give. So now I just play for the fun and enjoyment.”

“So, you went to uni too,” she acknowledged. “What did you study?”

“I finished a law degree,” Barney began and then paused and apologised, “Carol. I’ve got to have a long shower and change to regenerate myself after that workout. If you would like to wait for about 15 minutes, we could talk some more afterwards but I am dead beat right now.”

“Sure thing Barney,” she replied. “I’ll go upstairs to the club bar for a beer and check out the place.”

Barney wandered off, feeling his muscles beginning to tighten as they cooled down. Most of his 15 minutes away was spent in the shower, with five minutes of warmth followed by a long bracing cold shower. He gulped down lots of cool refreshing water as it sprayed across his upturned face. He then joined her in the bar.

“That’s better,” he announced. “I feel almost human. Would you like another drink? What’s your poison of choice?”

“Make it another beer please,” she replied.

He joined her again on the balcony overlooking the oval. They clinked glasses and he downed a long gulp, while she sipped and spoke. “So, you are a local lawyer?”

“Not any more. I am a police detective in the Geraldton Branch, and I am afraid that I have to work tomorrow. After this quite physical weekend I am going to need to rest up tonight. How about I drop you off at your motel and we plan for some time together tomorrow after work? That is, if you want to. Sorry to be such a party poop, but after half a beer, I have hit the proverbial brick wall.”

She passed him a slip of paper with her mobile phone number scribbled on it.

“You can ring me tomorrow and if the other girls have not planned an outing for the three of us, I would be delighted to see some of the night life of Geraldton.”

Chapter 13

The 440 Roadhouse

Sunday night, 14^th March

Barney was fast asleep before the sun went down at 6:36 p.m. He was too tired to even have dinner. A dream crept into his unconscious mind. There was a bell ringing. It wasn’t a doorbell or a church bell. It was an insistent buzzing bell.

“Bugger,” he thought as he woke up. “It’s the bloody phone and it’s just after 9:30 p.m. for f--- sake.”

“Ullo,” he grunted.

“Barney,” brusquely declared Zep. “We have a call out. Robbery and assault at the 440 Road House. I’ll pick you up in about ten minutes.”

“But, but, but,” was all he could say before the phone went dead.

Zep pulled up outside Barney’s rented unit and waited for the tirade as Barney climbed in. Nothing happened.

Nothing happened for the whole ten minutes on the journey that took them to the last petrol station in the north of the township.

“You okay?” asked Zep.

“I just need a little more sleep,” groggily replied Barney. “So, what’s up?”

“The night service man was attacked and robbed about half an hour ago. Let’s go and find out all about it.”

“How about you do that, and I sleep here?” was a weak reply.

“Yeah. Right.” Zep gently shook his shoulder. “C’mon princess. Rise and shine.”

The office was already occupied by two police patrol officers tending to the bloodied arm of the office attendant. One of the officers advised, “This cut in the arm is not deep but will need medical aid soon. The service station manager has been contacted. He is on his way here to assume control of the roadhouse,”

“Tell us what happened,” enquired Zep, while Barney wandered over to a rack of chocolates. He selected two nut bars, picked out a can of fruit juice from the fridge and placed ten dollars on the counter. “Low sugars, no dinner,” he grumbled.

“A man wandered into the shop, dressed all in green with one of those cyclist’s full-length body suits. It included the tight-fitting headgear and green gloves,” began the office attendant. “He looked a bit like Cathy Freeman did when she ran in the 2000 Sydney Olympics. But he had a frog mask covering his face.

At first, I thought it was just a fancy-dress costume until he pulled a knife. He demanded that I open the office safe and give him the day’s takings. I was alone. I am just the night operator for the 24-hour petrol station and this convenience store.

There would have been close to the usual $10,000 in the safe from Sunday trading from the station’s petrol and diesel pumps and from the convenience store. That also included the takings from the all-day fast-food diner which closed at nine. He arrived around 9:20, just after the day-staff had all gone home.

I just stood and stared in dismay at this green frog, not knowing what to do. I was frozen in fear. He then reached across the counter as slashed my bare arm right there,” the operator pointed to the bloodied bandage where the patrol officers had bound the wound. The bleeding had now stopped so the original gash had been delivered more for show and emphasis than a deep cut.

“I did what he ordered,” he continued.

“He grabbed out all the cash from the safe into a backpack, then emptied the till, and left. I did not see any cars parked in the petrol station and didn’t see him drive away from anywhere around. I called the police and my superior. Then I wrapped a towel around the cut and checked all the CCTV footage. It showed nothing was there.”

“Are you okay to keep going for a bit longer?” enquired Barney chewing on a chocolate nut bar. “We need to access the CCTV right now. We will need to take the tapes afterwards too, as evidence.”

The night operator nodded gingerly and pointed them towards a small office door to the side. “The office safe that I was forced to open and the CCTV recording system are in here,” he told them as he sorted out the video system.

Just then his immediate boss arrived, so he would have to go through the whole story again with him as the detectives began to work on the videos. Barney and Zep quickly fast forwarded through the several different discs from various cameras inside the store and the outside vision. The inside vision in the convenience store and then in the office played out exactly as had been explained to them. They would look at those discs later for further evidence about the frog character.

The recordings from outside showed that the petrol and diesel service bays were vacant for the duration of the robbery and afterwards, with nothing visible in the background beyond. However, the larger truck diesel bays around the outer ring road showed the frogman leaving in the distance as he walked out the back to disappear behind the bushes along Chapman Road.

“He must have parked his car back there,” declared Zep.

“So we check out that spot,” agreed Barney. “And note that the time indicator on that tape says it’s just after 9:30 p.m. when he left for his car.”

The videos had revealed that the robber was so clinically well-dressed that it was unlikely he had left any forensic evidence behind. The office boss was allowed to take over, call in more staff and continue with the 24-hour trading, but the office was sealed, awaiting the forensics team to analyse the robbery in daylight, tomorrow. The wounded service staff member was taken to Geraldton Hospital by the patrol officers for a stitch or two. Barney and Zep grabbed torches from their car and headed for the back road.

The 440 Roadhouse was on the fork of the North-West Coastal Highway and the top end of Chapman Road. This road was Geraldton’s main street that ran down the coast into the city centre 12 kilometres further south, while the inland Highway ran parallel and skirted around the city.

The frog robber had pulled his car off onto the side of the road pointing South, and deep wheel ruts showed that it was not a solid verge. Barney bent close and inspected the tyre tracks.

He earnestly concluded, “These look like the tracks of a heavy sedan or a light four-wheel drive. They are probably 265/65 R17, the choice of most of the popular carmakers. By the look of the wear pattern in that harder dust, the tyres are well and truly past their legal use. So, an older car is most likely.”

“We had better get forensics out here to do a plaster cast for full measurement and perhaps we’ll be able to use the tread pattern in later evidence,” conceded Zep, reaching for his phone.

“As I have already pointed out,” Barney continued as Zep talked on the phone. “The frog bloke used this road for his escape at around 9:30 p.m. With luck we may find a camera that recorded him going past just after this time, somewhere down along Chapman Road.”

“Okay lad. Back to the car and we’ll go searching,” ordered Zep. “Assuming he has not turned off into one of the beach-side suburbs or out to the main highway.”

After travelling slowly for around ten minutes, warily watching both sides of the road for likely CCTV cameras, Zep spotted another petrol station in the dark, but it was not a 24-hour station. With no lights on it was unlikely there would be a functioning camera, so this was ignored. Perhaps it could be checked later in daylight, just in hope. A shopping centre in darkness was also ignored. Then they saw the Batavia Hotel.
It had a drive through bottle shop. The rear exit fed out into a back car park, but the bottle-shop front entrance faced the road, looking directly towards a well-lit round-about. The two detectives just hoped that the security camera that they could see at the front of the bottle-shop entrance was powerful enough and set high enough to observe that road. A few lights were being turned off as they entered the premises. It was just after closing time.

“May we see your CCTV for the last 30 minutes?” request Zep after showing his credentials. “We just want to look at the view from the camera at the entrance over the bottle shop.”

Barney estimated they would only need to view from 9:40 if the frog robber had made a rapid trip from the 440 Roadhouse. They would search for cars passing through the round-about up until the present time knowing that they had not passed any possible vehicles. There were seventeen vehicles, a few before 10:00 p.m. and then lots just after the usual closing time for the bars. And being the rural City of Geraldton, most of those vehicles were either four-wheel drives or larger sedans. That was the ethos of the district. Three of the cars were too small for that type of tyre and a couple of the SUVs could be ruled out being very recent models. That left twelve possible suspect cars.

Unfortunately, the lighting and the distance between the camara and the round-about was too far to get accurate details about the type of vehicles. License plates were impossible to read. Zep requested the camera feed, thanking the bar manager and they returned to police headquarters. They hoped that with better police technology they could make out the shapes of the cars a little clearer.

After half an hour with little success, Barney groaned wearily, “I’m done. I’ve had enough of today. I need sleep.”

“You have had a big weekend, youngster,” confirmed Zep. “Sleep in tomorrow and come in around mid-day.”

“Thanks boss.” Barney was back in bed by 11:55 p.m.

#

Barney arrived at the office by nine the next morning.

“I got curious to find out if we had anything on video about last night’s robbery,” he explained instead of a greeting.

“Morning Merrick,” replied Zep. “I had a long look at the possible cars on the roundabout and could get no further. They all look like the standard SUVs from all the manufacturing companies. I can’t tell the difference in the night light in this video. The robber may not even be among that group. So I guess we have drawn a blank on CCTV evidence here.”

“How about the 440 Roadhouse videos?” Barney suggested. “Has anything come to light on them?”

“I have not yet looked at them. I’ll leave those for you to view.”

Barney loaded the first one and carefully watched. He scanned back and forward where necessary and zoomed in and out at times. He started to take notes in his small notebook. This went on for several hours as he worked through all the discs from the Roadhouse security cameras.

At last he crossed to his work station and began typing into his computer.

“440 Roadhouse Assault and Robbery. Sunday 14^th March at 9:20 p.m.

Suspect – male, height 174 cm when compared with door frames, weight about 90 kilograms from body shape in the tight body suit, and a little unfit and overweight. He shows a little age in his walking posture, probably over 50 years. Right-handed when using the knife and emptying the safe. He was a nervous and desperate man as seen by the use of the knife. This may have been his first robbery, so he may not have a record. He knew the closing time of the 440’s diner and sorted out a secluded parking and Chapman Road getaway so he is probably a local or has been around Geraldton for some time.

Escape vehicle – probably an SUV, almost certainly an older model. Tyres are likely 265/65 R17 and well-worn beyond legal wearing. We have the tyre pattern available for comparison.”

“This is a good analysis,” confirmed Zep after reading the report. “We should get a sketch artist in to draft out his body shape. He was kind enough to provide us with his skin-tight appearance.”

“Or we could just photograph yours,” grinned Barney, and dodged the biro thrown at him by Zep. “Oh. By the way. Is it okay if I knock off early this afternoon, to make up for last night’s overtime?”

“Sure,” was a grumbled reply. “Try to get some real beauty sleep.”

Chapter 14

The Evenings’ Activities

Monday evening, 15^th March

Barney telephoned Carol in the middle of the afternoon to find out if the girls had a planned activity. They hadn’t anything organised. Since the afternoon temperature was expected to hover around 32 degrees until sundown, Barney suggested they meet him at Town Beach for a swim, followed by a barbecue on the Geraldton Foreshore. He would provide the food and beverages. Before they agreed he strongly advised them that Geraldton always had the strong afternoon sea breeze, so they would need to have a warm change of clothes for the later evening. They all opted to join him for the outing.

He picked up a couple of bottles of Margaret River Riesling from the bottle shop and used the local supermarket butcher for fresh sausages and shish-kebabs skewers with both beef and chicken meat with capsicum, pineapple and onion in between. From the supermarket, a potato salad and a coleslaw completed the balanced meal. He also grabbed four plastic wine glasses, paper plates and plastic utensils and added them in. It was all stacked into his esky that had been prepared with a couple of ice bricks.

“Hello Barney,” reverberated three separate female voices as they walked up to the sheltered wooden picnic table and benches on the foreshore. It was one of many tables provided by the city for just such an occasion.

“I see you have everything prepared,” beamed Rebecca, “and have reserved this table with that esky taking up pride of place.”

“Swim first,” asserted Barney. “The showers and change rooms are that building there. I’ll see you in the water,” as he stripped to his boxer bathers, throwing his clothes and shoes onto the bench seat and his towel over his shoulder.

They were quick to change and didn’t hesitate diving into the water, pleasantly warmed by the sun in that shallow bay. A few ripples dented the surface as the wind brushed across the sea, creating a small shore break. They all just swam or floated or splashed about, enjoying the moments.

“This water is almost as good as Brisbane’s beaches.” called out Rebecca.

“Maybe even better,” added Caitlyn. “It’s slightly warmer.”

“And without the deadly box jellyfish,” Carol concluded.

“You ladies keep enjoying yourselves for a while yet,” called Barney. “I’ll get changed and start the barby. It should take a good fifteen minutes. See you then.”

As they arrived all freshly dressed back at the picnic table, Barney wandered over to open the esky, leaving the meat to sizzle away gently on the nearby barbecue. “I’m the cook, so there’s jobs for everyone else. Rebecca is the table setter, but I’m sorry to say there’s no tablecloth, Carol will serve out salads for everybody, and Caitlyn is the barmaid,” as he took out one of the wines and the four glasses. “My apologies for the plastic tumblers, but glass near the beach is never clever. I’ll go get the barby meat now.”

They dined, wined and chatted. Jobs and backgrounds were the main topics as they watched the sun set behind the wharf silos and loading cranes. A few minutes later the clouds and the sky radiated a deep orange as the afterglow set in.

“Well,” announced Caitlyn. “Since I am the designated driver and the sun has set, I feel it’s time to go.”

“We have probably done all the fine dining we can do for today,” added Rebecca. “Thanks Barney, for a very pleasant evening.”

“If it’s okay with all of youse guys, I would like to take a twilight stroll along the foreshore,” Carol responded. “Will you come with me Barney and drop me off at the Africa Reef afterwards?”

“Okay,” confirmed Barney. “But first of all, these used paper plates and bits of leftover food need to be binned. You two can take the left-over half bottle of wine with you. I’ll put these plastics into the esky for future parties. Then off we go.”

“Have you had any adverse reactions from the half marathon?” asked Barney as he and Carol strolled casually side by side towards the Marina at the other end of the beach.

“Just a little weariness after the full weekend. But a full day’s relaxation today has helped ease that. I should be much more lively tomorrow. Can we do something after your work tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry Carol, but I have footy training from 4:30 until 6:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” apologised Barney. “I’m free on Wednesday and probably a late court appearance on Friday afternoon.”

“We fly home on Friday afternoon,” she admitted. “How about I come to the ground and then we go for a pub meal after your training?”

“That sound like a plan,” Barney agreed. “What about the other two girls?”

“Just me this time,” she said as she reached for his hand as they ambled along.

#

The Tuesday training was back to full steam ahead. Coach Brad Cocker had decided that the team members who ran the half marathon had been allowed the one light workout on Sunday, and that was enough. He set them a solid fitness workout followed by skills and tactics. Barney managed to avoid several solid crunching tackles by Gerry Davies’ minions, urged on by that man himself.

Barney said nothing.

After the necessary full shower routine, Barney found Carol waiting outside the Railways Club changerooms.

“How about the Tarcoola Tavern for the pub meal?” he suggested.

“You are the local lad,” she replied. “You should know the good places.”

#

As they settled into the meal at the Tavern, Barney began to apologise.

“About that local lad bit,” he spoke quietly. “I’ve only been in Geraldton for two and a bit weeks. Any visits before that were back when I was a youngster with my folks for a couple of the school holidays. We stayed in tents in the Caravan Park out on West End near the Point Moore light house. That’s how I knew about the family beach facilities that we used last night.

“What! But you also knew all about the historical places,” exclaimed Carol looking straight at him.

“Mrs Google,” Barney admitted cheerfully. “And many of those places are legendary for Geraldton tourists.”

“And you really are a detective in the Geraldton Police?” she openly queried.

“Yes. Trained as a lawyer, but didn’t like the job, so I switched to policing. I managed to get posted here at the end of February.”

“Well, I’m blowed,” she laughed heartily.

“If it isn’t the new filth out on the town,” a voice rang out behind him. “And with a girlfriend too.”

Barney recognised the snarly voice of one of the youths from the Gero Hotel disturbance. Turning he could see he was accompanied by a couple of his mates.

“Good evening gents,” said Barney dismissively. “Have a pleasant night,” and he turned back to Carol.

“Are you ignoring us, pig?” demanded the lead lout.

“Yes. And you wouldn’t want the local magistrate to hear that you three assaulted an officer of the law in the Tarcoola Tavern who was sitting and just minding his own business.” Then raising his voice so that all the other patrons around them could hear, he requested, “Please go away.”

With Barney sitting with his back to the three of them and most of the diners in the Tavern’s restaurant watching, they could do nothing that would only be interpreted as an attack on a defensive man and now known to be an officer of the law. They left.

“Sometimes the best defence is to do nothing and just wait,” he grinned at Carol. “I am on team probation with the footy coach, so I could not afford to get involved in a bar fight with that bloke. My boss Zep would not be impressed either.”

“Well handled Barney,” she congratulated him.

They dined with Barney doing all the talking about his need to change from law to police. At the end of the evening meal, Barney insisted on driving Carol to the Africa Reef Motel even though it was just a few hundred metres away, just across the main highway. He did not trust that group of young bloods who probably lived around the local neighbourhood.

As they drove Carol spoke, “Now about tomorrow. You have provided dinner for me for the last two nights. Tomorrow night I would like to cook dinner for you. This time at your place. I assume you have a kitchen in wherever you are living. And there won’t be any troublemakers there.”

“That sounds great,” exclaimed Barney. “Who does the shopping?”

“We both do. You can pick me up and take me shopping at your local supermarket. I will need a pack horse to cart all the shopping gear that I need to purchase for the meal.”

“So what’s for dinner, dear?” Barney begged in a childish voice.

“Wait and see,” she quietly replied.

#

Wednesday. As they wandered in the isles of the supermarket next afternoon, she asked, “Since you have only been in town for two weeks, do you have any food in your kitchen. Things like milk, butter, salt and pepper.”

“Of course. I do my own cooking, when necessary,” he admitted.

“Then off you go to the bottle shop for a dry white wine while I get the rest of the things,” insisted Carol. “Then it can be a surprise later.”

She met him at the car with an opaque plastic shopping bag that revealed nothing of its contents. “Ready to go,” she announced enthusiastically.

In the small kitchen annex to the living room, she tipped the bag’s contents onto the bench, grabbed two freshly cooked crayfish, and handed them to him. “Carefully cut these in half, take out the meat and thoroughly clean the shells.”

“Ah ha. Crayfish mornay. Delightful.”

As they prepared the meal, sipping glasses of West Cape Howe Sauvignon Blanc, Barney told her about his first Geraldton case involving 2000 live crayfish just two weeks earlier.

“A crime and capture all over within twelve hours,” a delighted Barney boasted. “And all over these little creatures,” he kissed the thorny snout of a crayfish. “The hijackers were remanded into the local jail and will go before the courts on this Friday afternoon.”

Replete after the meal, with one crayfish mornay each, some potato wedges, a green salad and a couple of white wines, they sat back on the small lounge suite. She edged over to snuggle into him, reached up and kissed him. “You are gorgeous,” she murmured. “Can I stay for breakfast too?”

“Great. But what about your girlfriends,” he asked.

“That’s okay. They know I’m with you,” she purred.

He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

#

“Tomorrow’s your last day in Geraldton,” began Barney as he dropped her off at her motel early on the Thursday morning. “Do you want to spend tonight with your girlfriends, with just me, or with me and the girls. We can do a Chinese or a Thai restaurant, but I have footy training first. It’s your choice.”

“I will have to let you know,” she replied thoughtfully. “It will be up to them because we all chose to holiday here together. I’ll ring you during the day.”

“Hi Barney,” Carol spoke over the phone in the middle of the day. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Caitlyn and Rebecca insisted that we three go out tonight and check out the night life of Geraldton for our last night here. We did have fun together, but I guess that it is all over.”

“Oh. Um,” mumbled Barney.

“If you can make it to the airport, our plane leaves at 3:00 p.m,” she added.

“I will see what I can do,” Barney replied. “I have to attend court at 1:00 p.m. on the Friday for the trial of the crayfish hijackers. I can’t get out of it as we are the arresting officers. I am pretty certain it will still be going all afternoon. If I can’t get there have a great flight home.”

“Bye,” echoed from both.

PART THREE

Chapter 15

I’ve Struck Gold

Monday evening, 22^nd March

“I’ve struck gold,” the young man yelled in the front bar of the Batavia Hotel. The lethargic patrons looked up at the wiry lad who jauntily skipped through the front door. He wasn’t a regular, but they knew him.

He had been into this bar over many years with his parents and brother, way back as a child. They were farmers from Yetna, over the rise and up the Chapman Valley Road, and had been using this bar for decades. That is, until the mother died, and then the family had drifted apart. The old man still worked the farm, but the two boys had gone-a-working.

“Thought you worked out at Tallering Peak,” drawled an old regular.

“Still do,” laughed the lad. “But I’ve been prospecting with a metal detector in my spare time,” and he added with a grin, “Successfully.”

“Buy me a beer and tell me all about it,” hopefully winked the man.

The young prospector glanced around the bar and noticed that every one of the half dozen other patrons were staring his way. He had an audience, so he called out loudly, “Drinks all round,” and turned to the barman saying, “and have one yourself.”

As he reached his wallet from his back pocket, he also drew out a folded sheet of paper. “This is my claim registration from the mines department. It’s all locked in, legal and mine. It could be worth millions.”

“How’d y’know that?” queried one of the party now collecting around him.

“Nuggets. I found plenty of nuggets on the surface. They were scattered around a small area in the creek bed. ‘I searched all around and there didn‘t seem to be any further away. There seemed to be a bit of gold dust around too, but I didn’t have any way to collect it. I figure that it must be the peak of a gold bearing vein below ground. Who knows what lies beneath them, but now I’ve got the mineral rights to find out.”

“Where?” another blurted out.

The young man paused and thought a while. He was running on adrenalin, but he replied cagily, “I was prospecting with my metal detector out past Tallering Peak. That’s all I’m saying.”

For the next hour or so, with boisterous conversation and a few more rounds of drinks, he revealed nothing else.

#

A week later the rumour had reached the local newspaper, who published an article on page five of the Geraldton Guardian.

