Rising Dust Read online

  Fleur McDonald has lived and worked on farms for much of her life. After growing up in the small town of Orroroo in South Australia, she went jillarooing, eventually co-owning an 8000-acre property in regional Western Australia.

  Fleur likes to write about strong women overcoming adversity, drawing inspiration from her own experiences in rural Australia. She has two children, an energetic kelpie and a Jack Russell terrier.

  Website: www.fleurmcdonald.com

  Facebook: FleurMcDonaldAuthor

  Instagram: fleurmcdonald

  OTHER BOOKS

  Red Dust

  Blue Skies

  Purple Roads

  Silver Clouds

  Crimson Dawn

  Emerald Springs

  Indigo Storm

  Sapphire Falls

  The Missing Pieces of Us

  Suddenly One Summer

  Where the River Runs

  Starting From Now

  The Shearer’s Wife

  Deception Creek

  DETECTIVE DAVE BURROWS SERIES

  Fool’s Gold

  Without a Doubt

  Red Dirt Country

  Something to Hide

  Rising Dust

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First published in 2022

  Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2022

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone(61 2) 8425 0100

  [email protected]

  Webwww.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76087 883 2

  eISBN 978 1 76106 413 5

  Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Nada Backovic

  Cover images:   Patrick Kang / Arcangel (man); Georgia Hoolihan (background)

  To the best tech guru I know, and who doubles as my godson, Alex. He saved this book from disaster, twice, so you all could read it. Alex, I now know how to save files so much better!

  And to those who are precious—what was, still is, and I am grateful.

  CONTENTS

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Fool’s Gold, Without a Doubt, Red Dirt Country, Something to Hide and Rising Dust are my novels that feature Detective Dave Burrows in the lead role. Eagle-eyed readers will know Dave from previous novels and it was in response to readers’ enthusiasm for Dave that I wanted to write more about him.

  In these novels, set in the late 1990s and early 2000s, Dave is at the beginning of his career. He’s married to his first wife, Melinda, a paediatric nurse, and they’re having troubles balancing their careers and family life. No spoilers here because if you’ve read my contemporary rural novels you’ll know that Dave and Melinda separate and Dave is currently very happily married to his second wife, Kim.

  Dave is one of my favourite characters and I hope he will become one of yours, too.

  PROLOGUE

  ‘Kita harus menyingkirkannya.’

  ‘We must get rid of her.’

  Both languages were familiar; although her native tongue was easier to understand.

  ‘Mengapa? Dia tidak akan berbicara.’

  ‘Why? She will not speak.’

  With her eyes shut, the woman frowned but the action hurt her.

  Someone was repeating the words from the man who was speaking Indonesian.

  The throbbing pain made her want to vomit. Her body was hot—not just hot, boiling. Like she was sitting in a bath of scalding water. She needed to move.

  Raising her head, she opened her eyes and looked down at her body. It was bare and showing the telltale signs of sunburn across her already brown skin. How long had she been out here like this?

  She looked around for a place to get away from the heat. Surely there was something close by to cover herself with? Even a thin shirt, just to give her some relief from the fiery temperature that seemed to be engulfing her; making her pant as if she were a dog. Even though it was warm and humid in her country, the ferocity of the sun was nothing like this. The heat zapped her energy and moving an inch felt too hard.

  Her fingers were swollen from the warmth and hard to bend, but she tried anyway. Slowly, slowly, they responded to her will, then she managed to reach out her hand. Searching for anything to cover herself. There had to be something.

  The sound of lapping water filtered through her muddied mind. Water. Cold. She could … Dragging herself sluggishly along the deck, trying to ignore the pain, which was only second to the heat, she moved towards the lapping noise. Gentle, tiny waves rocked the boat she was in.

  The sun set the surface alight with sparkles; glittering, moving diamonds everywhere her puffy eyes looked. The turquoise sea, on which the boat bopped gently, lapped at a beach that morphed into ochre sand, then red soil, which in turn stretched into grey-green bushes. Rugged stony hills stretched up behind the beach and seemed to connect to the sky.