Gold in Them Thar Hills Monday 29^th March

We hear that gold has been found east of the Tallering Peak iron ore mine. The site has been claimed, and legally registered. Now all the big mining companies are checking their books to see if they had previously pegged the area for a mineral claim, but we are informed that any claim on the site had long since lapsed some years ago. It had been minerally surveyed many years ago and declared worthless for mining.

Back in 1921, a few ounces of alluvial gold had been found at Wandina Station, 12 kilometres north of Tallering Peak, but this had been just a small patch. Then in 1935, there was another discovery just 3 kilometres from Mullewa in the water catchment reserve. This attracted heavy mining interests, but this yielded only about 25 ounces at the surface, before petering out. None of these finds match the richer gold bearing areas of the Eastern Murchison, where exploration and discoveries are still exciting the developers.

We understand that the Aboriginal tribes of the area are checking whether their Native Title claims encompassed that particular Tallering site, however it is located in the middle of the border lands for three Aboriginal tribal groups, according to Norman Tindale’s mapping of the Tribal Peoples. The Watjarri-Yamatgee People from the north and the Badimaya-Yamatgee People in the east that are both part of the North-west Yamatgee tribes. Also the Amangu People of the South-west Noongar tribes could all potentially lay claim to the land, but not the mineral rights.

At least the next mining company will have to negotiate an agreement to enter their lands, but whose land is it. We will have to wait and find out.

Chapter 16

Rape

Tuesday morning, 23^rd March

Gina Gower was young, beautiful and indestructible. She kept to her fitness regime, ate all the right foods and only drank in moderation. She was going to succeed in her chosen field of physiotherapy and the many massages that she delivered enhanced her upper body strength. What she lacked during her job was aerobic conditioning and lower body workouts, so she ran. She ran a five kilometre stretch every morning. She had her routine.

Around 6:00 a.m. around first light, she would drive to the beach, park her car and walk down to the sands. Leaving her towel and water bottle there, she ran either north or south for two and a half kilometres and returned. She then drank her water, towelled off the sweat before getting into her car to return home for a shower and breakfast before heading off to work. The exercise usually took her just under forty minutes.

This particular morning, she flew like the wind. A gentle offshore breeze cooled her down as she loped freely along the hard foreshore sand. She felt really alive as she returned to take her drink and began to towel herself down. The wooziness hit suddenly. She became confused as she had no reason to feel this way. She found breathing was getting difficult. Her head was spinning and with all muscles getting heavy, she sat on the soft beach sand. Darkness closed in and the gentle crashing of the waves became quieter. All senses were lost to her as she became unconscious.

#

“Barney, we’ve got a situation out at Mahomets Beach,” said Zep over the phone. “I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”

Barney wiped the sleep from his eyes, looked at the clock and thought, “Bloody hell. It’s not even 7:25 yet.” He just had enough time to get dressed and grab an apple from the small fridge in his rented unit before wandering out to greet Zep in the parking area.

“What’s up?” he mumbled through a munching mouthful of apple.

“We have a young woman unconscious on the beach,” replied Zep. “Looks like a rape victim.”

As they drove up to the location, the ambulance wailed away from the scene. There remained a parked patrol car with two constables and two teenaged boys who all watched them arrive. Beside them lay two bicycles with surf boards strapped into holding brackets, and a little further away was a white mini, parked in a small road bay on the verge, between two sand dunes encroaching onto the road.

“Tell your story again,” instructed the constable to the boys, and gave their names for the benefit of the detectives. “Jessie Hislop and Reid Morton.”

“We got here just after 7:15 to go for a surf before school,” began Jessie. “And walked out onto that high sand dune to check out the break either at Back Beach or Separation Point. As we were deciding which way to go, we looked down and saw this girl in the gully below us. She was completely naked, lying there and not moving. It didn’t look right so we went down to see if we could help.

We called out loudly several times, but she didn’t move. She was just lying there, arms out, legs spread, and um, and er . . . very visible. Reid went over and shook her on the arm, but she did not stir. So we rang the police and explained. These police and the ambulance all arrived at the same time. They checked her pulse and everything, loaded her onto a stretcher and took her immediately up into the ambulance.”

Zep turned to the constables with raised eyebrows in a questioning gesture.

“We got here with the ambos, and they said her heart rhythm was increased and erratic, so it was imperative to get her to hospital. We barely had time to get more than a couple of crime scene photos before she was taken on the stretcher. We left the area untouched except for the two boys and the two ambos who walked through there. She was in that secluded gully, lying stretched out on a towel, with her clothes thrown into a pile nearby. They are still there untouched in place. It very definitely looked as though she was rendered unconscious and raped.”

“Sorry fellers, but this looks like it’s a serious incident,” Zep spoke quietly to the two lads. “Can you please ring your parents to meet you at the police station and then go back there with these officers to wait for us. You will be needed to give full statements with your parents present. School will have to wait today. I will get a police van here to get your bikes and surfboards to the police station. Meanwhile we will need to check out the evidence of the location before joining you all back there.”

“C’mon Junior,” he motioned to Barney. “Let’s investigate.”

“Ah fellers, before you go,” Barney faced the boys. “A delicate question. I assume that you both have cameras in those phones of yours?”

“Yes sir,” was the common response.

“And you were waiting for ten to fifteen minutes here before the patrol car and ambulance arrived?”

“Er, yes,” stammered Reid.

“You didn’t think to cover up the girl?” enquired Barney.

“We thought about it,” blurted Reid. “But she looked like she had been assaulted, so after we tried to wake her, we kept well away, not wanting to be included as suspects.”

“Now, if you took any pictures before the girl was removed, they would be most valuable as evidence to help us sort this out.” Barney paused to let that sink in and observed both boys drop their eyes to give strong indications of a positive response.

“And I am sure that when the girl awakens, she would not like to hear about photos of herself in that condition being spread around. You do understand what I am saying, don’t you both? How would your mothers or a sister feel if they were attacked like that?”

Both boys nodded slightly and solemnly, as Barney continued,

“Please ring your parents now and then can I have your phones, so that we can download those important pieces of evidence. We will return them to you immediately afterwards. The photos will have to be deleted of course, for the sake of the victim’s privacy.”

After ringing their parents, the boys willingly passed over their phones and left with the patrol officers. Zep and Barney spent the next thirty minutes scouting around and taking a few more photographs of the crime scene, before carefully transferring the towel and her clothing into evidence bags. Footprints were no help in the soft dry sand, but the tracks up from the beach revealed she had been carried into the secluded gully by a single individual. He, and it was assumed the attacker was a male, had also left alone going back to the water’s edge, where his tracks were lost in the wave washed sands of the incoming tide.

Around the location of body, the sand was too soft and well disturbed by the squad of rescuers, so that little could be deduced from the roughened surface.

A short time later, back in the police station, the boys were separately interviewed in the presence of their parents. Both were unable to add anything further. They had not seen anyone else in the vicinity, no other vehicles were noticed, and they had phoned the police as soon as they had realised it was an emergency.

As the two boys left, Barney shook their hands, as he thanked them for their valuable assistance, and at the same time slipped them their phones with a wink. Their parents didn’t need to know how much they had really helped unless the lads chose to tell them themselves. Forensics had fully extracted, then deleted, all the possible evidence photos, leaving any other happy snaps untouched.

#

Zep had been monitoring the hospital to find out when the girl had regained conscious. As soon as he received word, they went into the emergency ward.

It was over three hours since Gina Gower had been picked up from the beach. She was out of the coma, but very nauseous and confused. She could remember nothing other than her run on the beach, and her drink and towelling afterwards.

“Drink! Did you have a drink bottle?” asked Barney, and when Gina confirmed this, Zep immediately rang the office to get a patrol car to collect any drink bottles on the beach in the location of the incident. “Treat each bottle as untouched forensic evidence and seal it separately in an evidence bag.”

Barney’s questions had confirmed there had been no previous presence of strangers around her, at home, at work, or at the beach. She had done the run most mornings without sighting many people. “Too early for most people,” was Gina’s main comment.

She had consented to the rape-kit being processed. She admitted to having no sex in recent times. The immediate results showed no presence of semen, but the vaginal combing had produced several foreign pubic hairs. These would be analysed, hopefully to give a positive DNA reading. Her towel and clothing were at the forensic lab and there was hope of more physical evidence there.

“Gina,” Zep advised in his best fatherly manner. “We are going to give maximum effort to find the perpetrator. But in the meantime, you will have to carry on. Don’t let this incident ruin your normal life. Keep your chin up and stay positive. And if anything comes to mind about a possible attacker, please call us immediately.”

Two days later they had the forensics report on the water bottle recovered at the beach. It had been laced with Rohypnol, the date-rape drug. There were no recent fingerprints, other than the victims. They would have to await the DNA analysis of the combed hair, and any further evidence in the clothing and towel.

Chapter 17

Practice Match

Sunday afternoon, 28^th March

“Great pass Andy,” simultaneously yelled Shirley and Zep as their eleven-year-old son centred the hockey ball into the striking circle for a team-mate to easily score a goal.

“Well done lad,” added Barney.

Billy and Jeannie also cheered their older brother’s efforts from the sideline.

Barney had spent a relaxing Easter Sunday morning with Zep and Shirley as they watched the young Marcon children at the artificial turf hockey grounds in Wonthalla. He was due at midday at the Recreation Ground for an intense workout footy scratch match but was enjoying the four-day Easter weekend break from policing and paperwork in the overcast wintery day.

“How is the house hunting going?” asked Shirley after they calmed down.

“I haven’t seen the right place yet,” replied Barney. “There are a reasonable number available on the market, but they don’t quite suit my needs.”

“Have you had any offers on your unit in Swanbourne?” Zep added.

“A couple but they didn’t match my asking price,” answered Barney. “But I can see that the interest is there. If needs be, I can drop my price for a quick sale.

And I must arrange to ship my furniture up here to clear it out of the house. I saw there is an ideal set of storage units close to the Geraldton CBD with quite modest rates. In the meantime, the cheap flat that I’m renting by the month will do me until I find the perfect house.”

“So you are enjoying the quiet life of a bachelor,” laughed Shirley.

“Nothing’s ever quiet when you work around Zep,” re-joined Barney. “Trouble follows him like a personal rain cloud.”

At which time a few drops of rain began to sprinkle the bystanders. “Which reminds me, I have to get going to the Rec Ground. Wet weather football practice awaits me. Catch you all later,” he waved.

Zep didn’t have time to think of a clever reply.

#

“Well, Well, if it isn’t the local snitch,” loudly drawled Gerry Davies as Barney strode into the Railways changerooms prior to the scratch match. “Thanks to you dobbing me in, I had my licence suspended for another six months.”

Barney ignored the gibe and moved to his locker to change into his football gear. For today’s scratch match he was in the yellow ‘away’ team. He noticed that Davies was dressed in the red ‘home’ team colours, and that they would likely be direct opponents around the centre square. To make things worse, both of Davies’ cohorts were also in the opposition red colours.

With the forecast for a wet Sunday, the coach had planned for practice in the wet. He had pre-soaked the footballs in buckets of water to make them slippery and heavy. Handling them required a different set of skills and kicking found them a lot heavier. Reading the play was different too because the ball didn’t travel as far from a team-mates kick.

For most of the scratch match Barney was able to play his true game, but always warily keeping an eye out for that nasty crunching tackle from all three. He managed several times to use his short blistering burst of speed to open up the play for his own ‘yellow’ team, and later personally scored two goals with the practised use of his ball skills.

At the end of the match as both teams headed to the changerooms, Davies snarled from behind him, “Clever boy Merrick, but you can’t always be lucky. Your time will come soon.” Barney ignored the gibe.

After changing, coach Cocker sought him out in the locker room. “Merrick I am impressed with your fitness level. You have shown that you have been doing a hard pre-season before you even signed on with us. You will be considered for the starting line-up in two weeks’ time.”

“Thanks coach,” acknowledged Barney.

#

“Grab a beer and join us,” yelled Bill Armstrong from the balcony of the Railways bar and clubrooms in the separate building away from the main grandstand at the Rec. He called down as Barney emerged from the home team’s changerooms underneath the grandstand.

With a beer in hand, he wandered over to the pair standing by the railings, overlooking the ground. Bill nodded at his companion, saying, “I don’t believe you have formally met Steve Tipping, though you’ve seen him at training and on the opposition in today’s scratch match.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Barney. “Half back flanker, right footer, weaker in a left side turn, and not a bad tackle.” He held out his hand and shook Steve’s.

Steve Tipping grinned and announced, “Not a bad analysis, but I haven’t really started to apply real tackles yet. Wait until we get real opposition.” He paused and continued, “I notice that those three are giving you a hard time because you are a cop. Why don’t you give it back to them?”

“That’s not my way,” responded Barney. “I’m here for the fun and the football not the fights. Some retribution will come in time to those who push the limits. I don’t often see you staying around after training.”

“I run the local pharmacy in Chapman Avenue in the CBD. It doesn’t close until 9:00 p.m. on weeknights so I get my locum to do the Tuesday and Thursday afternoons while I am at training. However, I have to get back to finish and close on those evenings because she doesn’t work late nights. Sunday is usually my full day off, and especially today as it’s the Easter weekend.”

“Sounds great,” declared Barney. “Where can I find a locum detective to fill in for my training times, and the times when I just don’t need all the hassle?”

“We should all be so lucky,” laughed Bill Armstrong downing his beer. “My buy, who’s in?”

Chapter 18

Chancey Narrier and Lennie Walsh

Tuesday afternoon, 30^th March

Chancey Narrier and Lennie Walsh stood under the steaming hot jets of the communal showers in the Mullewa Football Club players rooms. It had been a heavy training workout, with the coach putting them through a long sequence of fitness development. This was followed by ball skills, and then a session of on-field tactics. The start of the season was just days away, and the players were keen to get the final cobwebs from the off-season swept away, and to get stuck into real football again.

“Some of them young buggers are shaping up well,” drawled Chancey, with his eyes tightly shut as he let the stream rinse the soap from his face and hair.

“Yeah bro,” snapped Lennie as he turned off his taps. “Some might be too good for both of our aging bodies.”

“Y’sayin’ we’re slowing down?”

“Maybe. And maybe we were never that quick,”

Chancey turned of the hot water tap and opened his mouth to let it fill with water. He rinsed briefly and spat it on the floor. “Yeah, but we had the skills and cunning, and we learned a few tricks over the years. And y’know what they say. Old age and treachery will always beat youth and vigour.”

Lennie grabbed his towel from the nearby seat and wandered out into the change rooms to his kitbag, calling over his shoulder, “We sure picked up a few cunning stunts over the years. Seems a shame to have to pass them all on to the willing youngsters.”

“Speaking of youngsters,” said Chancey as he finished up his shower. “How’s that new baby girl of yours fitting into the family. After four boisterous boys, she must be a welcome change.”

“Ah, she’s delightful,” Lennie sighed. “But Shelley wants us to move from Mullewa back to Mount Magnet so we could live with the extended family, show her off, and get the in-laws to help raise the boys.”

“You’d have to retire from football. It’s 240 kilometres away, and too far to drive in for training and matches for three days every week. And it’s further when Mullewa play away matches in Geraldton, Northampton or Dongara.”

“But you drive here from Geraldton every time,” argued Lennie.

“That’s different,” replied Chancey. “It’s only a hundred K’s and there’s three or four of us coming to training to share the drive and keep company. On match days we got our families driving us here too.”

“Hmm,” responded Lennie, sitting down deep in thought.

Chancey continued. “You may have to join the local Mount Magnet Team. I know they have a few teams out that way but they struggle for full sides and the grounds are sometimes just dust bowls. Travel is a bitch too. There’s lots of kilometres to get between Meekatharra, Cue, and Wiluna.”

“Hmm,” glumly repeated Lennie,

“It’s not like the old days,” reminisced Chancey. “Back then you played for the town and your tribe in the local competitions. Nowadays you go to where they want you the most, or where you will get a regular position or a good opportunity.”

“Or a bit of extra money,” added Lennie coming out of his gloom. “In the old days you played for the fun of it. Now there are professional players even in the country teams who get paid to play. It’s not a lot here anyway since there is not a lot of gate-money for the clubs and bugger-all sponsorship money. I personally just play for the entertainment, my fitness and the glory.”

“And sometimes a little bit extra for the beer money,” quipped Chancey Narrier. “Especially when we win.”

Any further discussion was interrupted as they were joined by another player, who excitedly announced, “Have you heard the news? Gold has been discovered out east of Tallering. Looks like a rich alluvial strike. It was in yesterday’s paper in the Geraldton Guardian.”

Lennie sat up straight and blurted, “That’s great. That’s Badimaya Territory. My family will be able to negotiate some fees to access our land.”

Chancey frowned and spoke quietly and sombrely, “It’s not Badimaya Land. Our Watjarri People’s territory goes right out that way. That land belongs to us.”

A silence settled on the room as both men stared at each other. Neither was really sure where the tribal boundary for the land rights was really drawn.

Chapter 19

The First Body

Thursday morning, 8^th April

Zep Marcon had never been a fast hockey player, but he was very skilful. As he was passed the ball, running into the forward half, he deftly bypassed the right fullback by flicking it past his left foot, skirted around him and raced for the goals. Only the goalie stood in his way.

Choosing to circle across the goals to open up the angle, he swung into the circle as the goalie stormed out to shut down his options. He swung his stick to feint a shot to the right and as the goalie moved that way the whole of the left side of the goals were open. He drew back, ready to flick the ball, and the stringent alarm began to sound in his head. “What’s this?” thought Zep.

The ringing was quite persistent. Zep forgot about scoring the goal and woke up. Beside him, his wife Shirley was also stirring to the insistent ringing of the telephone. His hand groped across the bedside table and eventually landed on the phone.

“Marcon,” he spoke huskily with a dry mouth.

“Zep. We’ve got a body in Mahomets Flats,” stated the duty officer from the Geraldton police station. “At 287 Willcock Drive, just South from the surf club. It may be suspicious circumstances. A patrol car is at the scene already. An early morning forensics team is being assembled and should be there shortly.”

“On my way,” replied Zep, hanging up the phone and reaching for his clothes in one action. He glanced at the time which displayed 5:35. In between putting on his shirt, he speed-dialled his new partner on his mobile. “Barney. Pick you up in five minutes. Body in Mahomets Flats.” He heard the beginnings of a few choice comments but switched off, grabbed the keys to the unmarked patrol car, and blew a kiss to Shirley as he left.

In the late pre-dawn glow, Barney stood outside his rented unit munching on an apple. He passed another to Zep as he got in, and began commenting, “These early starts have got to stop. A growing lad need his beauty sleep. Even the sun is not awake yet.”

“Get over it, precious,” mumbled Zep as he took a bite of his apple.

In deference to the hour, and since there was no traffic, Zep didn’t use the siren, just the flashing red and blue lights. They were outside the house within seven minutes.

“What’ve we got?” Barney asked the two police officers waiting outside the house as he and Zep donned plastic booties over their shoes and pulled on plastic forensic gloves.

“Drug overdose in the front room,” began the constable. “Lad about twenty-two lying in a lounge chair with a needle stuck in his arm. He was found about thirty minutes ago by his surfing mate who called to pick him up. They were planning to hit the local beach at sun-up. The house was wide open, and he was stone cold dead.”

“Where’s the mate now?” enquired Zep.

“He’s over the road sitting on the sand track through to the beach, next to his car.” The constable pointed across at the huddled heap, wrapped in a police blanket. The sun was just beginning to rise, its warming rays lighting up that sandhills area.

“Keep him company, please,” ordered Zep. “See if you can get him talking without getting him too upset. We’ll check out the inside scene until forensics arrive, and then we will interview him.”

The open door gave immediate entry into the lounge room, and directly facing them was the body. The lad was splayed in a single lounge chair with one arm resting on the arm of the chair, palm upwards, and a needle dangling down along his forearm. A cloth tourniquet lay limply on the floor beside the chair. His arm appeared bronzed and clean with just a few blemishes indicating this was probably one of his first encounters with the hypodermic. Dressed in designer jeans, checked shirt and leather boots, he was likely a farm boy.

The large house was neat and tidy, nothing seemed out of place. The drug paraphernalia was on the dining table in the kitchen: a spoon, cigarette lighter and a zip-lock plastic packet. There was quite a bit of fine white powder remaining in the plastic packet.

In one of the three bedrooms was a queen-sized bed, still made up, and clothes that belonged to just one person were neatly arranged in the walk-in wardrobe and in the drawers. The other rooms had single made-up beds with just a few clothes and toiletries in the cupboards. He apparently lived alone in this large house but had irregular visitors. The fridge and food in the kitchen cupboards showed he dined well and looked after himself. All things considered he was not a druggie deadbeat. He probably hadn’t been taking mainline drugs more than a couple of times.

Two men in forensic white coveralls, carrying metal suitcases, and a woman in blue forensics, carrying a doctor’s valise, breezed into the room and nodded at the two detectives.

“Good morning Detective Marcon,” acknowledged the lady in blue. “So this must be your new boy,” she spoke out, giving Barney the full scrutiny. “Laura Chelva,” she stated, cheerfully offering her hand.

“Barney Merrick,” he responded and hesitated to shake hands with his forensic gloves on. Instead he gently bumped her hand with his right elbow.

“We’ll take it from here,” insisted Laura putting on her own rubber gloves. They all began setting out their forensic equipment, so Barney and Zep left the house, to interview the surfing mate across the road.

As the two detectives approached the young man, he looked up in misery, shivering while heavily wrapped in the blanket. They introduced themselves.

“Tell us your story,” inquired Barney, taking the lead.

“When the surf’s up, I usually arrange to get here before dawn. We have a quick bite to eat and then we hit the waves for an hour or two before work. This morning the door was wide open, and I found Charlie like . . .” He gulped and didn’t finish.

For fifteen minutes they gently coaxed the information about his discovery from the distraught lad. Another patrol car quietly arrived to add security to the neighbourhood. Zep instructed the two officers who had made the first contact with the distressed mate to take him to his home and settle him inside, preferably with company to support him. Then return here and get his car home to him. Zep then planned to scout around the outside of the house, while instructing Barney to scout the sand dunes.

Barney wandered across the sandhills to stare at the rolling waves. Already there were a dozen board riders on Separation Point, and a few groups scattered along the rolling breaks of Back Beach. He switched his mind away from the surf and concentrated on looking about the dunes for anything untoward. Apart from dozens of footprints going in all directions, there was nothing unusual. He took a couple of dozen photos of the layout and tracks through the dunes in front of the house and then wandered north along the beach past the Mahomets Beach Surf Club for a few hundred metres.

He returned to check out the surf club premises on the way back. Continuing along the beach past his entry track he walked south, part way towards the caravan park. Seeing everything but finding nothing, he clambered up the dunes to the top and prepared to follow the road back to the scene of the fatality,

He was momentarily stopped as his attention was drawn to a small house on the other side of the road, dwarfed by the several two-story places around it. A ‘For Sale’ sign had him thinking for a moment or two, but then he continued on with his investigative duties.

#

He arrived back at the house of the deceased, just as the morgue vehicle arrived. Two large black sedans pulled up behind it, disgorging five burley men. An overweight redhead with a neatly coiffured, permanent three-day old beard was obviously the leader. Sweating slightly under the moderate sun of a warm winter’s morning, he fronted Zep on the doorstep, displaying his ASIO credentials, the secret Australian Security Intelligence Organisation group.

“This crime scene now belongs to us,” he spoke with a sibilant nasal twang. “These men from the Australian Protective Service Agency will take it from here.” The speaker was identified by the displayed papers as Inspector Sylvester Collingwood. A second paper, with the letterhead of the Attorney General’s Department endowed them with the authority to call on any, and all, of the police forces of Australia for immediate support to combat enemies of the Commonwealth of Australia.

Without giving anybody time to respond, he nodded to the APSA agents to do their assigned tasks. They immediately moved forward. Zep stepped in front of the doorway.

“We are in the middle of analysing the situation of the body, and have yet to begin on the surroundings,” began Zep. “We have yet to confirm whether a crime has been committed.”

“Move aside,” demanded Collingwood, as he moved forcefully into Zep’s personal space

“If you wait just a little while we will be able to give you a full report,” interposed Barney, trying to direct the full focus of attention away from his boss.

“Get out of our way,” the ASIO agent snarled. “Charles McPherson is an ASIO digital analyst from the Defence Satellite Communications Station, the ADSCS, located at Kojarena. His job is highly sensitive, so we must be absolutely sure that none of his work is left lying around his home as soon as possible. We have the supreme authority,” he sneered. “Get it done,” he instructed to his team. “Right now.”

The APSA agents pushed past the two astonished Geraldton detectives and began to operate around the startled forensic team.

“See here,” scowled Laura Chelva, turning to face them.

Collingwood had followed his team in, “Call in your stretcher bearers, and then you and the body can get out of here.” He just stood there before them, as though daring them to begin to argue.

While the morgue team worked on retrieving the body, the displaced forensic team packed up and left. Barney and Zep watched as the APSA agents began their allocated tasks. Without the use of forensic rubber gloves, they first collected all the electronic recording equipment, including the phones – both the mobile and the house set, as well as the phone console with any recorded messages, the VCR and all DVD’s, the computer, and any thumb drives they could find. And they searched diligently through everything, transferred it all into cartons and loaded them into the big black sedans. The inside kitchen bin and the outside bin were packaged into plastic bags and taken away. Next, they collected all paperwork - letters, notepads, household bills, newspapers and all the notes under the fridge magnets.

One of the group was assigned to clean out the car in the carport. The glovebox, centre console and the boot were all emptied, and their contents too were transferred into a carton and loaded into the trunk of one of the sedans.

“Has anyone seen his wallet and base security key?” hollered Sylvester Collingwood. On receiving no positive answer, he yelled, “Turn the place over again. We must get that security pass.”

It was found when they went through all of the pockets in his walk-in clothing wardrobe and laundry basket. They finally departed. As the two Geraldton detectives surveyed the shambles left behind, Barney spoke quietly. “At least we got the body. I don’t suppose it’s still worth getting forensics to finish up in here.”

“What do you reckon?” snapped Zep in frustration.

Barney swallowed and rationalised, “At least we can fingerprint the whole place. Later we may be able to eliminate that pack of vultures.”

“I guess so,” grumbled Zep as he reached for his phone to recall forensics to the house.

#

In the electric atmosphere during the drive back to the police station, Barney began to go over the events. “I can see that there may have been a reason to collect potentially sensitive classified stuff, but that Collingwood character definitely needs a lesson in P.R. And anyway, how did they know to turn up just 30 minutes after we found out about the body?”

“That’s the first question I’m going to ask the commanding officer out at the Kojarena Spy Base,” Zep replied sternly.

Chapter 20

Kojarena

Thursday afternoon, 8^th April

Later that same day, Zep pulled into the car park at Kojarena, some kilometres east of Geraldton. Barney looked around at the parts of the Australian Defence Satellite Communications Station (ADSCS) that were visible. There were not many buildings that he could see for an organisation that had a full-time staff of 80 people. Above the tops of trees he could see a couple of radar dishes and half a dozen radar spheres glowing white in the afternoon sunlight. The car park for staff and visitors was outside the electrified perimeter fence, and the inside establishment was sheltered behind rows of trees and thick bushes. They left their unmarked patrol car and approached the sentry window beside the gatehouse door at the front of the large entry building.

“Senior Detective Marcon and Detective Merrick to see Director Seymour. We have an appointment.” Zep stood tall and used his most official voice through the grill in the bulletproof polycarbonate glass window.

Even then the guard sighed and reached lethargically for his duty clipboard and scanned down the page. “Yep, Got you here,” he drawled. “Let’s see some photo ID please gents,” and he indicated the slot on the side of the armoured window. His slovenly front totally contradicted the way he carefully scrutinised their credentials and checked their photos against their features.

Satisfied he passed their IDs back through the slot and left the window to push the keypad sequence of buttons that opened the large, reinforced iron door to admit them into the building. As the two detectives passed the armed sentry inside the door, two large security officers of the Australian Protective Service fell in on either side of them.

“These lads will show you through the entry procedures and then show you where you need to go,” drawled the guard.

They were in a large room that resembled an airport security gate. After they had locked their keys, coins and phones into personal lockers, their APS escorts put them through the body scanner. It was programmed to check for metals and any digital devices. These were not allowed into the communications base, even by staff. They had been warned about the security, so their service pistols were left secured in the patrol car outside. They kept their police badges and credentials with them. The security guards understood this and passed these separately through security.

They were then escorted to the administration building, and into the office of Director Bruce Seymour.

“Gentlemen,” the Director stood and walked around his desk to greet and shake their hands. He then motioned to a set of five armchairs around a small coffee table and joined them to be seated comfortably for their meeting.

“Your phone call said you needed my help, but you were not specific,” queried Mr Seymour. Zep had kept the request for the interview purposefully vague so that they would not be fobbed off.

“We are investigating the suspicious death of Charles McPherson, one of your employees.” Zep leaned forward and spoke quietly. “We need to find out what he does here because that may have been the reason behind his death.”

“Are you saying he was murdered?” the Director responded with alarm, and sat up, looking from Zep to Barney and back.

“We are unable to fully ascertain that fact,” replied Zep, matter of factually. “Our possible crime scene was compromised before we could process it.”

“Mm-mm,” prompted the Director, nodding, encouraging him to explain further.

“Your base security people arrived immediately, produced ASIO and Australian Protective Service Agent’s IDs and impounded all digital apparatus, papers and other equipment within the building, quoting the Official Secrets Act as their authority.”

The Director frowned. “And when did this happen?”

“This morning,” Barney replied.

“Just a minute,” Seymour stood and leaned over his desk. He pressed the intercom button on his desk phone and asked the secretary to locate the head of security.

While they waited, Zep explained that forensics had just thirty minutes to begin the preliminary analysis of the body site, but they had not yet investigated the surrounding rooms before the APS security squad removed all the material as they hastily and inconsiderately stomped through the possible crime scene.

A brief knock on the door and the weighty red head walked in. “Sylvester Collingwood,” Director Seymour presented him by way of introduction.

“We’ve already met,” grimaced Zep.

“Charmed,” Barney followed up.

“G’day again Detectives Mercon and Marrick,” Collingwood spoke out brazenly. Without waiting for any invitation from the base commander, he sat, casually crossed one leg over a knee, leaned back and assumed an air of indifference.

Barney interrupted with, “That’s Senior Detective Marcon and Detective Merrick.” And Collingwood just inclined his head a little.

Director Bruce Seymour politely requested an explanation of Collingwood’s involvement in the morning’s activities.

His report was given in the annoying smarmy tone of the ASIO agent. “We received information that one of our key electronic communication monitoring staff was deceased in Mahomets Flats, so we made sure that there was no leakage of sensitive material to be found at his residence. We collected the lot. These two gents were there and tried to prevent us from doing so. In the interest of National Security, I over-rode their objections.”

“We were in the middle of a forensic investigation to determine whether there had been any foul play,” Zep articulated. “We would have been finished within an hour, but now we don’t know whether he died of an accidental O/D or was murdered. He may have been targeted because of his position here. We may never know. You gave us no chance to find out.”

“What have you done with the materials that you collected?” quickly interrupted Barney, to distract Zep from his verbal attack on the ASIO agent.

“We are in the process of scrutinising every piece of it,” drawled Collingwood with his superior airs.

“And have you discovered anything that has National Security implications?” Barney probed.

“Ah well ...,” Collingwood was stuck for an answer. To admit they had found nothing was to admit he may have acted prematurely.

“So you have found nothing so far?” Barney continued. “Then you should have no objections about turning the materials already examined over to the police department for forensic analysis.”

“That seems a reasonable request,” suggested Director Bruce Seymour.

“As head of security, it should be me that makes that particular decision,” Collingwood hissed petulantly. “You are the Director here to make admin decisions.”

“Then make that security decision,” countered Director Seymour.

Barney and Zep watched the two men involved in their power-play, not daring to speak in case they shifted their focus back to them. For almost a full minute the two men stared at each other, weighing up the role that each was required to play in this establishment. Finally, Collingwood relented.

“We should be totally finished with both the electronic and hard copy paperwork by tomorrow morning. I will have any non-sensitive materials delivered to you then.”

“Is it possible for us to have fingerprints of your scrutinising team for the purpose of elimination when we analyse the stuff?” coyly asked Zep.

“Totally out of the question,” snapped Collingwood. “ASIO keeps the identity of its agents as secret as possible. And by the way, you are hereby ordered to keep totally secret any details of fingerprints and DNA of any base staff that you find in your forensic analysis. That is an ASIO directive.” He then added sarcastically, “And for your information Detective Marcon, we are not amateurs here. All of our base staff are appropriately gloved up.”

“Next question,” interrupted Barney before Zep could elaborate on the method of collection in the Mahomets flat. “Can we have the details of the name and address of Charles’s next of kin. You took away everything that could identify him. We only heard his name when you pushed through us this morning. His family have yet to be officially notified.”

“I’ll get that for you immediately,” Director Seymour reached over and used the intercom to ask the secretary to copy the family details from Charles McPherson’s personnel file.

“One final question,” persisted Zep.

The three other men in the room all turned to him.

“How did you find out about the deceased so quickly?” he demanded from the pompous head of security.

“We were phoned immediately by the young man who discovered the body. He is also employed here at Kojarena as a digital researcher, a co-worker of Charles McPherson.”

#

On the return journey to town, they diverted halfway back. At Moonyoonooka petrol station and store they turned off the main road to head north up the Narra Tarra Road to reach Yetna. It was part of the luxuriant Chapman Valley farmland. Charles’s widowed father Hugh McPherson owned 2000 acres of prime land near White Peak on the grassy slopes to the east of the Moresby Ranges.

“Mr McPherson, I am Senior Detective Zep Marcon and this is Detective Barney Merrick.” Zep introduced themselves to the wiry farmer as he climbed down from the massive seeder where he was doing some maintenance. He wiped his hands almost clean on an old towel that he apparently kept for that purpose.

“Hugh McPherson,” he answered confidently as he shook their hands. “Would you blokes like a cuppa tea?” he nodded to the farmhouse just fifty metres away.

“No thanks,” replied Barney, anxious to get to the reason for their visit.

“Hugh, I am afraid we have some very bad news,” Zep began solemnly. “Your son Charles was found deceased this morning, apparently of a drug overdose.”

Extreme pain shot over Mr McPherson’s face as he sank to his knees.

“What?

How?

Where?”

His arms covered his head as he rocked back and forward giving out long moans of grief.

As gentle as they could, Barney and Zep elaborated on the severe news as they both knelt beside him. They could give very few details as nothing had been confirmed. They could do little to console him as he agonised over the devastating information. After a long while he collected himself together a little more, gingerly stood and wiped his teary eyes with his hand.

“I have already lost my wife,” he groaned through further tears. “She died some five years ago. Then the two boys deserted me. They didn’t want to stay on the farm so just left me alone. They don’t even keep in touch.”

“Do you have any other family?” asked Barney.

“Just a sister in Perth,” sniffed Hugh, trying to maintain a little control. “But we haven’t spoken in over twenty years.”

“Can we contact your other son for you?” queried Zep. “I am sure he will need to know about his brother and come to visit you here. It helps to have family around at a time like this.”

“I don’t have his phone number or address,” mumbled Hugh, wiping his eyes with a bedraggled handkerchief that he had pulled from his greasy overalls. “He stays somewhere out beyond Mullewa in a mining camp. He wouldn’t be much help here anyway, so you needn’t bother with him.”

As there could be no help from family there, Zep would arrange for Geraldton Community Health to send a mental health worker to provide support for him from that afternoon onwards.

He dropped Barney off at the Recreation Ground for the usual Thursday evening’s training before he headed to the Community Health Offices.

Chapter 21

Willcock Drive

Friday afternoon, 9^th April

“I’ve got some preliminary findings on the body in Mahomets Flats,” Dr Laura Chelva announced over the phone as they settled into their office on Friday morning.

“Hang on,” interrupted Zep. “We’ll be right down.”

With just the body released to them in the Mahomets unit by the ‘Spy-base’ security, they had little evidence to work with, so any new discoveries by forensics would be invaluable.

“The deceased has not yet revealed anything useful.” Dr Chelva began. “The stomach contents revealed he had a fish and chips meal and a few beers. From the limited amount of fluid absorption it was probably early on the night before. I have sent a sample off for chemical analysis. We are also still awaiting the blood-work from the Perth Laboratories.

Apart from the body, the actual needle is very interesting. It has only one set of smudged prints on it, and they are definitely not those from the victim. He apparently did not touch the hypodermic. It also seems to have been used twice, for insulin and for heroin. There are traces of insulin within the heroin residue.”

“So it positively confirms that Charles McPherson was murdered,” concluded Barney. “The heroin overdose was not self-administered.”

“Do you have a time of death?” inquired Zep.

Laura Chelva shrugged and confidently spoke, “With the few measurements that I was able to complete before being interrupted and bundled out of the door, plus the fact the victim had dinner and a few beers, I first estimated the death around 7:00 p.m. on Wednesday night, plus or minus a couple of hours. The full autopsy of organ degeneration confirmed this first estimate.”

“That’s well done on the limited time you had, Laura,” commented Barney.

“Can we get any good prints from the needle?” enquired Zep.

“There may be a slight chance of a match,” replied Laura. “But they are quite blurred by being handled by something or someone. I will send the needle off to Perth to see if they can get a clearer picture to match in the fingerprint database, NAFIS. They may also be lucky and extract some fingerprint DNA.”

“So now we await both blood-work and fingerprints, as well as Collingwood’s delay and his neurotic desire to be in charge and noticed,” groaned Barney. “Why can’t things be easy?”

#

After waiting in vain during the morning for any evidence to be released from the Kojarena Defence Tracking Station, Barney had a quiet word with Zep. “I need a few hours off. I think I have found the right house to buy, and I would like to have a good look over it.”

“By all means,” conceded Zep. “That corpulent clown Collingwood probably won’t be sending us anything today just to make a point.”

Barney telephoned the estate agent who agreed to meet him at the house he had first noticed in Willcock Drive from across the sand dunes.

“You are looking at this property at the right time,” began the agent, settling into his professional banter. “Geraldton house prices are at an all-time low because the port at Oakagee was not built, so a lot of the local industry has slowed down. The mines are serviced by FIFO, fly-in, fly-out workers who live in Perth, who don’t need houses here. The owner of this house moved to Perth and needs to sell it off to finance his new residence. There are not many buyers in the current market so, it is probably going for a steal.”

“Let’s have a look over it,” announced Barney indicating and moving towards the front entrance.

They wandered about the four bedroom and two-bathroom house, with a pool at the back, and the ocean less than a hundred metres from the front door. Barney was delighted with what he saw but kept a straight face so that the agent would not think he was too eager.

“So, what is the asking price?” casually enquired Barney.

The figure that the agent named was very reasonable, but Barney countered with a lower figure for the real estate negotiator to put to the owner.

Barney continued with a set of conditions to make his offer more appealing. “This offer would be subject to finance because I have a property in Swanbourne that is on the market at present. I will be able to buy this when the Swanbourne unit is sold. I will sign the form to put this offer in writing to the owner. Let me know of his decision as soon as you get his reply.”

When the agent drove away, Barney wandered over the road to clamber up the soft sandhill track to stare thoughtfully at the ocean. There were whitecaps on the waves marching towards him. The surfers had now departed because the sea breezes had broken up the waves. But now the kite surfers were making maximum use of the strong winds to leap over those waves. The beach had just a few walkers along its extended length of pearly white sands. He had been standing right here one day earlier during his searching of the area where Charles McPherson was murdered, just a few houses down the street.

It was a little house, but much bigger than his Swanbourne unit and it had the three things most new owners seek in a property. Location, location and location. He was positive he had made the right choice.

#

The agent phone him at home later that same evening with the countering offer from the house owner. It was halfway between the two prices, so Barney happily agreed.

He confirmed, “I’ll go with that, as long as he understands that settlement will be related to the sale of my Swanbourne property. I have had some offers already, but mostly a little low, so now it will be more imperative for me to go ahead with a sale. I want to avoid getting involved in bridging finance with the bank, which usually costs a fortune for borrowers.”

The agent assured him that he would pass this message on to the owner and felt that the Swanbourne sale pre-condition would be acceptable for the sale in Geraldton.

Barney was about to hang up but then thought about his initial deep feelings for this house and then added, “On second thoughts, I will take a chance on a good sale for Swanbourne and estimate that it will occur within two months. If my house sells earlier, we can bring the settlement forward. So how about we set the Settlement Date to be in two months, say about the ninth of June, even if I need bridging finance on that date.”

The owner later agreed to those conditions. Barney was buying the house.

Chapter 22

Opening Game

Sunday afternoon, 11^th April

Two thirty at the Spalding Park Football Ground in the northern suburbs of Geraldton.

The opening game of the season at Spalding was the home ground for Brigades. It was a replay of the contest between last season’s two runner-up teams. Last year the Premiership side, Towns Football Club, had proved too strong against all comers, but the second and third sides had been quite evenly matched each time they had met throughout the previous year. Railways had defeated Brigades in the “qualifier”, the second last match of the season, to challenge, albeit unsuccessfully, against Towns in the Grand Final.

The Railways Blues and Brigades Hawks were fixtured to meet for the first game of the new season, and both were well primed to resume their feud.

Barney had managed to take up his fitness program where he had left off during his recent transfer from Perth, in between his full-time commitments to law and order. He was not yet at his peak but had done enough to impress the Railway’s selectors. He was given the opportunity to play in the opening game.

He had arrived at the ground the necessary 120 minutes before the first siren to undergo the light team workout followed by the intense 30 minutes of pre-match warm-up. He was in the change rooms, psychologically preparing for the game, when a trainer called to him.

“Barney. There’s a young lady wanting to see you outside.”

With raised eyebrows, trying to think who it could be, he wandered out.

“Cassie,” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello Barney,” she spoke softly. “I knew I would find you here.”

Cassie McQueen uneasily shuffled her feet and straightened to her full height of 170 centimetres.

She assumed a strong front and continued, “I went past our old place last week and saw it was up for sale. I knew you were now stationed in Geraldton, but I couldn’t get a home address out of your office. So, I checked the football team’s fixtures and saw you would be playing here today. We drove up here to see you personally.”

She glanced over her shoulder to the lone man standing in the distance. He was a tall young man, smartly dressed in expensive casuals, probably overdressed for a football spectator.

“So that’s my replacement?” Barney grimaced. He was remembering their last meeting some eight months earlier, when she strode out of the unit with her suitcase of personal things. That was the termination of their four-year long relationship.

“We had fun Barney, but your job was your real mistress. Joel now pays me far more attention than you ever did.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath before she continued bluntly.

“We were in a defacto relationship, living in your unit in Swanbourne. Now that you are selling it, I want my rights to a half share in the sale.”

Barney’s jaw dropped. He was totally gob-smacked. Speechless he shook his head slowly and continuously, turned his back and walked back into the change rooms. She was left standing there. He sat quietly for the next few minutes until the team prepared to enter the arena.

#

The siren bellowed for the start of the season, and Barney was fully into it. The first twenty minutes of the game were so intense that every player felt like they had been put through a meat grinder. No quarter was asked or given. Even the umpires were working overtime. No points had been scored.

Barney was way out of sorts, his mind not fully on the game. He ran hard and fast but wherever the ball went, Barney usually wasn’t there. He fumbled the few touches that came his way. Within ten minutes a runner came out and switched him back to the coach’s bench. He sat beside him as coach Brad Cocker continually scanned the ground, occasionally sending a message out via the runner. After being ignored for five minutes, without looking his way, the coach quietly asked, “Are you ready to play football yet?”

Barney swallowed and closed his mind to the problem of Cassie. He clenched his teeth and nodded wisely. “Yep.”

“Then do it,” was the reply.

Barney resumed his position out on the ground and began to play with his usual skill and flair.

Since very few competitors could maintain maximum physical effort and concentration for very long, the initial pressure eased, and the intensity lessened. The skilled players began to find more open space.

Barney found himself out on the half-forward flank in a two-on-two encounter with team-mate Gerry Davies and two opposition players. Barney had control of the ball, hand-passed it to Gerry and crunched the two opposition players out of any pursuit. Davies capitalised on the extra freedom and easily ran into an open goal. He celebrated his success with a showy aeroplane waggle, but he did not acknowledge Barney for his assistance.

Just a short time later, Barney was passed the ball and two opponents closed in on him. Gerry Davies was the major part of his screening protection but he moved aside to allow the double whammy to smash into Barney. He went down winded, lost the ball and it cost an easy goal to the opposition.

“So that’s how he wants to play it,” thought Barney. “I’ll have to watch my back with that teammate.”

#

For the next two quarters, the game went goal for goal. Neither side could get the real advantage. With just five minutes to go, Brigades kicked away to an eight-points lead and went into a tight defence. With guts and determination Railways slowly forced the ball into their forward 50 metres.

A dubious free kick was awarded that had the opposition Brigades supporters screaming and abusing the umpires, and the away side holding their breath. The long kick had the goal umpire moving across the line, but the ball straightened in the air and scraped inside the post. A goal. Just a two-point margin with two minutes to go. Railways had a chance.

Within the next ninety seconds, with intense tackling by both sides, the umpire was forced to bounce the ball three times. The third bounce saw a gallant sacrifice by the Railways centre player as he absorbed a horrendous tackle and made a long handpass out to Barney in the open.

Barney immediately passed it sideways and ran forward to receive a short kick in the open. He was clear and 60 metres from the goal but had players in front closing in on him. He took a chance on a few more steps and kicked long for goal. It was a straight kick and it looked to have the distance.

Gerry Davies stood alone on the goal line and watched the ball coming at him. With the football in mid-flight, the siren sounded. Davies, inspired with dreams of being lauded as the winning hero instead of Barney, ignored the siren and marked the ball on the goal line, still inside the field of play. The crowd went silent as they contemplated the situation.

A ball kicked before the siren and still in the air after the siren would be allowed to score. A ball marked after the siren was not considered a fair mark. If Davies had not intercepted the ball, it was the winning goal. So Railways had lost. As this situation was realised by the opposition, the Brigades players and supporters went wild with joy.

Coach Brad Cocker was furious. In the changerooms, as the players all sat around emotionally and physically drained, the coach berated Gerry Davies.

“You selfish idiot. Your vendetta against Merrick caused you to intercept that winning goal. You wanted to be the hero and be glorified by the spectators. It cost us. You are definitely not a team player. You are no longer required by the Railways Football Club. Gerry Davies, you are sacked.”

Chapter 23

Returned from Kojarena

Monday morning, 12^th April

A few cardboard cartons of the belongings of Charles McPherson had been delivered from Kojarena to the police station late on Sunday afternoon. Barney was committed to his footy match, so when Zep was informed of their arrival, he turned up at the station to spend a little time just sorting it into piles before pushing it aside to be properly analysed on the next day.

On Monday morning, only slightly late, Barney walked tenderly into the detective’s office a little sore from the previous day’s heavy knocks. He noticed Zep open his mouth to comment but quickly interrupted and announced, “All right already. I’ve heard it. I had all the words of advice from the Superintendent and just about all of the lads in the front office.

I have also got some great news. I can now confirm that I am to be the proud owner of a house on Willcock Drive, across the road from the sandhills above Backbeach, and just eighty metres between my front door to the high-water mark. The best surfing beach for hundreds of kilometres around. The owner has accepted my offer with settlement on 9^th June. My Swanbourne unit should be settled before that date. Then I can move in.”

“Congratulations youngster,” Zep offered him the high five, which Barney gingerly accepted.

The pair of detectives spent that Monday morning sifting through the mess of papers and things, trying to determine what was relevant to the case. Without fingerprint controls they had far too many fingerprints to be useful. No electronic devices had been released, but the phone number records had been made available, although somewhat redacted by Collingwood’s orders. So these were not of much use if it was uncertain what was important and what was missing. They were prohibited by Collingwood from using NAFIS on the fingerprints for national security reasons, but they logged what prints they had into their own McPherson Case database in the local office computer for possible later use.

With that admin out of the way they just relaxed over an office coffee and considered the possibilities.

“We gained nothing from that first lot of stolen evidence, so I guess we have to wait for more to be released by Collingwood,” began Barney.

“Young Charles doesn’t seem like the type to have any enemies,” added Zep. “Unless the murder really is related to his work out at the Spy Base. Perhaps we should prompt them into reviewing their security based on the unexplained murder of one of their own.”

“Good idea,” Barney sounded excited. “We might get him to release more of our evidence if he thinks there are national security implications and solving the murder is important. Especially if he wants to maintain his own position as head of security.” He grabbed the office phone and put it on speaker mode.

Barney’s call was answered within a few minutes, as Sylvester was put through by the base switchboard.

“Mr Collingwood,” Barney began quietly and suavely. “Thank you for sending those pieces of valuable evidence to us. We have scrutinised them all very carefully. We are thinking that, like you, there may be an ADSCS connection to the murder. You may need to start a review with your security personnel into this matter. We would like to help, but our hands are tied with you holding all our evidence to the murder. You could help us to help you if you released all the evidence over to us.”

By not letting Collingwood interrupt, Barney finished abruptly and waited. With his own job of security being questioned, the security chief was momentarily perplexed. Then he answered in a slow even voice, “I’ll have to look into that.” He hung up.

“Nice one Barney,” commended Zep. “We can call later and request more returned evidence. In the meantime, what other friends did Charles connect with outside his workmates? Did he have a social group? Without his computer we have no immediate check on his emails, unless we can determine his ISP and get the log of his emails. He may have both a work and a separate home email address.”

“That may take weeks,” groaned Barney.

Further conjecture was interrupted by the desk phone.

“I’ve just finished a phone call with forensics in Perth giving preliminary data. The full report will be sent shortly,” Dr Laura Chelva sounded excited.

“The blood-work on Charles McPherson shows he was roofied. There was enough Rohypnol in his system to incapacitate him before he was given the Heroin hot shot. There were enough drugs in his blood to kill a Mallee Bull. This certainly rules out suicide, so we definitely have a murder to solve.

But strangely his blood analysis showed that he was not a diabetic, so that needle was not one of his. It had previously been used for insulin and then filled with heroin. It has been swabbed for the DNA of the earlier user, but I don’t hold much hope. Those DNA results will take a few more days yet.

Now about that smudged fingerprint. Digital enhancement has managed to clear it up a little. It is not the victims, as I mentioned, but we now have a clear print to work with, and likely it is the murderer’s.”

After Dr Chelva hung up, Barney and Zep considered the ramifications of this new information. This opened up several possibilities as they pooled some ideas.

Someone in his social group was diabetic or one of the casuals who stayed in the house was a diabetic and had used the needle first.

The murderer may have been the diabetic, and the print was his, and DNA may later reveal his identity.

Perhaps the needle was just picked up in the neighbourhood of the house.

They decided to contact Charles’ surfing mate to find out about other social contacts They went to visit him later that afternoon, however he could add little more to their knowledge.

Chapter 24

Defacto Demands

Tuesday afternoon, 13^th April

“Zep. Can we talk personal for a while?” prompted Barney after a heavy morning’s toil on the paperwork.

“Suppose,” warily responded Zep.

“I told you yesterday that I had put an offer on a house in Willcock Drive which was accepted on Friday. My unit in Swanbourne has been put up for sale and hopefully will be enough for me to buy that place in Willcock Drive,” began Barney. “I now need to consult a family lawyer for advice about my defacto girlfriend,” Barney continued. “She wants to claim half my unit in Swanbourne, and I need that capital to pay for that house under offer in Mahomets.”

“I wondered why you have been distracted and out of sorts for the past couple of days,” Zep sagely replied. “I’m no expert, and surely you have your own Law Degree to see you through this. And don’t you have contacts in the old law firm that you worked for when you came straight out of uni?”

“They were mainly criminal lawyers, and it was four years ago,” admitted Barney. “I’m a detective now and no longer recognised by the Law Council, so I have not been kept up to date with any changes in family law. Do you have any contacts in the Family Law business?”

“I can introduce you to old judge Jim Rose. We go way back to my father’s time and in my Katanning life where I spent some of my childhood. Dad was a police senior sergeant while the judge served on the Katanning bench. He later presided over the case where I successfully challenged my father’s murderer. He’s retired now and lives here locally, but he’s still as shrewd as a serpent and has been a judge through all types of cases. He can talk you through some ideas on how to reach an agreement with her.”

#

That afternoon at football training Barney felt a lot more relaxed. By meeting with Judge Jim Rose on the coming Friday night at an evening meal with Zep and Shirley he was sure that things would get sorted out.

He was daydreaming during an intense match practice session, concentrating in picking up a loose ball when he felt a soft bump from the side and over he went. He looked up to see one of Gerry Davies minions laughing at him. “I had to do that,” grinned the attacker. “Gerry is watching from the boundary, and he is still my mate, so the soft bump was all for show.”

Barney picked himself up and played on. Just then the coach called out to the squad, “Have a break.” Barney wandered over to the railing fence where Davies was standing. Before he could say anything, Gerry shouted, “Piss-off pig.” Barney stopped well short of the railings. He was just about to say something when Coach Brad Cocker called out, “Merrick go back to the centre and relax. I will deal with this.”

Barney found out later that Gerry Davies was there to obtain his transfer papers from the coach to be able to join another football team. Coach Cocker had then referred him to the Football Manager for the paperwork, so Davies headed off to find the manager.

In a man-to-man talk with both of his former minions he found that Davies was looking to play with Brigades or Greenough. If he joined a different team, it would mean that their paths would only cross a couple of times every football season.

The man-to-man talk also enabled Barney to talk some sense into the two youngsters. They were good footballers, so he offered each some advice on how to improve each of their games. He felt sure they would take it on board and work with him, no longer against him. Another problem solved.

PART FOUR

Chapter 25

Second Body

Thursday morning, 15^th April

“We’ve got another body,” Zep called over the phone. “Be there to pick you up in five minutes.”

“Bugger. Just after I got my morning coffee and muffin organised.” Barney gulped a mouthful of hot liquid from his mug and reached for his gear.

“It’s a long trip out past Mullewa, so bring the muffin and coffee,” advised Zep. “That way you won’t grizzle all the way out.”

“I’d better take a picnic pack too,” grumbled Barney. “I’m a growing boy.”

Just before he got into the car when Zep pulled up, Barney took another mouthful of coffee to drop the level to a safe carrying level. “Long trip,” he said, putting the drink into the car’s inbuilt cup-carrying holder. “Want some fruit? I have already finished the muffin,” as he waved the plastic bag. Zep declined the offer.

The sun was still low in the early-morning sky, rising over the distant Moresby Ranges. With heavy school drop-offs and morning shoppers clogging up the streets, Zep immediately switched on the flashing blue lights and siren. Within a few minutes they were on the open road, heading directly into the blazing sun.

“What do we know?” queried Barney, peeling a banana and placing the skins into his plastic bag.

Zep checked his rear mirror, scanned the road ahead, and pushed the speedo over 140 kilometres per hour. There was a lot of traffic and the head-on rising sun. It would take his full concentration directed to the road in front as he spoke with a sombre tone to bring his partner up to date.

“Out at the Mount Gibson Company’s mine at Tallering Peak, a shift worker failed to turn up for his 6:00 a.m. start. So, a workmate went to wake him and found him dead with a screwdriver in his chest. That’s all we have been given so far.”

The road was well used by massive grain carrying trucks. Zep dropped his speed to fall in behind one slowly chugging up a rise. There was nowhere to pull over to let the wailing, flashing police car past. It was empty, having delivered its cargo at the Geraldton Port, and was returning for another load to clear out the inland silos before next season’s crops. A quick blinking tail-light told Zep he was clear to pass, so he swept ahead onto the empty road.

“Déjà vu,” commented Barney as they reached and then passed the Kojarena Satellite Tracking Station for the second time in three days. “Have you heard anything more from them yet?”

“Nup,” grunted Zep in disgust. “And we probably won’t hear anything from that bastard Collingwood until he’s good and ready.”

“He seems to have taken his security position as the opportunity to strut his own importance,” mused Barney. “However, we need to get hold of some of that evidence, such as it is, after being manhandled by the AFP’s.”

“We can only hope for a miracle,” Zep sighed. “He was supposed to deliver another lot of it yesterday.”

“Forensics have been trying to fill in the missing pieces with what they have already discovered,” commented Barney. “So far it has been confirmed that he died from an overdose, administered by whoever knows, and probably early on that previous evening.”

“Doctor Chelva is meticulous,” replied Zep, slowing down as a few cars bunched up trying to allow him free access to pass them. Two oncoming cars also edged off the road onto the gravel shoulder beside the road, and dust billowed, making visibility difficult. “She will uncover anything further if it is to be found.”

“I read her report on that rape victim yesterday.” Barney continued, changing the subject to the earlier incident. “She was given a dose of Rohypnol in her water bottle, which rendered her unconscious. It would take planning and observation to know that she left the bottle with her gear while she ran along the beach. And to attack around dawn when nobody else was around; this was not just an opportune crime. He has been around that Mahomets location before. We just need to find others who have seen him.”

“At least we have his DNA,” added Zep. “The stray pubic hairs produced positive results. We have a full DNA profile, but there’s no matches on any known data bases, not even with partial filial ties with family members having similar DNA.”

The next few minutes were spent in silence as each man contemplated the challenges. They casually observed a passing ore locomotive and train, heading downhill with a full load.

“About a kilometre long,” estimated Barney.

“And over 150 carriages,” followed Zep. “Each with 60 tonnes of ore. Some of these trains to Geraldton Port are from the Karara Mine near Morowa, 120 kilometres further inland from Mullewa. Others have the ore trucked in road trains 60 kilometres from Tallering Peak to Mullewa and loaded onto trains for the downhill journey to Geraldton. Wouldn’t you like to earn two cents per tonne on anything crossing your land. Old Lang Hancock and Peter Wright arranged that in the Pilbara and made squillions.”

“Mmmm,” Barney mused, and did some mental calculations. “With around 10,000 tonnes per train that is $200 each time, and dozens of trains per week. But they also started the mining company too and then profited in both ways.”

They passed one more ore train, empty and heading inland, before they reached Mullewa. Without pausing in the town, they turned left, going north up the Gascoyne Junction Road. It was an unsealed, gravel road, frequently graded to cope with the massive ore carrying trucks. They usually hauled one equally large trailer and sometimes with two or even three behind the primary load, as they serviced the Tallering Peak Mine.

Zep soon encountered the problems of passing one of these huge beasts on the dirt road. The least of these problems was the dust cloud as he neared the rear of the vehicle. This limited his forward visibility of oncoming traffic. The road surface was round pebbles of gravel which could sometimes be slippery and may be thrown up by the vehicle in front. The road verges were not always level nor solid, so neither he nor the truck could afford to vary too far off the main part of the road. Zep flicked on his flashing red and blue lights and siren and hoped. The truck slowed right down, pulling over nearer the roadside so they zoomed safely past the double trailered truck, waving in thanks to the driver.

The countryside quickly changed from pastures into scrawny scrubland as the marginal rainfall belt was reached. In the 45 minutes on that gravel road, Zep negotiated past another empty truck going their way and three fully loaded ones coming in the opposite direction. At around 60 kilometres from Mullewa, the road dipped deeply into the Greenough Riverbed, to cross the concrete covered culverts. Water trickled gently underneath. A few weeks earlier the river was bone dry, but in a month or so there could be up to half a metre flowing above the crossing, slowing but not stopping the mighty ore trucks.

Immediately after the Greenough River crossing, the road branched. The dusty unsealed Gascoyne Junction Road headed north for another 450 kilometres. Zep took the left fork which was the bituminised private road into the Tallering Peak iron ore mine. The remnants of the peak rose before them as they approached.

At the gated entrance to the mine, they turned off into the residential camp. It was just a large collection of dongas arranged in several rows. Some were single men’s quarters while others were larger for families to visit during the worker’s off-duty days. A mess hall nearby inside the main gate provided meals for workers and also for their families when visiting.

They were directed by a couple of the mine security guards towards the parking area near a group of smaller single men’s chalets. One smartly dressed middle aged man walked away from the half a dozen men who stood outside one of the rooms and approached the two detectives. He accompanied them to the door of the donga, identifying himself as they went in.

“I am Doctor Matthew Miller from Mullewa. This site forms part of my circuit. I run a clinic here on each Thursday morning for the nearly 300 workers and their visiting families in the dongas. I was called to this fatality at around 7:00 a.m. There was nothing I could do. Robert had been long dead.”

Spreadeagled in the middle of the floor lay a young man in shorts and a t-shirt. He lay face up in a pool of blood with an agonised shocked expression permanently etched into his dead face. The handle of a large screwdriver protruded from the centre of his chest.

As the two detectives scrutinised the scene from the doorway, Barney nodded in encouragement to the doctor, saying, “What can you tell us about the murder?”

“By the way the scene is set out, it appears that the killer was known to the victim. He was able to stand face to face with him. Then the killer struck with the screwdriver, driving it upwards under the rib cage into the heart. Death would have been almost instantaneous as he dropped to the middle of the floor and bled out. He may have had a chance to call out, but only for a brief instant, so he may have been stifled by a hand over the mouth. Blood lividity in his exposed limbs says he died right there.”

“Have you got an approximate time of death?” asked Zep.

“Rigor mortis is almost fully established so death occurred at least 10 hours ago, and possibly up to 24 hours ago.” Doctor Matt Miller pronounced. “Body temperature is now almost at the donga’s ambient temperature so that means about 15 to 18 hours ago. I would estimate time of death to be quite late in the afternoon to middle of the evening last night, say 7:00 p.m. plus or minus two hours. As for forensic entomology, I will leave all that for your expert Doctor Laura Chelva. The forensics and morgue vehicles are on their way from Geraldton. I will wait here until they arrive to hand over Robert’s body.”

“Thanks Matt,” acknowledged Zep, as the three moved outside again.

As Zep and Barney changed into coveralls to conduct a proper search inside, Barney asked Dr. Miller. “Can you tell me who has been into this room this morning? Besides yourself of course.”

“There was his workmate who found him around 6:30 this morning. He called his supervisor who also popped in before ringing you in Geraldton. They then blocked off anyone else from entering. Those two are standing over there with the mine’s chief of security who is wearing the blue hard hat.”

Barney thanked him as he left to join Zep to search inside the room for any additional clues. He found a wallet with a few letters and a pay slip on the small bedside table and read the name. “Holy sheet,” he exclaimed. “This is Robert McPherson, probably the brother of our body in Mahomets.”

Barney drew Zep’s attention and nodded towards a small kit on the table. It contained a few new needles and a bottle labelled Regular Human Insulin.

“This brother of Charles McPherson was a serious diabetic. So we have the likely source of the insulin needle used in the Mahomets’ house.”

With two dead brothers, they knew at once that the first body was clearly another murder victim.

For 30 minutes the two Geraldton detectives carefully looked about, until the forensics and morgue vehicles arrived from Geraldton. They stepped in and took over the collection of evidence and the body. Dr Laura Chelva had a good long talk with Dr Matt Miller.

Barney interviewed the workmate who had discovered the body and then spoke with the worker’s immediate superior. Zep talked with the Chief Security Officer. They each recorded the conversations to be able to swap information later, and then to transcribe for evidence purposes. Together the detectives then recorded the names, and phone numbers and briefly interviewed the other bystanders and nearby donga residents to check whether they had seen or heard anything within the timeframe of the murder. A follow up phone call might be required later.

As the residential camp was full of dozens of people moving about on the hot and dusty red ground, Zep did not feel that it would be of any value searching around the outside of the donga. They wandered about the camp for an hour or so, just to get the lie of the land, and then left for Geraldton, playing back the recorded interviews on the homeward journey.

Chapter 26

Interviews

Thursday afternoon, 15^th April

Barney began first with his recorder, turning up the volume and placing it on the car dashboard. With windows wound up and the air conditioner on low they both listened intently as Zep drove towards Mullewa on the gravel road.

Barney: “Tell me how you found the body.”

Workmate: “Robert has always been quite punctual. Because it was very strange when he wasn’t at work for the start of his shift by 6:00 a.m., I got permission from the supervisor to go and check on him. I knocked on his door, not expecting it to be unlocked but it swung open a little. There he was, in the middle of the floor, dead, with a screwdriver sticking in his chest. He had this look of total shock on his face with gaping eyes and open mouth.”

Barney: “Isn’t a locked door unusual in a mining camp?”

Workmate: “Yeah usually, but Robert had discovered gold out east of here and had a few sample nuggets that he kept in his donga to show off, so he thought it was sensible to lock his door.”

Barney: “Valuable ones?”

Workmate: “Not really, just an ounce or two. The main find was taken to the mint for sale, with some others stored in a bank safety deposit box with his claim deeds. His discovery is now a fully pegged claim and registered with the Mines Department.”

Barney: “Is your own donga nearby?”

Workmate: “It’s a couple of doors away from Robert’s.”

Barney: “Did you notice whether he had any visitors yesterday afternoon or evening?”

Workmate: “I didn’t see anyone arrive, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. It is pitch black out here on a moonless night, so any arrival after dark probably wouldn’t be seen until they came into the huts’ small outside lights.”

Barney: “Did Robert have any close mates in camp?”

Workmate: “We are all mates in camp, working together does that. There is always a friendly banter at work, in the mess and in camp.”

Barney: “Has he got a girlfriend?”

Workmate: “He had one up until a couple of months ago, but they broke it up.

Barney: “Does Robert have any enemies?”

Workmate: “None that I know of.”

Barney: “Did he leave the camp often.”

Workmate: “After the break-up with the girlfriend, on rostered-days-off he would sometimes go to Geraldton to stay at his brothers near the ocean. Other times he would stay in Mullewa for a night or two. Sometimes before work on late shifts he would go out prospecting nearby.”

Barney: “Thanks for your help.”

#

Barney: “When you went into the donga, did you notice anything unusual?”

Supervisor: “Not really; the body was so visually in your face, that I didn’t look at anything else.”

Barney: “Can you confirm the identity of the body?”

Supervisor: “It is, or was, Robert McPherson.”

Barney: “What can you tell me about Robert?”

Supervisor: “He’s a keen young worker, from a farming family so has skills to operate the big machinery. He has always been quite reliable.”

#

Zep: “How many entrances are there to the mine and the residential camp?”

Security Chief: “There is just the one road to the gate. Day workers with cars or in busses go through the gate to the car park inside and clock in at the Admin building. Donga residents turn off before the gate and park near their quarters. They can walk through the side gate beside the road to get to the mine site via the Admin building or go to the Mess Hall, with or without their family visitors.

Zep: “What security is there in the residential camp?”

Security Chief: “We monitor the main gate to the mine with CCTV, and this also shows the turn off entrance to the residential camp just outside the gate. This records all movements of ore trucks and service vehicles which we log. We see the worker’s cars entering the mine site car parks, and the workers going to the mess, but we don’t record those as the workers have to sign in through Admin to access the mine itself. The same for the residential camp. We don’t have cameras in the camp itself.”

Zep: “So anybody can have visitors without you knowing?”

Security Chief: “We would see their vehicles at the entrance, but not who they actually visited.”

Zep: “Can you get me the list of number plates of all residential camp visitors yesterday.”

Security Chief: “Happy to help. It will be sent through as soon as we check the CCTV footage. I’ll send you a digital copy of the footage too.”

Zep: “We will also need a listing of all donga residents with phone numbers and vehicle plate numbers. Can we also have a list of all mine employees at the mine on Friday with their shift times. And a map of the area around the residential camp, and the mine entrance will be very useful.”

Security Chief: “Can do, as soon as I can arrange it.”

Zep: “Thanks for your help.”

#

With the mention of the nuggets on the tape, Zep told Barney to phone forensics back at the camp to pick up any loose ‘rocks’ they could find inside the donga, and make sure they collect the needles and insulin kit, plus any used needles inside or around the donga.

They stopped for takeaway coffee and sandwiches at the roadside café in Mullewa and munched during the onward journey to Geraldton.

“We don’t have any idea of a possible murderer,” groaned Barney. “There are just too many options. Is it a tenant in the dongas or a drive-in visitor?”

“Or perhaps a mine worker not from the dongas who walked from the mine site,” added Zep. “There are just too many options to begin with.”

“With two bodies, we desperately need to revisit the first one. It may lead us to a motive for this second one,” prompted Barney. “Can we put a bit of pressure on that Kojarena clown Collingwood, just to push his buttons?”

“You had better leave it to me,” insisted Zep. “You are likely to get him totally offside, and then he will never respond. I’ll give him a call now on my mobile.”

For the first eight minutes Zep listened to the spy base ringtone while he waited for his hands-free phone in the car to start speaking. He held on patiently until Sylvester was ready to answer the phone. Zep then explained that the brother of Charles McPherson had been murdered, so Collingwood’s delay was now impeding a double murder and ‘Perverting the Course of Justice’ is a criminal offense with a likely long jail term.

The head of security promised, “We will pack the materials that we have finished with, and they will be delivered to your office tomorrow.”

With tongue in cheek, Zep added, “How is the security review progressing?” and without waiting for an answer he enquired, “We are in the vicinity. Can we drop in and collect the evidence?”

“Totally out of the question,” was the terse reply before Sylvester Collingwood disconnected.

“Hopefully, it will be much sooner than his response for the first box of evidence,” Barney commented as Zep finished the call.

“Well, I guess it’s time to notify Robert’s father,” sighed Zep. “That has to be the worst part of this job. We will have to call in on the way home.”

“And then please drop me at footy training afterwards. I will walk home afterwards or get a lift if it is a hard night,” concluded Barney before sitting back and taking it easy for the remainder of the journey to the McPherson farm at Yetna.

Chapter 27

House Sales

Friday morning, 16^th April

They waited in vain during that Friday morning for the promised return of evidence from Collingwood. They had given up hope and were working on other small cases.

Barney was quietly plodding away on police paperwork when his mobile phone buzzed on his desk. “Merrick,” he answered briefly, not recognising the incoming number.

“Mr Merrick. This is the estate agent in charge of selling your Swanbourne property. I have some good news.”

Barney immediately perked up and sat up straight. “Yes?”

“We have received an offer that is very close to your asking price, and the buyer is quite financially well off,” the agent revealed.

“Take it,” was Barney’s interrupted reply.

“But I haven’t fully explained the situation,” continued the agent. “He needs an almost immediate settlement because he is moving to Geraldton from over East with his full household in storage, packaged ready for transit on the road. His house over there has been sold and settlement is during next week. He will have the funds readily available.”

“Take it,” repeated Barney.

“But sir. We are talking about hundreds of thousands of dollars here,” wavered the estate agent.

“I assume that you have checked his credentials and verified his financial position in his background. Otherwise, you would not be putting his proposition to me. You are a licensed and well-known estate agent or else I would not have taken you on.”

“All was checked out,” confirmed the agent. “We can settle within a fortnight if we can get the Lands Department paperwork sorted out.”

Barney was dancing a jig in the middle of the detective’s office. “Arrange it as soon as you can,” he said. “And thank you.”

Barney was ecstatic as he spoke to Zep. “Because Perth is far more expensive than Geraldton, the selling price of the Swanbourne unit means that I will have almost complete equity in the Mahomet’s house. Now I only have to sort out the problem of Cassie McQueen.”

“We have Judge Jim Rose coming for dinner with us tonight,” interrupted Zep. “He will set you in the right direction.”

#

It took quite a while for peace and sanity to settle back into the office. Zep resumed his tasks while Barney just sat and day-dreamed of his new house on the seaside, soon to be bought and almost fully paid. Sun, sand, surf, fishing, beach running, the possibilities were endless.

Their peaceful thoughts were interrupted by the office phone. The technician from Perth Forensics was so excited that he was almost babbling. Zep turned on the speakerphone.

“We had just completed the testing and entered the DNA results of Charles McPherson’s blood into CrimTrac in Perth for matching in the National Criminal Investigation DNA Database when it set off alarms. His DNA is already in the system for an active investigation. And get this. The investigation is one of your own. I will fax the report on the results through to you immediately. I am sure that it will help a lot with your investigation.”

“Stop,” broke in Zep. “Calm down and get to the point.”

“The point is that the DNA of Charles is a match for the pubic hairs found in the rape of Gina Gower at Mahomets Beach. Your murder victim Charles McPherson was the rapist.”

#

“That sure throws a spanner into the works,” exclaimed Barney. “More than ever, we need to sort out the murder of Charles McPherson. Why is that crazy cat Collingwood doing this to us?”

“And now we also have his brother’s horrific death to deal with,” declared Zep.

“Have we got any results from the forensics team or from Dr Chelva yet?” asked Barney.

“It’s a bit early for Robert’s autopsy to be completed, but by now forensics should be finished searching through his Tallering donga. I’ll give them a call and get a preliminary verbal analysis before they get down to writing the full report.” Zep grabbed his mobile.

The leader of the forensic team gave them the short account as they packed up to return from the Tallering Minesite.

“The cabin door was not forced, so the murderer had been let in by Robert. He must have been known and trusted.

There were plenty of fingerprints that we assume were the deceased because they were everywhere in the usual places, including the needles and insulin kit on the bedside table. Prints that we assume were from an old girlfriend were found on a few hygiene bottles in the bathroom cabinet, but not found elsewhere. Several others we have determined were from three separate cleaning staff as they were on brushes, brooms and cleaning liquids in the corner closet and also found in other common cleansing places. There were no prints that could be identified as coming from an intruder like the murderer.

When we vacuumed the place looking for traces of DNA material very little was picked up. It looks like the cleaning staff are super-efficient. I don’t hold out much hope there, but we will put what we have through the Perth Labs.

Robert’s wallet was left open on the bedside table along with letters and pay slips. The usual driver’s licence, mine-site ID, his credit cards and a few hundred dollars in cash were in it. Plus, there was a photocopy of a gold Lode Claim Certificate from the Mines Department, denoting a five hundred metres by two hundred metres site in the Tallering District as Number 1592653. It did not give the exact location, just detailed his rights and conditions, but a page was missing that may have detailed the actual position.

The nuggets that you requested to be collected were not there.”

“Damn,” swore Barney. “There’s no help in that lot of evidence.”

Chapter 28

Fingerprints

Friday Afternoon, 16^th April

With nothing from forensics on the Tallering murder and still nothing from Sylvester Collingwood by mid-afternoon, and they were at a standstill on their cases. So, they tried a think tank and just threw their professional thoughts and ideas into the ring.

“Maybe the earlier rape of Gina Gower was the trigger that generated the killings,” began Barney. “Perhaps Charles was observed in the rape of Gina, and taken out by a well-meaning vigilante. However that doesn’t explain the killing of his brother.”

“With two murders from the one family it points to a close friend or relative,” considered Zep. “And we seem to only have the father in that frame. Yet, in the times we have visited him he just doesn’t seem the type. He loved those boys.”

Zep paused and then added wisely, “How about a vendetta against the family, for something they may have done, or perhaps was done by the father, mother or even grandparents many years ago,”

“The fact that there were two murders 160 kilometres apart, suggests their exact locations were known to the killer, maybe someone socially close to both of the men. Perhaps a drinking mate, or an old school friend,” considered Barney. “And both murders were committed on Wednesday evenings between 5 and 9 p.m. so maybe the murderer has only a limited time span during which he is able to commit the crimes. Perhaps a full-time job or day-time commitment. Maybe an after-work training regime like football training on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Maybe there is an earlier sporting club connection,” added Zep. “Did they play junior sports and offend someone? Or was there a jilted girlfriend with issues?”

“Was it because of the discovery of the gold mine. Perhaps there is an individual or a large company that is preparing to move on a lapsed claim and is eliminating all of the stake holders,” speculated Barney.

“If that is even a slight possibility then we need to see that Hugh McPherson is warned about protecting himself,” resolved Zep, and reached for his phone and passed the message through to Hugh out on the farm at Yetna.

“Well, I guess we need to check the fingerprints of Robert McPherson,” Barney decided. “There is some sort of a link in the evidence that suggests it may be a sibling squabble.”

“We had better visit Dr Chelva. She probably already has transferred the prints from the body onto the files,” agreed Zep.

In her laboratory Laura was busy on her computer typing in the latest report on the blood work for murder victim two, Robert McPherson. She paused as they entered. “Now what?” she enquired.

“Have you by any chance logged the fingerprints of Robert McPherson into NAFIS,” Zep politely requested.

“Sorry but I haven’t yet got to that stage. I was still working on causes of death, time, place, and other such details that will be needed for the coroner’s inquests. But since you are here, we can do it now.” She reached for the digital fingerprint scanner and walked over to the bank of refrigerated drawers containing the latest bodies. As she scanned the full set of prints for the body it was relayed to her desk computer. She then added in his personal details before uploading the file to NAFIS for comparison.

The prints of Robert triggered a current warning. The alarm was connected with an active investigation. There was a definite match for the blurred fingerprints found on the needle that had given his brother Charles an overdose of heroin.

“This is going to make things difficult,” began Barney. “We suspected that the needle used as the murder weapon was an old one of Roberts. Did Robert actually do it? We don’t have a living brother to question about his movements. Did the brothers keep in contact? Or did he only visit him once to kill him on the night of the seventh of April?”

“We have all those unofficial fingerprints from the house in Mahomets that we were not allowed to log in NAFIS, and the confiscated paperwork to check against,” acknowledged Zep. “Robert’s prints may be scattered in the house among those of the Collingwood mob, deposited there before they went rampant destroying any evidence. At least we have them on our private records.”

An hour later they had manually checked Robert’s fingerprints against the many prints left by the Kojarena security and others. It was apparent that Robert was a frequent stayer at his brothers, often using one of the bedrooms in the house.

“We now know Robert stayed at the house sometimes, but the question is, was he there for that night?” considered Zep. “At least he was not there next morning when the body was discovered at dawn. And there was no diabetic food or drink there, and no clothes, bedding or other evidence to show that he was anywhere near the place for the previous few days.”

“Did Robert keep any of his diabetic paraphernalia at the house?” pondered Barney. “Were there needles left there for an unknown murderer to use later?”

“If he did, our forensics did not find anything,” agreed Zep. “Perhaps that Collingwood mob collected them and have not yet handed them back. Time to rattle his cage again.”

“You are enjoying this aren’t you?” smirked Barney.

Zep grinned as he rang the number, then assumed a thoroughly serious face as he was put through. “Mr Collingwood. Thank you for the materials that you had delivered yesterday. We found them most enlightening, but we now need to push forward to catch these killers. We need to establish if there were any needles and insulin being kept in the house, and whether you collected them. We must have them immediately to forensically test them. Do you have them?”

After what was an exceptionally long pause, Sylvester grunted a reply. “I suppose we have finished with them.”

“I will despatch a police car to your front gate immediately. They should be there in twenty minutes. Please have the apparatus waiting there to be collected. Thank you.” Zep disconnected the phone line and fist pumped into the air.

“Bully,” quipped Barney.

Chapter 29

Dinner Judgement

Friday evening, 16^th April

Later that evening on Friday 16^th April

“Red or white, Judge?” queried Zep.

“It’s just Jim now that I am retired. And make it a red wine,” was the reply from Judge Jim Rose. “Now Barney. Zep tells me you need some advice from an old legal mind. What’s the problem?”

As they sat around the dinner table at Zep’s residence on that Friday night, Shirley placed a hot dinner tray of sliced roast lamb and platters of mixed roasted and also boiled vegetables onto cork table placemats, ready for everyone to help themselves. Table settings and condiments were already neatly laid out. Zep fussed about pouring the wine while Shirley added a hot jug of gravy into the centre before sitting down.

Through the leisurely consumption of the main course, Barney explained his problem with the defacto challenge by Cassie McQueen over his Swanbourne unit. That very morning, he had accepted a pleasing offer for the unit. He finished outlining his predicament just before the dessert of hot apple crumble and ice cream was brought out. The judge thought for a time as they ate their sweets and asked Barney a couple of questions to clarify some aspects of the relationship.

They all sat back relaxing with a well-aged liqueur muscat as Jim Rose outlined his recommended direction and explained several decisions for Barney to work through. At the end of the very pleasant evening, they all thanked the Judge for his particularly welcome advice.

The next morning Barney drafted out his proposition to Cassie McQueen.

To Cassie McQueen, Saturday 17^th April

I acknowledge that we were in a defacto relationship for just under four years.

You moved into the furnished unit that I owned in Swanbourne, and during that time I continued to pay the mortgage, rates and the house and contents insurance exclusively from my salary.

I was in full-time employment, getting a salary and paying into my own taxes, superannuation and medical insurance.

You were also fully employed, getting a salary and paying into your own taxes, superannuation and medical insurance.

We kept a joint account for day to day living, food, entertainment, household expenses and holidays.

We both contributed equally to keep this account and used its credit cards for joint expenditures, including electricity, water, gas, internet and our mobile phones.

I had fully purchased my own car before we moved in together, but we decided to buy a car for you, valued at $18,000, using our joint account for the hire purchase. This car was fully paid off within the four years that we were together.

You paid for the upkeep of your car and gymnasium from your own salary, and I did the same with mine.

Since you left me eight months ago to cohabitate with Joel, I had no responsibility from that time on for your maintenance.

The relationship was less than 5 years so is considered by law to be a short relationship, so the erosion principle for property division will not apply. The furnished unit in Swanbourne that I brought into the relationship will still be mine in full.

My records show that there was $1500 remaining in our joint account when you walked out, with electricity and water bills due that would cost $400.

All other expenses were equally shared expenses.

If this proposition is accepted as an agreement, I am prepared to let you keep the half of your car that I paid for, and I will send you the $1100 remainder of the joint account. Please seek your own legal advice and get back to me.

Signed Barney Merrick

Barney used the current address of her car license plate to mail her the letter. A second copy was sent to Cassie’s parents to pass on to her. He was confident he had all points covered.

The reply from Cassie arrived in the mail just over one week later, a thick letter with several legal documents included.

Dear Barney,

In reply to your proposition, I sought legal advice on my claim against our common defacto residence. It does seem there will be a problem if I take this to court. My chances of winning are quite slim, and it will cost me a large sum if I happen to lose.

I have decided to accept your proposition in total and my lawyer has prepared the necessary Financial Agreement for each of us to sign, based on your proposition. He has also included a signed statement to confirm I have been advised of my rights. I have included two signed copies of each document. Please sign all copies and send one of each back to me along with the $1100. This will finalise the Financial Agreement.

So now the car will be fully mine and you will send that $1100 on to me.

Cassie McQueen

29^th April

Barney was thankful that another of the obstacles to owning his new home had been overcome.

Chapter 30

Bar Room Brawl

Sunday afternoon, 18^th April

Game two of the footy season was a home game for Railways against the visiting side from Mullewa, a rural town 100 kilometres east of Geraldton. That community lived and breathed football, but they sometimes struggled to field 22 players that were all fully match fit at the league level. A couple of weaknesses in Mullewa’s game allowed Railways to scrape in with a win.

The quiet celebrations of the win were underway in the Railways Club bar. Barney and Bill Armstrong sipped lagers among a group of players and members, keen to replace lost fluids and electrolytes after the hard-fought game.

A rowdy scuffle disrupted the relative peace of a post-match bar room. Two groups around the pool tables divided into opposing gangs. Seven players, including two Railways and five Mullewa members, angrily faced off against five players, four of Railways and one from Mullewa. They were all of Aboriginal people descent.

Barney could recognise and name all of the Railways Blues players. He could place a couple of the Mullewa Saints players, having encountered them during the match. However, he was unable to figure out the reason behind the split-up between the two groups.

The first inklings of conflict were the raised voices, followed by a bit of pushing and shoving. Things got heated and a few fists were thrown, occasionally connecting. It escalated when pool cues were grabbed and brandished like spears. They were too long to swing, so a couple of lads smashed them onto the pool table to break each in half. Each broken cue provided two waddys and, so armed with the clubs, the two combatants faced off.

Like mediaeval knights in a life-or-death sword fight, they thrust and parried. Swinging weapons were either ducked or blocked. They were well matched.

A third fellow tried to break another cue but this one splintered longwise, leaving a vicious long point. It was a deadly thrusting spear or a javelin for throwing. He began to advance on the opposition brandishing the long lethal barb.

The skirmish had rapidly intensified into a very dangerous situation, so Barney knew he had to immediately interrupt the battle. He grabbed a pile of thick football magazines and strode purposefully over to a bench near the pool tables. He prepared himself and he slammed the pile flat onto the benchtop.

The loud report echoed through the bar. Everyone stopped and turned towards him, looking for the gun. He just stood there with his left hand holding up his badge and his right hand behind his back. With a quiet voice he pointed at the group containing the four Railways players and growled, “I want to see you four out on the front patio. You too feller,” as he included the Mullewa player who had sided with that faction. No one moved, as the adrenalin still pumped; the urge to fight still coursed through them all.

“Now!” he bellowed in his match day best.

They moved.

Barney reckoned they weren’t moving because he was the law, as these lads were not usually that cooperative, but they were uncertain about the gun he could be hiding behind his back. A couple of them noticed the pile of books and the penny dropped, but by that time the group was moving, so they followed the pack.

“I suggest that you lot clear out,” he called back over his shoulder to the other group of combatants. “I may want to come back and check ID’s for unpaid speeding and parking fines. There may even be some outstanding other warrants.” He figured it may hit home with at least one out of the seven young men.

In the quiet evening, with just a hint of setting sun on the trees across the oval, Barney faced the five players. “Now what’s going on?” he calmly asked.

“Nothing to do with you, pig,” came the venomous reply from the only Mullewa player in the group.

In the two months of pre-season training, the other Railways players had grown to respect Barney as a dedicated footballer, and a fair player. They shuffled their feet in embarrassment at the outburst of their colleague, but they were interested to know how the young officer would handle the situation.

Barney turned his focus onto the opponent, and quietly spoke, “You’re Chancey Narrier aren’t you?”

The Mullewa player was surprised at how quickly Barney had learned his name, after just one football match against him. “What? How? Who told you?” he stammered.

“I try to learn about my opponents as quickly as I can.” Barney explained. “It gives me the edge in a game to know their moves. I have learned a few tricks from you already. That way you prop on your left foot and start to turn even before you are tackled with the ball. It gives you a chance to stand in the tackle and pass off the footy. I can use that. You played a good game today, not like most of your team-mates who seemed to have something on their minds.”

Chancey visibly calmed down, lowered his head, and kept quiet, so Barney turned to face the others.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s about that gold discovery out at Tallering,” one of the men began. “Those Badimaya blokes reckon it’s on their land and they’ll be able to get royalties when a mining company has to negotiate access to their Native Title Land. We think it is our own Watjarri Territory.”

“So if you’re not sure, why fight?” questioned Barney.

Another Railways player continued, “No one lives there anymore. The mining companies surveyed it seismically years ago and core sampled some parts, but they aren’t interested in it now. Plenty of roos out there but it’s too useless for farming. It was probably the hunting ground for both tribes, but nobody hunts there anymore. So it’s no man’s land, until someone strong enough claims it. So we fight for our own tribe’s recognition.”

“Ah,” breathed Barney. “So that’s why many of the players were not up with the game today.”

“Yes,” replied the second speaker, who seemed to have strong knowledge of his tribal history. “We have footy players who are members from Badimaya or from Watjarri and other tribes, plus many who are mixed race from several peoples. Some are certain of their single heritage, but many others have divided loyalties. The town of Mullewa is in chaos, but so are our peoples all around the countryside.”

Barney got the picture, so countered with some advice. “You are going the wrong way to solve the problem. If you continue to fight, there will be injuries or much worse. Some of you will end up behind bars charged with affray, assault, GBH, or even manslaughter. From inside prison you will be useless to your tribe. You need to rethink your approach. Consider your options, plan calmly, and come up with ways to use the law to your own advantage. Those who are best prepared will have the greatest advantage. So how about it?”

He looked from one to the other at everyone’s eyes and could see he had at least made his point. Even Chancey nodded in partial agreement.

“So let’s go back in,” he indicated with his thumb, and turned to open the door. Thankfully he saw that the pool tables were now deserted.

Chapter 31

Yetna Farm

Monday evening, 19^th April

With the delivery of the needles from Kojarena late on Friday afternoon, forensics analysed them first thing on Monday morning. The report was ready for the detectives within an hour. They had gained some extra knowledge, but it was not the case breaker they had hoped for. A couple of the needles had been used for insulin and showed the clear fingerprints of Robert McPherson, as well as prints identified as one of the AFP’s who collected them. Robert’s prints were definitely not smudged but it showed that the murder syringe had likely been obtained from this set within the house in Mahomets. It was still unclear whether it had been used by Robert to kill his brother Charles, or somebody else had done it.

“We need to ascertain the whereabouts of Robert McPherson during the time of the murder,” concluded Zep. “These smudged fingerprints are not solid evidence of his guilt. Perhaps he had an alibi.”

“In which case there may also be some doubt cast onto the screwdriver prints,” added Barney. “However, those ones were almost perfect prints, without any smudging, and I wonder whose they were.”

“I’ll first contact the security chief at the Tallering Mine again and later you talk to his workmate,” directed Zep as he reached for his mobile. “Use speaker phone so we both can hear the conversations.”

#

Zep: “Good afternoon sir. This is Senior Detective Zep Marcon of the Geraldton Police. We are following up on the murder of the two McPherson brothers. Do you have time to answer some additional questions?”

Supervisor: “Certainly. Fire away.”

Zep: “Firstly. Can you give me details of Robert’s work roster for the week of April fifth to April ninth?”

Supervisor: “Just a minute.” He paused while he accessed his computer. “Here it is. He was on night shift for that full week, working from 10:00 p.m. until 6:00 a.m. and the time sheets showed he was there for all his shifts from Monday night until that Saturday morning. The following week he was on mornings from 6:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. and was at work on time for the Tuesday and Wednesday. As you know he was murdered on Wednesday night, so he didn’t get to work on Thursday.”

Zep: “Do you have any knowledge of his leisure hours?”

Supervisor: “I’m afraid not.”

Zep: “Thanks for your help.”

#

Barney rang the workmate and after the usual introduction, he started his questions.

Barney: “I believe that you and Robert usually worked the same shift. Do you know what he did in his non-working hours?”

Workmate: “Vaguely. He was usually known to stay around camp. He broke up with his girl a couple of months back so had no reason to leave the camp. After that break-up, he was known to wander about the bush with a metal detector just prospecting. Usually he would just walk out of camp, but sometimes he would drive out further to search. On weekends he sometimes went to Mullewa for the organised activities by the miner’s social club, such as darts, billiards, quiz nights, tennis, squash or bowls. Sometimes he went to Geraldton, but I don’t know what he did there. He might have stayed at pubs for a night or two for the occasional binge.”

Barney: “Did he do just alcohol or drugs too?”

Workmate: “He was a serious diabetic so had to avoid most excesses. I think he would have kept away from drugs for his own safety’s sake.”

Barney: “Do you know what he did on the night of Wednesday, the seventh of April?”

Workmate: “No. I didn’t see him that night until shift time at 10:00 p.m.”

Barney: “Thanks for that.”

#

As Barney finished the call, Zep spoke, “He isn’t in the clear if his shift started at ten. He would have time to be in Geraldton up until 8:00 p.m. and be in Tallering at work on time by 10:00 p.m. with a bit of a rush.”

“So, we need to do a phone around of the camp people to see if anyone remembers seeing him in camp or at dinner in the mess on that Wednesday night,” proposed Barney.

For the next few hours they rang the group of people who were listed as the bystanders at Robert’s murder investigation, and also those who occupied the dongas nearby, plus a few random workers who would have been on the same shift that night. It was the week before his own murder, but no one remembered seeing him in camp that night until he turned up for work at ten.

“He doesn’t seem to have an alibi, so is looking more and more like he could be his brother’s murderer,” concluded Barney.

Zep looked at his watch and visibly yawned. “I think we had better have a word with the only remaining member of the family. He may be able to tell us if there was any rivalry or friction between his two boys. Tomorrow we will pay Hugh a visit.”

“And get his fingerprints so we can eliminate him from our enquiries,” finished Barney as he reached for his coat, heading for home.

#

Just over an hour later, at 6:00 in the evening, Zep was contacted.

“There is a Police and Ambulance emergency now, out at McPherson’s farm at Yetna,” Senior Sergeant Gary Perkins called Zep on his mobile. “I know that he is a person of interest in your double murder investigation.”

Zep immediately phoned Barney. “There’s trouble at McPherson’s farm. I’ll pick you up in five minutes. Where are you?”

He drew up outside Barney’s rental flat, having switched off his siren a minute earlier out of deference for Barney’s quiet neighbourhood. It was switched on a short time later, and the unmarked patrol car wailed out of town.

“What’s happening?” gasped Barney.

“A gunshot at the Yetna farm and both the police and ambulance have been summoned,” replied Zep.

He kept the flashing blue lights and siren on as they sped out the Northern Highway, passing a lot of traffic that were heading the same direction to the northern suburbs and the Far North beyond. When they turned off the highway onto the Chapman Valley Road the traffic thinned to almost nothing. As they neared the entrance to the Yetna farm they passed an equally noisy vehicle coming the other way. It was the ambulance, but they had no idea of who the patient was. Zep negotiated around the ambulance and pulled into the farm. They noticed that there were already two police patrol cars parked outside the farmhouse, one with lights still flashing.

“What happened? Who was in the ambulance?” Zep used his seniority to take charge.

“The farm owner Hugh McPherson was shot by an intruder.” The senior constable who welcomed them at the front doorway gave them a brief rundown. “He was shot in the shoulder, losing a lot of blood before the ambos got here. He was fading in and out of consciousness when we got here. The ambos think he will survive the gunshot wound if they can get enough blood plasma into him to counter the haemorrhagic shock before they get him to Geraldton Hospital and into surgery.”

“And the intruder?” asked Zep.

“Well and truly gone before we got here,” continued the constable. “The road here was dead quiet. We passed no cars on the road coming towards us as we came here after leaving the suburbs. The only three cars we passed were leaving Geraldton after work, travelling our same way.”

“Have you fellows started a house search yet?” asked Barney.

“No Sir,” was the reply. “We were waiting for you and forensics to arrive.”

“Then you two senior constables will need to have a look through the remainder of the house, without touching anything. Put these forensic plastic socks over your boots,” directed Zep. “Look for forced entry and anything out of place. Let us know if you find anything.”

Turning to the other two policemen he directed, “Your job is to take a look around the house at any out-buildings to see if there are any hiding places that could conceal an intruder. It might be difficult as it is getting dark but see if you can see and try to avoid any fresh tracks in and out from the rear of the house. Have you got your service torches with you.”

“In the car, sir,” was the prompt response.

“We will be analysing the living room. Forensics have been delayed but will be here tomorrow to go through the place properly,” finished Zep.

Before entering the house, Barney and Zep donned the full white plastic coveralls which included plastics socks over their boots. On the living room floor was a rifle, next to a lounge sofa covered in blood. After taking a couple of photographs with his mobile, Barney used his gloved hands to carefully pick up the rifle to confirm that it had been fired recently. He engaged the safety catch and then laid it alongside the wall near the TV. After some time, the constables returned to report that there had been no visible signs of a forced entry. There was a gun cabinet that was wide open with a key in the lock. After Barney and Zep had done a quick scan of the house, they all moved outside for a quick look around the perimeter of the house and yard. They could not see much by torchlight in the pitch black of the night.

One patrol car was instructed to stay on site to secure the farmhouse until relief arrived. The other was directed straight to the hospital to guarantee that there would be no second attempt on the life of Hugh McPherson after any operating theatre that he had to go through. Both sets of officers would be replaced during the night when their shift was up.

Chapter 32

Hospital Inquisition

Tuesday morning, 20^th April

The wounded patient struggled to rise up a little, reaching for the bed elevator. With a saline drip restricting his movements this was proving a little difficult until Barney reached over and placed it into his hand. He rose slowly until he found his level of discomfort and backed off a little. So now he was able to face the two seated detectives.

“How are you feeling Hugh?” asked Zep, as he placed the small recording device on the mobile hospital table and switched it on. Before Hugh McPherson could answer he continued. “This session will need to be recorded and logged.”

“Shit-scared and in pain. I’m really feeling it, even though I am drugged to the eyeballs with painkillers,” was his reply.

“Your triple zero call to the police said that someone tried to murder you. Tell us all that happened,” prompted Barney.

“It started with the unexpected visit from my sister’s husband, Mark Howard. At first I didn’t recognise him. He was wearing a full body wetsuit of green Lycra with head-cover, and latex gloves. I haven’t seen him for over twenty years; not since the family moved to Perth. He appeared in my lounge room yesterday evening and he was waving my own rifle at me. I didn’t hear him come in as I had the TV on way too loud. I thought I had locked all the doors after your warning last Friday. My gun cabinet was locked too. But there he was.” Hugh shifted uncomfortably in his hospital bed.

“He made me sit deep into the lounge sofa while he opened my laptop on my writing desk, with the rifle on the desk pointing my way. He typed away for about five minutes, saying nothing but he had eyes on me just about all the time. It was all very strange. He looked like a big green frog, but he was so menacing.

He then closed the computer and walked over to stand above me. He spoke in a soft voice and said, ‘Hugh, I am sorry to have to do this to you, but I really need this farm.’ I knew then that I was in deep trouble. He was pointing the rifle at my head and bent over so that it was below my chin.

Then I kicked him. I kicked up as hard as I could into his crotch and prayed that he did not have his finger squeezing the trigger. The rifle went off and luckily the rifle barrel had shifted slightly away from my chin. The bullet shattered my left shoulder. He went down and I grabbed the rifle barrel with my other hand and pulled it out of his weakened grip. He was moaning and writhing on the ground, but I kept him covered as much as I could.

Then the intense pain began in my shoulder. There was not much blood so he hadn’t hit any major blood vessels, but I was getting woozy. I was uncertain whether I was going to stay conscious for much longer. So I told him, ‘Get out of here before I shoot you too.’

He crawled or scrabbled across the lounge room floor and then bolted, so I called triple zero for police and ambulance. Thank goodness my mobile phone was right beside me. That was the last thing I remember before I blacked out with the pain. Luckily, he didn’t return.”

“What can you tell us about Mark Howard,” inquired Barney.

“He married my sister Marion about twenty years ago,” explained Hugh McPherson. “They had no kids and lived in a large house in Epsom Avenue near the racecourse in Belmont. The last I heard of him was that he was a FIFO worker for a mining company out in Kalgoorlie. Earlier he was a train shunter driver in the railway yards at the Kewdale Freight Terminal in Perth, shifting carriages around for the international and state goods trains. They bought a house in Belmont because it was close to the freight yards, and he loved his horse races at the local Ascot and Belmont Racecourses. But I don’t know where they live now.”

“Do you have any idea why he wanted your laptop?” enquired Zep. “Are there any special notes on it? Did you read what he typed?”

“Nope,” was the brief reply.

“Well, we have forensics at the farmhouse right now sifting for any evidence,” advised Barney as he reached for his mobile. “I’ll get them to collect that laptop. Do we have your permission to search through it?”

“Go right ahead,” grunted Hugh as he shifted position and winced in pain. “I have no secrets on it and it is not password protected.”

Zep could see that he was struggling with the length of the interview so decided that it was time to finish.

“Thanks for your help, Hugh. Get some rest now,” said Zep picking up the recorder and switching it off.

#

“What was that all about?” Barney pondered aloud as they left the hospital. “Both his sons murdered and now almost him.”

“Perhaps there may be some clue on that laptop,” conceded Zep. “Rather than wait all day for forensics to bring it in from the farm, we will go and retrieve it now.”

An hour later they were back in the office in the Geraldton Police Station and reading the last text document on the laptop. It read …

I cannot go on anymore. It is all too much.

I have just found out that my youngest son Charles has drugged and raped a young girl on Mahomets Beach a few months back.

Then my eldest son Robert wanted to avoid the family shame so gave his brother the overdose to make it the decent thing.

I confronted Robert and we argued, and I stabbed him with one of my screwdrivers.

With the whole family now in disgrace I can no longer face my friends and neighbours in this close farming community so I will end it all

signed Hugh McPherson.

#

Barney sighed with mock enjoyment. “Great. We now know the background behind the rape and the two and a half murders, with suspects for all of them. Except Hugh is innocent. And we don’t yet have his fingerprints, even though we know they were planted.”

“Careful Barney,” cautioned Zep. “We only have Hugh’s word that he had an intruder. What a better way to cover up a possible murder than to plead being a victim and shooting yourself in the shoulder. The farmhouse shows no evidence of there ever being another person that night. We have yet to view all the evidence.

This also links us back into that old rape which we now know that the DNA evidence was from Charles. Was it planted too.”

“One important fact,” interrupted Barney. “Whoever typed that confession, whether it was Hugh himself or Mark Howard, as Hugh declared that it was, knew about Charles’ DNA being found in the rape kit. We only knew this fact three days earlier, and we had not released that information anywhere. If Hugh is telling the truth and he did not see the letter, even he won’t know about the rape. We can test him on this later.”

“While we are at it,” pondered Zep. “We have young Robert’s smudged prints on Charles’ needle, but why the smudges? We need to check that needle for another person’s DNA too. As well as the screwdriver that the letter says are Hugh’s prints. There may be an intruder into all these cases. Or is Hugh covering up for himself and both his sons.”

“But if the intruder is wearing full body Lycra, he may never leave any prints or body evidence, to counter the story on Hugh’s computer,” reasoned Barney.

“So first we will wait for forensics to finish at the farm. Hopefully they will find something to place an intruder there. If not, then we will have to find and place this Mark Howard at the murder scenes,” claimed Zep.

“Just one more thing,” Barney mused. “This full body green lycra suit. Do you get the feeling that we encountered it earlier out at the 440 Roadhouse? That time there was nothing left in evidence too. But he actually existed, and we saw the body shape of the holdup man.”

“Good thinking, Junior,” quipped Zep.

Chapter 33

The Hunt Is On

Wednesday morning, 21^st April

The hunt was on. Forensics found that the only indication of any intruder was that the gun cabinet was open with a key in the lock. It was not the sort of thing they expected to find in the house which was normally kept quite meticulous by the occupant. It was also strange that it had been left still open so late in the evening. The key was totally devoid of any fingerprints, so the house owner had probably not been the last one to use it. Why would Hugh wear gloves inside or wipe a key clean of prints.

In their report to the detectives, forensics concluded that it was likely that an intruder had been in the house, but there was no evidence to prove it. Hugh was probably telling the truth.

They had the name of a person. His old address some twenty years ago was known to be in Belmont, near the racetracks and the Swan River. Barney started typing into his desktop computer.

“Let’s see. Driver’s License for Mark Howard? There are seventeen current results for a Mark Howard, but none are in Belmont.

Now I switch to Series 488 General Admin archives for automobile licenses in 1985 to 1990. There he is with the address in Epsom Avenue in Belmont. His date of birth is the 13^th December 1960. Now switching back to current list and there he is again with that date of birth. From 1998 he is now living in Flat 32 of 3 Second Street in Rivervale. Where did his large house in Belmont go? He has gone down a long way in the world.”

“Check his vehicle registration to see what he is currently driving,” Zep suggested leaning over his shoulder.

Barney typed a series of keystrokes and then spoke, “Vehicle registration for Mark Howard of Rivervale? There it is: a 1990 Pajero; dark blue bought in 1998. The records show here that both of his previous cars were the top of the range Holden Commodores, the 1982 and then the 1990 model. He bought the aging eight-year-old Pajero in 1998 about the same time he changed address and he is still using it.”

“So, he had to downgrade his vehicle around the same time as his residential address,” added Zep. “So where is he now?”

“If Hugh McPherson is to be believed, Mark Howard was in Geraldton last night,” speculated Barney. “So, a raid on his Rivervale flat would be pointless. And we don’t know whether he is still living with Hugh’s sister at that flat.”

“Then again,” countered Zep. “If Hugh put the wind up him, he may have fled from the Midwest District. His normal home in Rivervale is a bolthole hundreds of kilometres away. I vote we go to Perth to enter that flat, by force if necessary, to find out all about him. We have the testimony of his gunshot victim to enable us to get a search warrant.”

“But, but, but it’s a training night tomorrow night," stammered Barney.

“We should be able to return by then,” chided Zep. “Are you likely to get dropped from the playing squad after two good games just because you are called away for duty?”

“I don’t think so, but I had better notify coach Brad Cocker in advance,” conceded Barney.

#

Zep was the driver for the full 430 kilometres to Perth because he liked to drive the super charged unmarked police cruiser on the open road. It was not that he distrusted his new partner with the task. He knew that Barney drove his aspirated six-cylinder Toyota Camry Sportivo with skill and care, but this patrol car was signed out to him, so he had that choice of driver. They reached the Perth Central Police Station in mid-afternoon.

The Perth chief of detectives was ready for them with a search warrant and a Tactical Response Group emblazoned with TRG over their uniforms. All were fully armed and ready to roll. The Rivervale house of Mark Howard was only a couple of kilometres away across the river so Zep, Barney and two armed detectives went in Zep’s police cruiser, following the TRG vehicle with eight fully equipped officers.

Flat 32 was on the third floor of a four-story set of units. The TRG officers sealed off the lifts and stairwells at both ends and manned the grounds at front and back of the building. The other two detectives manned each end of the third floor ready to give assistance. Barney and Zep approached the front door of the flat with two TRG officers behind them, knocked and identified themselves as armed police and waited. Mrs Howard gingerly opened the door.

“Mrs Howard, is your husband at home?” urgently demanded Zep. On hearing that he wasn’t, he gently pushed in and quietly requested, “May we come in?”

They quickly determined that Mrs Marion Howard was the only occupant of the flat, so the fully armed tactical policemen were told to wait outside. She was now sitting somewhat shaken on the couch in the small living room looking in trepidation up at the two detectives.

“Where is your husband, Mark?” calmly enquired Zep. “We need his advice to help locate a missing man.”

“He’s at work in Mullewa,” was her timid reply.

“Please explain?” interrupted Barney and received a glare from Zep.

“He is a FIFO worker working for the Mount Gibson Mining Company from Tallering Peak,” she boldly blurted out to appease the two men standing over her. “He works three weeks away and then is home for a week. He is due home at the end of this week.”

“What does he do for the company?” continued Zep.

“He is a train driver from Mullewa to Geraldton on the iron ore trains,” she explained. “He does two or three round trips each day between Mullewa and Geraldton, depending on the loading and unloading delays at either end.”

“And where does he live when he is up there?” Barney interrupted and received a knowing nod from Zep. That was going to be his next question.

“For the three weeks that they are on roster the drivers are put into the ‘Inspirations’ hotel-motel in Mullewa.” Marion Howard continued. “They are fully catered for and it’s near the railway work depot. It is also close to the entertainment and fitness activities in town arranged by the Tallering miner’s social club so that they can be active during their off time. Most of the train drivers fly home for their fourth week.”

“Does he have a car in Mullewa?” was the next question from Barney.

“Yes. He keeps our aging Pajero at the back of the motel. It is old but still quite usable. He leaves it in Mullewa when he flies home and catches the Tallering mine worker’s bus to and from the Geraldton airport. When he’s at home we use my Corolla.”

“One last question Mrs Howard. Does your husband own a gun?” Zep asked with his most serious expression.

“What? A gun? Definitely not,” responded Marion Howard.

#

Following the raid, and submitting the required paperwork to Perth Central CIB, Zep asked Barney if he had to be back in Geraldton for that night. They were both free so it was decided that they would stay overnight and dine out in Northbridge. Rather than drive home through the evening light and night, facing the problem of large foraging kangaroos randomly crossing the highway, they booked a twin singles room in a small hotel in the CBD and wandered out to see the nightlife.

Zep insisted that they dine at the Italian Sorento Restaurant because it had street-side tables to watch the passing streetscape. Also, his grandmother used to cook the Southern Italian fare of her heritage. Barney was happy just to be out in North Perth again. While living in Swanbourne, North Bridge was one of his favourite dining haunts.

“So your grandparents were from Italy,” asked Barney as they settled down to enjoy the meal.

“Yes. They both came as teenagers with their parents to land in Fremantle a few years after the First World War. They met on the ship on the way out to Australia and married soon after. Dad was the youngest of their four children born in Perth.” Zep went on to give a brief biography of his father and how he was murdered in Katanning.

As they finished the last of the bottle of Margaret River Cabernet Merlot, Barney reached for his wallet, saying, “My treat,” and then he quickly changed the subject to prevent Zep from arguing about the bill.

He followed up with the question, “Why didn’t you tell Marion Howard that her nephews were murder victims?”

Zep thoughtfully replied, “After we forced the entry, she was in a right state. I didn’t want her to be more uptight and needing to contact her husband and say that we were sniffing around. It will be even worse news later when she hears that Mark may be the killer. Also, she has not been in contact with her Geraldton family for twenty years. She apparently hasn’t seen or heard about the murders on the news. Sooner or later, she may read the facts in a newspaper. Hopefully, it will be much later, so that Mark is not told of our visit and then go on the run.”

“So you are just hoping that she doesn’t ring her husband,” finished Barney.

After the meal they wandered into one of the early opening nightclubs, but found it was too noisy to be enjoyable. For another hour they wandered the streets just taking in the ambiance of the night life, before calling it a night.

#

Early next morning they set out for Geraldton. Nearing Dongara, as they passed through the main intersection where the Brand Highway joined the Midlands Highway, they were passed by a supermarket truck on its way to Perth. It had slightly veered off the main road onto the verge and threw up a few good-sized stones. One of these bounced heavily from their windscreen and they heard a crack. A large spider shaped fracture appeared in the middle of the glass. It didn’t shatter thanks to the laminated safety glazing.

“It looks like we may be in trouble,” commented Zep as he slowed to a crawl. “It may hold if we travel slowly for the last 65 kilometres to home.”

They watched in trepidation for the entire trip as the crack slowly increased in several directions. At very slow speeds it was perfectly stable, but when Zep gently increased a little the windscreen visibly wrinkled. At speeds above 40 kph the crack began to creep, so Zep backed off and they crawled slowly home. Luckily it held on until Geraldton. Zep handed the car over to Senior Sergeant Gary Perkins to sort out the accident and signed out another car. There was only a four-wheel drive land cruiser with police marking available.

“I suppose it will have to do,” sighed Zep.

“Perhaps I will get to drive this slow ungainly beast for some of the time,” Barney added joyfully.

“Yeah, Right,” finished Zep sarcastically.

Chapter 34

The Hunt Continues

Thursday midday, 22^nd April

After cursory inspecting their new wheels, they were both back in the office at midday ready to continue the hunt for the multiple killer. Zep phoned the Mt Gibson Rail Operations Office in Mullewa to ask about Mark Howard. He was informed that Mark had been absent from work since Tuesday morning, and they had no idea of his whereabouts.

“Can we talk to any of his workmates?” enquired Zep in hope.

“I wouldn’t think so, not in Geraldton anyway,” was the helpful reply. “The train drivers are too busy shunting carriages at the wharf as they drop the ore through the chutes onto conveyor belts. They don’t have any time to talk. Your best bet would be to catch them in Mullewa before or after their shifts. There are two shifts daily with the next change over time at 2:00 p.m. So just before that or just after will catch some of them at the Ruvidini Siding, where they trans-ship the Tallering Mine ore in Mullewa.”

As Zep concluded the call Barney sighed. “Another trip to Mullewa. Another 100 kilometre each way watching you drive. And it is not the big powerful cruiser that you love. Isn’t it my turn yet?”

“It’s now just after twelve, so we’ve got just over the hour or so to be there to catch shift change. I will drive out, and you can get us home, if you behave,” grinned Zep. “Let’s go.”

As they travelled to Mullewa, Barney thought about where Mark Howard was staying. “I don’t suppose we could catch any of his workmates still at the ‘Inspirations’ hotel-motel. We may just be in time before they leave for work.”

“It may be worth a try. We should manage to gain a spare fifteen minutes if we use the lights and siren,” considered Zep as he switched them on.

They investigated the hotel-motel, finding a couple of railway workmates in the carpark just leaving for work. However, these two were not close friends of Howard. But one of them suggested, “You need to see Old Shunter. He and Mark are close mates and Shunter will soon be going on shift at Ruvidini.”

By going straight to the railway loading operations they managed to catch Old Shunter for a brief conversation.

“Yes. I know Mark Howard. He told me he had a bit of sick leave this week. He was all nervy and he said that he needed some additional rest. He was going to go out bush and relax in the peaceful countryside. The rumour was that he knew all about a gold deposit out there somewhere, so he probably wanted to try using his brand-new metal detector and panning for the gold that had been discovered.”

While Zep continued to talk with Old Shunter, Barney rang the Mines Department in Perth and asked to speak to a senior manager.

“Good afternoon, sir. I am Detective Barney Merrick of the Geraldton Police. We have a situation in the Tallering Peak area north of Mullewa. We are pursuing a double murderer in the area and believe he is on the site of a registered gold discovery claim. However, we do not know of the location of that claim. The site was registered some weeks back under the name of Robert McPherson. Can we please have the latitude and longitude of that position?”

There was a long pause as the senior manager digested the information before he spoke. “We would be able to do that if you had a court order and were able to positively identify yourself. That is for the privacy of the claim holder.”

“Sir. I am afraid that Robert McPherson was one of the murdered victims. His privacy no longer matters. His killer may only be in that location for a short while, so time is of the essence. We are unable to organise a court order from this isolated location and I hope you don’t see the need to obstruct a police investigation of a double murder.”

“Oh. I see your problem,” admitted the manager. “Can you identify yourself? It’s not the sort of information we can give over the phone to a random caller.”

“Please do it this way,” described Barney. “Use your phone directory to find the number of the Geraldton Police Station and phone the information through to them, directed specifically to Detective Barney Merrick of the Geraldton Detective Branch. I will contact my office and they will pass the information on to me.”

“That seems like a positive identification, Barney,” conceded the manager. “I will access the details and phone them immediately.”

“Thank you, sir.”

#

They were half-way to Tallering before Barney rang the Geraldton station for the information. He wrote the co-ordinates down in his notebook, then reached over and turned on the Sat Nav.

“The advantage of having this Land Cruiser is it has a brand-new invention called a Sat Nav,” Barney explained to Zep. “I can put in the GPS co-ordinates of Robert McPherson’s claim and we will be able to home in on them.”

“Or if that fails, we may just have to bush-bash on suss,” added Zep.

“Oh, ye of little faith. Head north to Tallering please driver.”

Chapter 35

Closing In

Thursday afternoon, 22^nd April

They were fortunate to have been allocated the police Land Cruiser for this trip. As they crossed over the Greenough River Floodway approaching the fork in the road to Tallering Mine, the Sat Nav directed them to turn right into the scrub. It was in the opposite direction to the Tallering mine roadway. On the white clay bush track, they were confronted with the usual high-centre profile of roads build up when only used by four-wheel drives. And these centre mounds of these tracks were rough rocks and sharp stones. It would be impossible for any conventional car.

“Where is it Barney?” Zep cried as the car was bumped up and down through the ruts. He pleaded for Barney to find the location of the pegged gold discovery on the Sat Nav, and the likely whereabouts of their fugitive killer.

“All I am getting is a satellite GPS of a blinking dot in an unknown space out there to the right of the road. There aren’t any recognised roads among these bush tracks to be able to plot them on the Sat Nav map. It’s somewhere along there, near the course of the Upper Greenough River. There. There. Over there,” he suddenly shouted and pointed towards the tracks of recent tyre treads. “He has kept to the track that seems to follow along the northern edge of the riverbed.”

Zep carefully negotiated along the ridge overlooking the river. The track wound in among trees that in some cases balanced precariously over the bank. In a couple of places there had been a missing tree that caused quite a dip in the road as the flow of water had eroded across the track into the gap. They slowly zeroed in towards the coordinates of the GPS signal.

Through the low bushes Barney glimpsed the shine of metal. “Car up front,” he warned Zep. The dark blue Pajero came into view parked on a slight rise overlooking the small branch of the Chapman River.

The police car was slowed down to an almost silent crawl as they approached the claim. Zep parked the Land Cruiser next to the dark blue Pajero.

“His wife said he didn’t own a gun,” reminded Barney, “and since we didn’t pack our body armour into this vehicle, we hope we will be safe enough.”

“Don’t be too hasty in assuming he is unarmed Barney,” solemnly warned Zep. “He has been shopping for a metal detector for his gold seeking expedition and may also have picked up a weapon for personal security out here too.”

Both detectives checked their pistols and crept stealthily on foot towards the pegged site. One of the claim markers on the edge of the riverbed told them they were getting close.

Zep nodded to Barney to split up to approach from two different directions. He whispered for him to head left along the top of the right-hand bank. Barney cautiously followed along high ground beside the edge, keeping most of the riverbed in sight. Zep quietly crossed the dry creek to move stealthily in the riverbed among the large rocks along the left side. His was a far more difficult route, having to always mind his step on the small rocks along the bottom while continuously looking around on the lookout for their target.

Simultaneously they both reached a final claim marker showing the rear end of the pegged site and realised that the claim that they had just transversed was totally devoid of people.

“We missed him,” spat Zep in disgust.

Just then in the distance came the sound of a car starting. “The Pajero,” shouted Barney. “He must have heard us and somehow managed to bypass us.” Both detectives took off, dashing back to the police land cruiser. The Pajero was gone, and only a few dust eddies in the wind showed that it was headed back to the main road.

Zep looked at the police car and cursed. The right front tyre was totally flat and the hissing right rear tyre was leaking air, where a valve had been removed from the first tyre and only partially removed from the second. The culprit only had time to do two, but it was enough. Barney immediately leapt for the cap on the ground and reversed it to use the valve tool to screw the slowly leaking valve back in.

He commented, “All tyres on this vehicle have this type of cap in case they needed to release pressure to drive on soft sand. But it made it too easy for Howard to let down the tyres.”

“It wouldn’t have happened in my patrol car,” emphasised Zep.

Thirty minutes later they had changed the flat tyre with the one and only spare and hoped that there was enough air in the second tyre, but it didn’t look good. Zep headed after the Pajero, taking care over the biggest lumps in the limestone track towards the main road. Fresh tyre tracks on the side of the main road showed that the fleeing vehicle had turned south towards Mullewa.

While Barney had been changing the flat, Zep radioed to Mullewa to request that they set up a police roadblock on the road ahead into Mullewa, but he was disappointed to hear that the local police cruiser was out on patrol on the Yalgoo Road. At least that direction to the East was blocked for flight. He then contacted Geraldton to send patrol cars out towards Mullewa to block that westward escape route. Two minor highways ran south of Mullewa to link to major arteries leading to Perth, so Zep contacted the police at both Mingenew and Morowa to watch over their highways through these two towns for a dark blue Pajero. The order was to stop and detain the possible murder suspect.

They had only gone a few hundred metres when Zep pulled over to the side. “It doesn’t feel all that right,” he muttered. “If this tyre goes, we have no other spare.”

“But we have little choice,” groaned Barney. “If we stop now, we will never catch him.”

“I have faith in the Police Transport Department. Surely they would have something like a hand pump among the tools for a four wheel drive. If they provide tyre caps to reduce tyre pressure to travel in four wheel drive on sand, then there must be a way afterwards to re-inflate the tyres. Let’s have a look,” commented Zep got out and sped towards the rear of the vehicle.

Ten minutes later they were on the road again with a nearly fully inflated tyre.

Thinking about the options for their quarry, Barney suggested, “He may try to hide in the ‘Inspirations’ motel, He doesn’t know we have the information about his lodgings there.”

“I will do a quick grid search of some of the streets of the town as we close in on the motel just in case he holes up somewhere earlier,” frowned Zep. “We can only hope that the highways out of town are now covered.”

Cruising into town, Barney checked left and Zep to the right of any house, garage or laneway that they quickly passed. The Pajero was not seen until in the distance Barney saw what looked like a possible dark blue car tucked in behind the old ‘Inspirations Hotel’ beside the railway. It was unlikely that there were two vehicles like it.

Rather than take the direct route and risk being observed by the fugitive from the motel, Zep drove the long way around the block to park quietly outside the neighbouring buildings. They moved stealthily alongside the building into the rear yard. As they passed Barney looked down to check the number plate, verifying that it was the particular Pajero that they sought.

So they began a search of the motel. The front desk confirmed that their current guests included Mark Howard and gave them his room number and key. He had used a gun on Hugh, so they took no chances. With weapons drawn Zep unlocked the door and they both burst into the room. His room was unoccupied.

The hotel was large. It took many minutes to check the bars and toilets in the main building, followed by the halls, restaurant and kitchen. The other motel units and apartments were a possibility, but they had no key access. They considered getting the manager with a master key, but to disturb that many guests without a search warrant might just cause too many grievances. He was not located.

“His car is here so he has to be still around,” considered Barney. “Unless he took off on foot, but which way would he go?”

They looked out across the back fence to the railway yard at the back of the hotel where a massive diesel engine stood idling, ready to begin hauling its 150 plus carriages down to Geraldton.

“He wouldn’t,” proclaimed Zep.

“He would and he could,” affirmed Barney and began running towards a small gate in the boundary fence. “He is a loco driver in more than one way.”

The powerful engine blasted its horn and began rolling forward. By the time Barney had reached anywhere near the train it was moving much too fast to attempt to board her. He was about to turn and dash for the Land Cruiser when he heard a faint cry for help from the other side of the moving train. Through the gaps between the rolling carriages Barney caught glimpses of somebody on the ground. Frantically calling Zep to join him they stood waiting for the train to pass. For what seemed an eternity they waited as carriage after carriage rumbled onwards.

At last the second great diesel engine pushing the rear of the train motored beyond them to reveal a man lying on the dusty red ground. He groaned, moved and tried to stand as they rushed up to him.

“Mark Howard, the bastard demanded my train.” moaned the unsteady victim. “He was totally wired, dancing about like an adrenalin junkie. He laughed and said he needed it to crash it in Geraldton and escape into the town during the absolute carnage that it would cause. That would show them all he said. He was bragging that he would use the new direct railway line of the Southern Transport Corridor to drive straight through Beachlands to the Port.

When I tried to say no, he bashed me with a crowbar and threw me into the rear of the driving compartment. I’m pretty certain that my arm is broken. He said if I moved, he would lash me into that doomed locomotive with my own bootlaces.

But then I started to think about how he would get me out of the engine if he didn’t intend to stop it. I figured he would leave me behind with a broken arm. So, as he turned to start the engine, I dived out of there. God. My arm hurts.”

“Can you walk by yourself?” asked Zep with concern.

“I suppose so, but I am so woozy with the pain,” was his reply with gritted teeth.

As Zep escorted the locomotive driver as fast as he could walk towards the gate in the fence, Barney ran to bring the Land Cruiser to meet them there. As the battered engineer hobbled along, he struggled to talk. “He left 30 minutes too early. The train won’t have priority on the track.”

They bundled him into the back seat and sped to the emergency department of the Mullewa hospital less than a kilometre away. With their siren announcing their arrival, several emergency personnel immediately attended to them. They unloaded the injured man into their care and sped off after the stolen train.

Chapter 36

The Train

Thursday afternoon, 22^nd April

With a good head start for the ore train they figured it would be a long chase. But after just twenty minutes they saw the train stopped at a siding.

“You beauty,” yelled Barney. “It’s a single track through the hills, so in this case he has to give way to the up-coming train already on the track. Normally its synchronised to give the heavy loaded trains the right of way, but in his stolen train he is out of synch.”

“We may be able to capture him before he starts off again,” suggested Zep.

“Pull up level with the engine and I’ll give it a go,” proposed Barney as he readied himself for the dash to apprehend the fugitive. “Follow me when you can.”

Barney was half-way to the stationary train when a loud horn sounded. From the west came a fast-moving empty ore train motoring up the hill. Barney stopped short, judging that he could not cross the track in time. Zep joined him beside the passing train, and they helplessly stood, waited and watched the stationary engine through to the other side of the moving carriages.

“Be ready to go as soon as the track is clear,” warned Zep.

With a short distance of clear track in front of him, the experienced engine driver in Mark Howard started slowly rolling just before his way was fully clear. As the rear locomotive of the oncoming train cleared his track, the points automatically switched his way. He applied full power to both of the locomotive engines, one front and one at back, and he was away.

By the time Barney got to the other side of the now empty eastward track, the westward train was picking up speed and the engine was some distance away. Barney didn’t hesitate to consider the perils of the moving train. He took a chance. He ran at top speed over uneven ground matching one carriage of the accelerating train. Reaching out he swung dangerously onto one of the moving hundred-ton ore carriages, grasping a maintenance railing and climbing onto an iron step near the coupling between two carriages.

He was in a precarious position until he managed to grab a coupling cable to pull himself a little higher to climb onto the carriage coupling. Holding on strongly with one hand, he gingerly rose to reach up with the other hand and grasp one of the solid beams that strengthened across the width of the ore wagon. Pulling himself erect, he then stretched up to reach onto a second supporting cross beam. It wasn’t an easy place to be as the square bucket shaped wagon sloped outwards, but he was thankful that the surface was rough enough so that his fingers would not slip. Climbing carefully upwards gave him access to the top of the carriage. He heaved himself over the lip and onto the surface of the ore and rested, breathing hard.

Barney hoped that Zep had not tried to do the same, so he sat up and looked back in concern. He was relieved to see the lone figure standing beside the moving train about a half kilometre behind him. He waved to show he was safe, for now anyway.

#

Zep ran for the patrol car parked on the side of the road and reached for the Police Radio to contact Geraldton Police Station. “This is an emergency,” he bellowed as soon as he was connected with the operator.

“We have a runaway ore train coming down the hill from Mullewa. Please contact the railways immediately to get all traffic off that line onto the sidings.”

He was imagining the carnage if the fully loaded downhill train met head-on with the speeding uphill empty train, both with over 150 carriages cruising at 100 kilometres per hour.

“This is urgent so make sure that the railways fully understand the situation and they must act without any delay.”

There was a brief “Got it, sir” as the operator cut the line to reach for the phone, while he glanced at his set of emergency numbers.

#

From the top of the swaying carriage, Barney now considered his options of getting to the front engine. Looking down the front of the ore carriage, he considered the gap between the next carriage. The actual coupling was over a metre and a half long, but with the splayed bucket shape of each container, the top gap was reduced to about a metre apart. That would be an easy jump if it was in a stationary train. However he was facing into a strong wind as the locomotive had reached almost maximum speed, and the strong sea-breeze that Geraldton was famous for added quite a few extra knots into his face. Slight variations in the rail made each carriage sway to the side just a fraction, but each carriage swayed with a different rhythm.

Added to the horizontal distance was the problem of the height difference of the ore in each wagon. Each ore load was poured into the train fed from a conveyor belt which didn’t always carry an even spread of ore. This meant that the top surface was uneven along the full length of each carriage. At either end of each wagon there could be ore filled right to the top or anything up to half a metre below the rim. The loose ore was also mounded along the centre so it could be a precarious sliding landing. Jumping from carriage to carriage required a close analysis of his proposed trajectory beforehand. He counted about 20 carriages between himself and the locomotive, so he knew he was in for a long and dangerous task.

The first three leap frogs proved quite challenging when he tried to land on the rim of the carriage next in line. It was a precarious existence. He then figured that it would be best to step up onto the front rim of the carriage and launch himself over the next rim onto the ore. At the end of five more carriages, he was covered in the rusty red dust of the iron ore as he rolled onto the surface after a couple of difficult landings. But he was making headway.

After another five more leaps he paused to regain his composure. He was feeling the pressure of the situation. His mouth and nose were breathing ore dust and his eyes were watering, with tears forming rivers of red down his cheeks. He had nothing to wipe himself down except what he wore. He carefully rolled back one of his sleeves and used the exposed cloth to scrape away some of the dust from his eyes. After just a couple of wipes it was also too red and dusty to be much help. He looked about at the terrain but was unable to determine where they were. So back to the job in hand.

After a really solid workout he paused with just two ore carriages between himself and the locomotive. As he looked around to catch his breath he could see the tops of the white domes of the Australian Defence Satellite Communications Station at Kojarena off to the north. They were now just 30 kilometres away from the City of Geraldton.

Suddenly there was a train beside him. It was one of the empty ones returning uphill to the mines and had been diverted into the siding to allow this one to pass. But his train was out of synchronisation so was unexpectedly on the track. Thank heavens it was sidelined. It must have been Zep, or the injured locomotive driver that gave the urgent warning.

He knew that in about ten kilometres the train would begin the long descent into the wide Chapman Valley, skirt around the Geraldton Airport and rise over the Moresby Ranges before dropping into the City of Geraldton. If the train was not under control by then, it would go smashing through the Port of Geraldton into the City Centre or derail itself around the curve among the close suburban houses of Beachlands or plummet into the fishing harbour.

He negotiated the last two ore carriages and grimaced as he stared down at the rear of the Locomotive. It was too far to jump, but there was a platform with safety railing circling the entire engine. He had to climb down those horizontal supporting beams onto the coupling, reversing his precarious ascent onto the top of the ore. Wiping his hands in his armpits to remove as much of the fine red ore dust as he could, he gingerly began hid descent.

Barney sucked in a few deep breaths of relief as he swung under the safety railing and stepped onto the surrounding platform of the locomotive. Step one, he thought, and heaved himself into the wind along the railed platform to the door to the driving cabin. He was surprised that it was not locked, but then realised it would only need to be secured from the outside when the locomotive was not in use.

#

Mark Howard gaped at him in total shock. He was standing beside the forward window, nowhere near the controls. Barney knew he would personally appear to be an awe-inspiring sight, fully covered in red dust with streaks of red sweat down his face looking all the world like the mask of the devil.

“Doesn’t this train have a dead man’s switch?” began Barney, and glancing around he noticed that the foot pedal for the switch was wedged with a signal flag to keep it depressed. He moved towards it just as the train began increasing speed. They were on the Bringo downhill sweep into the Chapman Valley Plains, just fifteen kilometres into Geraldton, or just fifteen minutes away at this speed.

Mark Howard quickly recovered from his initial shock and leapt into action to neutralise the intruder. He grabbed a crowbar from his near corner and approached Barney, swinging wildly. Barney circled trying to get to the dead man’s switch to kick away the signal flag. The hijacker countered him by advancing directly to oppose his move. He swung the crowbar in a propellor motion around his head and to his front. Barney backed up. Howard stopped and took several deep breaths.

“Give up Mark Howard,” rasped Barney. “You can’t win. You have nowhere to go. You don’t need to put the people of Geraldton at risk.”

“It’s all over,” Mark breathed in gasps. “I have failed. They will kill me anyway.”

Barney moved forward again, feinting right and moving left, but Mark was ready for him. And he swung the crowbar horizontally at Barney. Years of dodging the grasping arms of football opponents enabled Barney to weave aside, but the crowbar smashed across the train’s controls. Sparks erupted in torrents. There was nothing left of the hand controls.

While Howard was slightly off-balance Barney rushed in and kicked away the signal flag. Nothing happened. Barney had to dodge again quickly. The train sped on. The dead man switch wasn’t working. The controls were totally wrecked. They just sparked away. The train did not slacken in speed.

Barney backed away a little to assess his options. He had to get the upper hand. Stooping down, he picked up the signal flag and rose to face the hijacker. Mark Howard came rushing at him and swung the crowbar horizontally at his side. It took all of Barney’s effort to parry the heavy crowbar with the wooden flag. He felt it crack a little with the impact. It would not last long in this one-sided battle.

The next swinging action by Howard was across and down at his opponent’s head. By pure skill Barney was able to step back as it whistled past his chin. He then stepped in and swung down at Howard’s extended and exposed shoulder with all the energy he could muster. It was a baton strike that police were encouraged not to use. The flag stick broke in half. But so did Mark Howard’s collar bone. He dropped the crowbar and dropped to the floor in agony. Without any feelings for Howard’s pain, Barney stepped in and wrenched Mark’s coat backwards, pinning his arms behind him as he screamed in pain. It wasn’t nice but he had little time for niceties.

Back to the controls.

The train was now motoring into Narngulu and would soon be approaching the rise into the Moresby Ranges. Just a two kilometre climb to the top of the hill and then a roller coaster ride downhill into catastrophe. The locomotive was driving onwards and towards the hill.

The console that enabled power to be applied to the locomotive was just uncontrolled sparks. The motor was running powerfully without being controlled by any rheostat. It was a runaway. So Barney reached under the console and pulled out a couple of the sparking wires and applied them together. Nothing happened.

Then a buzzer sounded. Barney went looking for its source and saw a light flashing on the console. Ten seconds later the locomotive engine shut down and the sound of compressed air was followed by squealing as the brake’s hydraulics kicked in. But the train was over a thousand tons of kinetic energy still going forward. Without any motors and only the brakes, a fully loaded ore train could still be unstoppable if it went over the hill.

The Moresby Ranges proved to be just steep enough. The locomotive gradually lost its forward momentum until it finally squealed and creaked to a standstill several hundred metres from the top of the hill. The train then clunked and shuddered along its entire length as the couplings stretched backwards.

Then Barney realised that the dead man’s switch had actually worked. It required to be operated every minute or two. By releasing the signal flag it did not need to be activated until the next cycle. Then the buzzer and flashing light warned that it needed to be pushed again. When it was not depressed in the required response time, the train shut down. There was supposedly a dead man at the controls. Barney had done it.

“Bugger,” he cried out aloud. “I’ve missed footy training.”

PART FIVE

Chapter 37

Confessions

Friday morning, 23^rd April

“You really shocked me, especially when you breezed into the loco all coloured in red like the devil unleashed. I didn’t expect to see anybody on that train after the driver left.” Mark Howard grimaced with the pain when he moved his arm in the sling. The heart monitor above his hospital bed murmured a small warning but immediately ceased. His other hand rattled the handcuffs linked to the bed frame.

Barney ignored his distress and asked, “Why did you murder your nephews and try to kill your brother-in-law?”

Mark stared at Barney for a long moment. He was agonising whether to stay silent or to confess to his crimes. Eventually his discomfort wore down his resolve, so he began to detail his reasons.

“I needed the money to pay off my gambling debts,” moaned Howard. “I had another run of bad luck on the horses and casino. I had previously sold off our house in Belmont to pay off an earlier debt. I had tried to win my way out of the downer but went deeper into debt with some gangland money lenders. The heavies were putting pressure on me to come up with the half a million that I owed them.”

“So you killed them for the farm?” demanded Zep. “Just for the money.”

“I had to. It was going to be them or me. My wife is old Hugh’s sister so she would inherit the property if there were no other living relatives. The boys had to go first, and then old Hugh. The farm would have been enough to clear my debts, and then some.

“How did you kill young Charles McPherson?” probed Zep. “How come you were able to come and go without leaving a trace?”

“While I was on shift work and stationed in Geraldton, I rented an on-site van for a month at the caravan park on the end of Willcock Drive and cased out the McPherson places. When it was time, I wore a full-length lycra wet suit with booties and headcap, something like Cathy Freeman wore in the Sydney 2000 Olympics. By carrying a boogie board, I looked no different in that area from the many other surfing people. I noticed Charlie and his mate out surfing on most early mornings, so watched them for a few days. They usually left the house unlocked for the short time, rather than bother about keys on the beach, so I just went right in after they left.

In the spare room I collected a couple of used needles, a set of keys next to them, and a few curly hairs from the shower recess in the main en-suite. These hairs I knew must belong to Charlie, so I used them to frame him when I drugged that girl. I saw her run early every morning along the beach past the caravan park, so I managed to determine her complete ritual down to the towel and water bottle left in the dunes. I used the full wet suit then to avoid leaving any DNA on her body.

I was hoping that Charlie’s murder would be judged to be murdered by his brother Robert, because he was the disclosed rapist. I made sure that the clues were all there, but you blokes were too slow to discover those clues.

The keys in the spare room I figured belonged to Robert, so I had them copied and returned them next day. There were spare keys to his donga in Tallering and keys to the Yetna farmhouse in Chapman Valley, and a spare key to the house in Mahomets. A letter beside the keys gave his donga address. All were very useful.

I waited my time until I managed to find Charlie at home alone and called on him in the evening as his long, lost uncle who had just been surfing in my wetsuit. We had a beer together and then I slipped him the Rohypnol, filled the syringe with heroin and gave him the lot. I took everything away with me except the drug paraphernalia to look like a planned suicide, but with Roberts prints on the used needle to infer a possible murder.”

“How did you preserve the prints?” enquired Zep.

“I enclosed the thin needle shaft in a thick plastic drinking straw cut to size to protect the prints. I used gloves on the plunger not worrying about smudging that small end part.”

“And the screwdriver that killed Robert?” Barney interrupted. “How did you keep the clear prints on that?”

“I used a clean old Masterfoods spice shaker that tightly covered the handle. I got the screwdriver out of an open shed at the farm when Hugh was not home. I was certain that only Hugh’s prints would be on it. I went to Robert’s donga, warmly greeting him and reacquainting myself for a short while with my nephew. He was amused with my supposed cyclist attire but accepted the fact I was distance cycling up the Gascoyne Junction Road. I used the same long, lost uncle story that I told to his brother. It was only then that I heard about his gold discovery. He bragged about the nearby location and showed me the site on his map, but by then it was too late. I was committed to getting the farm.”

“After I stabbed him, I took the map and cleared out. I was hoping to get a little gold from the claim to get those heavies off my back for a few months until I could inherit the farm. Then I heard the sound of a car out there and then later I saw youse blokes, both armed with pistols, creeping up on me in the claim in the creek-bed, so I skedaddled.”

“How did you get in and away from Robert’s donga at the Tallering Peak Mine so undetected?” probed Barney.

“Being a subcontractor for the Mount Gibson Mining Company I knew the layout of the mine area. There is a rough dirt road that follows along the south side of the river. I followed along it at around sundown until I saw the hilltop of the mine on the north side of the river. Then I parked and walked the two kilometres across the mostly dry Greenough Riverbed to his donga in the residential camp. I crossed the road far enough away from the mine gates so that I would not be observed. The walk back to the car in pitch black darkness was very hair-raising even with the small torch that I had. It was especially rough crossing the riverbed in the dark as there were some deep holes in the rocky bed, some filled with murky water that looked like the stony bottom.”

Mark Howard squirmed a little in his hospital bed and his heart monitor squealed when his shoulder pain was stronger than the medication. In that morning immediately after the runaway train incident, the detectives had previously requested that for this interview that he be given some pain killers but not be fully sedated until they had a chance to question him.

In response to the alarm a doctor and two nurses arrived straightaway, and the two detectives were ordered to leave. Howard would be given the full sedatives to allow his body to begin to repair itself while he slept.

“The handcuffs must stay on,” insisted Zep to the attending doctor. “This man is a confirmed double murderer. A guard will be stationed outside this room at all times.” He nodded to the police officer stationed at the doorway.

Barney picked up the small voice recorder, switched it off and they both left the hospital.

Chapter 38

More Confessions

Saturday morning, 24^th April

The recorder was switched on and placed beside the hospital bed.

“A reminder Mark Howard that you are under arrest,” began Barney who was the arresting officer. “I will repeat what I said when I apprehended you in the train locomotive yesterday. Any statement that you make may be used in evidence. Do you fully understand your basic rights? You have the right to silence. You can refuse to answer police questions or decline a record of interview.”

A nod of the head from Mark was followed by “For the recorder please Mark Howard,” by Zep.

Mark replied, “Yes I understand.”

He looked a lot better after a full day’s rest and a night’s sleep under sedation. His shoulder was re-strapped and supported so was less painful.

“So, we will continue to record your statement,” stated Barney.

“Tell us what happened at the farmhouse?” questioned Zep.

“That was my big mistake. I underestimated old Hugh. If he was eliminated, the farm was ours since the boys were both now gone. My wife would inherit her brother’s farm at Yetna, the only living relative. I knew where to find the key to the gun cabinet. It was in the same place that it was kept for generations. We had done quite a bit of roo shooting when I was courting his sister. Beers and barbecues too, bonding with the future brother-in-law.

I could hear the TV blaring out real loud because Hugh has gone quite deaf from using noisy farm machinery. I let myself in the back door with Robert’s keys, grabbed the gun and got the drop on him. I wanted to lay the gun along his body and shoot him under the chin to make it look like suicide, but he kicked me. The old bastard kicked me. He kicked like a mule so I totally lost all senses. Next thing I see is him pointing the gun at me, so I scrambled out of there, quick smart.

Old Hugh McPherson doesn’t know it yet, but his farm is actually worth a lot more than he thinks it is. It would be worth about two million dollars on today’s market prices. Because I worked in the railways, close to the sources, I was hearing lots of rumours about the new harbour development at Oakagee. It has been delayed for many years, but the project has never been abandoned. I have heard that it is about to be considered again.

That means the iron ore and wheat railway from Narngulu to Oakagee will need to go ahead. This rail will have to cross through the freehold farm of Hugh McPherson. It cannot just skirt around because there are mountains along the back of the property and a river along the road in front. So, the crossing rights must be negotiated, or a sale of prime farmland allocated for the rail line. That is one of the reasons that I was after the farm. It could be worth way over ten million dollars. So you see I was not after just a pittance. I was going to get millions.”

Barney opted not to labour the point of murder for money and instead changed the subject to the methods used by Mark. “You were not witnessed getting into and away from the Yetna farm,” observed Barney. “What did you do to avoid being noticed?”

“I had it planned well beforehand,” Mark boasted. “There are dozens of farm access tracks running all through the area north of the Geraldton to Mullewa Highway. I was able to travel from Mullewa to Nanson up in the Chapman Valley and then down into Yetna without using the Highway at all. And at night there were no other vehicles on those roads. It just took careful planning to know where all those roads went. So when I left the farm that night I headed north away from Geraldton, and backtracked back to Mullewa.”

“Tell me Mark,” inquired Zep sternly. “How were you going to get off the speeding train? You also had the train driver captive before he escaped. What were you going to do with him too?”

“I was going to slow the train at the final bend in Beachlands and jump off into the inside curve,” answered Mark. “If the train was going fast enough it would derail on that curve, or at least smash through the port facilities. That plan would have worked if Merrick hadn’t caused me to wreck the system. Up until he arrived, the dead man’s switch and engine controls were still functioning perfectly for when the brakes and motors were needed to slow down the train.”

“And the driver?” questioned Zep.

“He was excess baggage,” shrugged Mark carelessly and immediately gasped in pain. “He should have got off when I told him, but he wanted to argue, and got his arm injured. So I figured to keep him on the train. The driver would have been found among the wreckage and blamed for the crash.”

“The driver said that you didn’t give him the option of getting off when you took over the train,” countered Barney.

“He was too eager to argue with me to fully understand my instructions, so I just shut him down until I was ready to dispose of the whole kit and caboodle,” Mark argued bluntly.

“So that adds another count of attempted murder into your score sheet,” Zep confirmed. “To which we can add damaging a police land cruiser, physical assault on the train driver, attacking a policeman in the locomotive, and finally train robbery where you stole a whole train.”

Barney had a burst of clear thought and asked, “Have you used that lycra wetsuit before to hold up any petrol stations?”

“Yeah. I robbed the 440 Roadhouse using it,” moaned Mark. “The gambling debt heavies were putting pressure on me to start paying something, so I figured a quick $10,000 would keep them quiet for a short while. No dice. They wanted a lot more and soon. When I tried that green wetsuit in the robbery it gave me the idea of keeping myself sealed up from spreading my own DNA during the future gruesome tasks that I had to do.”

“Where did you get the wetsuit from?” Barney followed up. “We checked all the local surf and diving shops for the recent sale of that type of suit. We tried the three online stores that had them in Australia too. It was not a common colour item with only about 20 sold in the last couple of years, and only three were in the bulky size when we identified you on the CCTV at the 440 Roadhouse. We checked out the credit card purchases for all three of those. The shops could not remember any others that were cash sales.”

“I bought it online from America some years ago,” he confirmed. “There were dozens of companies selling it for far cheaper than in Australia, with international postage included in the price.”

“Why did you buy it?” asked Zep.

“When we lived in Belmont near the river, we did a lot of swimming around there. Because at times there were hundreds of jellyfish, and sometimes small stingers too, I bought the full body suit for skin protection.”

“Thank you, Mark. That particular crime was a real puzzle to us. Your explanation clears up another of our unsolved mysteries,” sighed Barney. “I can now concentrate on my footy this afternoon with an intelligent clear mind.”

“Yeah, Right,” grinned Zep. “That will be a first.”

Chapter 39

Gold Tantrums

Saturday and Sunday, 24-25^th April

It didn’t take much to start. This Saturday’s footy fixture against Northampton was a home game for Mullewa, so the crowds had come in from the district to support the locals. Some came from far away inland: 340 Km from Meekatharra, 240 Km from Mount Magnet and 120 Km from Yalgoo, because they had ‘lations’ that were playing. Others came from the north, 500 Km from Gascoyne Junction and 200 Km from Murchison down the Gascoyne Junction unsealed road. It was a bigger crowd than usual because people were talking.

The winner or loser of the match didn’t matter, but the fact that Mullewa won easily against Northampton Rams meant that there were lots more celebrations in the home club bar and also in the other pubs in town. It was, after all, a Saturday night. And talk became heated, which turned into arguments. Which of the Peoples had the Native Title rights to the new gold sites, so who could claim compensation for the use of their lands? Both of the Peoples were part of the Yamatji Tribe of the Central North, but the Watjarri People of the central Murchison felt they had a stronger claim than the Badimaya People of the east.

Some of the more vocal of the Watjarri left the Railway Hotel to have their own rally in the car park on the railway reserve on the other side of the highway. They phoned or texted some of their kin in the footy club bar and from the bar of the Inspirations Hotel further along the main road. A few more joined them to bring the number to around a dozen. Most of the population around the district were of mixed heritage so did not care one way or the other. Members of the Badimaya were definitely not invited.

“We need to visibly demonstrate that the Tallering Peak area is part of the Watjarri Peoples land,” one speaker began. “So that when the mining companies want to start any development, they will have to pay us to come onto our land.”

Shouts of “Yeah,” “Sure,” and “Too right,” reverberated from the small crowd.

“We should hold a midday parade in the main street tomorrow to show them we mean business,” chimed in another.

“Okay,” “Great idea,” was the consensus replies.

So, a meeting place behind the Town Hall was decided for 10:00 a.m. Sunday. Some would bring banners. Family members would be coerced.

#

‘WE ARE WATJARRI’ proclaimed the placard at the head of the parade of twenty people who walked out of the park behind the Town Hall. Men, women, and children danced, sidestepped and shuffled to the rhythm of beating sticks and a voice cadence down the main street of Mullewa on the overcast Sunday morning.

The parade had only gone a hundred metres before a large group of Badimaya young men began to hurl coondies, small pebbles designed to annoy and distract the marchers. It had the effect. Several marchers paused to reach for some boondies beside the road. These larger rocks could do some real damage, and in skilled hands could bring down kangaroos and other game. The interfering youths were forced to back off.

They retired behind some local fences, ripping off some pointed pickets and returned brandishing these readymade weapons to be used as a waddy, spike or nulla-nulla club. All the women and children who had joined the parade quickly made themselves scarce. Some of the men marchers formed a security line while others sought weapons. Branches, road-signs and pickets were shared around.

The battle was quite short but cost a few defensive broken arms, bruised bodies, and head injuries on both sides. Police from the nearby station poured out to try to regain order, but the fight had quickly faded out as the front-line warriors of each sides staggered away injured or incapacitated. It was a stalemate, and the police were left with administering first aid to the wounded or directing them to the local hospital. No arrests were made.

#

The first of the media arrived late-morning from Geraldton, notified by the local Community Resource Centre. There were no radio or TV stations located in Mullewa, but most of the Midwest broadcasters had transmitters that serviced the town and nearby district. A story of this size about local unrest could not be ignored. With TV cameras recording and talking heads excitedly waving microphones under their noses, some of the walking wounded from the Watjarri told their stories, somewhat embellished for the sake of the TV home viewers. The opportunity was also there for them to advance their Watjarri claim on the gold location.

A few local residents of the Badimaya People who had retired to their Mullewa homes for an afternoon of celebratory drinks heard of the new media activities. They determined to hold a show of their own. Dressed in just native loincloths, with brightly coloured body paint and carrying their ceremonial spears and waddys, a group of six Badimaya men jigged, swayed and chanted, accompanied by a couple beating time with clapsticks. All of this visual flair was to gain the attention of the media. It worked.

Their opponents, who were now being ignored, tried to regain the media attention by hurling coondies at the performance, much like what had happened to themselves in their earlier parade. The incensed and somewhat inebriated dancers lifted their ceremonial spears in a threatening manner to stop the missiles, but to no avail. The rocks became larger, so several spears were loosed.

Again, the police needed to intervene, carefully. It made good footage for later television. There were two wounded Watjarri, one speared in the stomach and another in the thigh, and some Badimaya with head and body injuries from boondies. It became necessary for several arrests to be made to remove some of the enraged warriors before the ferocity was removed from the battle lines.

#

Barney and Zep arrived among the contingent of Geraldton police, despatched to assist the local constabulary. The main street was cluttered with wandering groups of people still coming to terms with the spectacle that had befallen. There was also the mess of debris from the battle that littered the street.

“Oi. Barney Merrick,” was the call, shouted from amid a group of people at the side of the road. “Over here bloke.”

Barney signalled for Zep to join him as he approached a young Aboriginal with his shoulder in a sling. Neither party were pleased to be meeting under these circumstances.

“Chancey Narrier, you scallywag. I thought you had more sense,” sighed Barney. “Fancy getting further involved after we had discussed the better options last week in the clubhouse.”

“I’m sorry Merrick,” Chancey Narrier of Watjarri openly apologised to Barney. “We thought a peaceful parade would draw attention to our claims. We were not expecting to be attacked by those Badimaya. We only defended ourselves, until they attacked with waddies and nulla nullas. I got badly bruised on the arm so went home to ice it, not wanting to be put out of footy. I later heard that some of my people were speared. It was all supposed to be peaceful.”

“Lucky you weren’t among those seriously injured or arrested,” interposed Zep from the side.

Barney stepped in closer to face him, saying, “Chancey, I know that your football teammates at Mullewa were all quite a tight-knit playing group, even if some are Watjarri and some are Badimaya. What are the chances that you can bring them peacefully together again. I am asking you to use your football nouse to influence your teammates to calm things down. Remember that those who are best prepared will have the greatest advantage when the issue is to be decided. How about giving it a go.”

Chancey faced Barney, looking a little uncertain, but then slowly nodded. “Okay mate. I’ll give it a try.”

#

During that next couple of weeks there were still the occasional clashes around the district. Graffiti regularly appeared on the sides of buildings and parked ore trucks and railcars proclaiming Watjarri or Badimaya. But Mullewa was quietening down. The love of football and the local team was strong in town, so it was at least a moderating factor in uniting the people.

Chapter 40

Tribal Conference

Friday midday, 7^th May

There were not many times that a three-way Tribal Conference was called, but the current situation called for it. The meeting place was traditional for inter-tribal gatherings, in a shaded flat dry riverbed on the edge of a spacious salt pan out to the east of Mullewa. The strong southern Noongar Tribe represented by the Amangu People of Geraldton had called for unity. They were supported by the north-eastern Wongai Tribe represented by the Tjupani People of Meekatharra. The feuding sects of the Yamatji Tribe were giving a bad name to all the Aboriginal peoples of Central Western Australia. Meeting together were three or four tribal elders from each of the three quarrelling Peoples of the Yamatji tribe, and they were joined by the representative elders of the other two tribes.

Norman Tindale’s Mapping of Aboriginal Tribes

[Yamatji Tribe] [Wongai Tribe]

Watjarri People Tjupani People

(Murchison Mullewa, (Meekatharra)

Gascoyne Junction

Meekatharra)

TALLERING [Yamatji Tribe]

[Yamatji Tribe] PEAK Badimaya People

Nhanta People (Mt Magnet

(Northampton) Dalwalinu

Sandstone)

[Noongar Tribe]

Amangu People

Geraldton and Mullewa

“We need to present a united front,” began Old Bradley, one of the elders of the Nhanta People of Northampton of the Yamatji Tribe. “We got nothing from the Koolanooka iron ore mine in Morawa during the whole ten years that it operated in the 70’s. It was because we were not a recognised land ownership group around that time. When Tallering Peak opened in 2003 at least we were starting to be recognised for Native Title by then. We were somewhat looked after with some royalties from the Mount Gibson Iron Mining Company.

When this gold discovery gets opened up big-time, we have to be fully compensated for our lands. I have been emailing the elders of both the Noongar and Wongai Tribes and have received assurances from both of them that they recognise that gold site as a Yamatji Location. They will not be claiming any of the benefits. Their representatives are only here today to add their support and to help to calm things down among the Aboriginal Peoples of the Central North.

“I see it will be a claim on three fronts,” began an elder from the Watjarri in Mullewa. “The mining companies will want to dig a mine on our land, so must pay us compensation for our traditional customs with the land and water rights that we hold before they can disturb our soil and water. They will have to pay us royalties on the ore they extract. Then they will need to transport the minerals across our land by road or rail, so they should have to pay us shipping rights to cross our lands.”

“Yeah right!” exclaimed another. “Old Lang Hancock got two cents a ton for railroading iron ore across his properties in the Pilbara, so we should demand more than two cents for a much more valuable mineral.”

“Crossing our lands at least as far as the railhead in Mullewa,” commented another.

“But half of that is already fully developed farmland under the individual farm owners title,” cautioned another. “That part is not our land anymore.”

Old Bradley began quietly to try to soothe the arguments. “Perhaps the problem is just too complex for us to solve here in this meeting. I feel that we should bring the whole issue before the Native Council in Perth, and let their lawyers and solicitors sort out the rights and wrongs. They may need to argue on behalf of the Yamatji Tribe as a whole, not separately for the individual peoples. A united front would be a more powerful argument and would stop all the infighting that sooner or later will cost the lives of some our brothers. There have already been several serious injuries. That has to stop.

The meeting went quiet while everyone digested the proposition. A few nods here and there, and then hands began to show in acknowledgement.

“Is that a yes all around?” asked Old Bradley, as he stood. They all stood in agreement. The feud was over.

(Author’s Note: On 7 Feb 2020, the Native Title on 48,000 square kilometres was granted to the Yamatji Nation in the Federal Court of Australia stretching from Kalbarri on the North coast to Yalgoo in the East and Dalwallinu in the south for the 9000 traditional owners to access, hunt and camp. But it did not include the right to control access or usage. Tallering Peak is slap bang in the middle of this region.)

Chapter 41

House Warming

Wednesday night, 16^th June

“I recon we all earned this beer with all the work we did for Barney last weekend. Cheers,” Zep raised his stubbie to tap bottles with everyone. “Here’s to Barney’s new house.”

“Thanks to all those who volunteered to help me move my furniture in from storage, and thanks for all those housewarming gifts,” saluted Barney with his beer bottle. “And especially thank you for all being here to help me warm this place up.”

The prevailing sea breeze could be seen ruffling the tops of the trees in the backyard, but its wind was not felt in this sheltered area around the swimming pool. The house was ‘L’ shaped with the point directed into the Southwesters to divert the strength of the wind away from the pool and barbecue area.

Barney nodded to Zep and Shirley. Their young kids were over the road catching surf with body boards in the shallows of Backbeach. They were all strong but careful swimmers very accustomed to the waves. They would be back shortly as the mid-winter wind was getting too chilly to stay on the beach for too long into the late afternoon.

Other guests included Bill Armstrong, Steve Tipping, Coach Brad Cocker and a few other footy mates. From work there were the other detectives Jamie Hancock and Rod Morley, Senior Sergeant Gary Perkins and a group of constables, office and forensic staff, including Laura Chelva. Some of the guests were accompanied by spouses and children, making it quite a crowd.

Zep stood again and cleared his throat to gain their attention.

“Listen up you people,” Coach Cocker’s powerful voice rang out. He was used to being heard halfway across a football oval, so a small backyard was no challenge to him.

“Thanks Brad,” acknowledged Zep, and continued. “At this time, I would like to officially welcome my new partner Barney to Geraldton.”

A round of congratulatory applause occurred, with a few “Welcome Barney,” and “Here, here” from the throng.

Zep continued, “And I would like to congratulate him on his part in successful solving of the two McPherson murders, the Mahomet’s rape case and helping to diffuse the Tallering land rights issue. His train driving skills with ore trains still needs practice but he managed okay this first time.

I might add that the issue of the gold discovery has proved to be a fizzle. There was only a single bucket load of alluvial gold. The nuggets of gold were assayed, and this confirmed that they did not geologically originate in Tallering but are from up in the Mount Magnet area. Someone had salted the claim, but we don’t know if it was the deceased Robert McPherson or someone else. We may never know. But it did cause quite a gold rush throughout the Mid-West District.

There were a couple of old dry human bones found downstream from the claim site. They could have been 10 years old or a thousand years old, but after being crunched by annual floods and scorched by summer heat, there was not much left of them. Who knows how they got there?

Back to Barney. His interpersonal skills need a little honing. By his over aggressive questioning, he managed to upset the senior Australian Security Police Officer in this State of Western Australia from out at the spybase at Kojarena. I had to step in and calm down the ‘ah-hem gentleman’ to get his cooperation in order to return to us the important evidence in a murder case.”

Barney and several of the station staff guffawed. Most of the crowd had heard the stories.

Zep continued, “In addition to his crime fighting, Barney has made himself a valuable contributor to the Railways Football Club by helping them to win three of their first five games. That’s not a bad resume for his first three months in Geraldton.”

Barney stood and had the last announcements, “Thanks mates, I’m here from now on. Now everyone, have fun and no fights.”

END

Norman Tindale’s Mapping of Aboriginal Tribes

[Yamatji Tribe] [Wongai Tribe]

Watjarri People Tjupani People

(Murchison Mullewa, (Meekatharra)

Gascoyne Junction

Meekatharra)

TALLERING [Yamatji Tribe]

[Yamatji Tribe] PEAK Badimaya People

Nhanta People (Mt Magnet

(Northampton) Dalwalinu

Sandstone)

[Noongar Tribe]

Amangu People

Geraldton and Mullewa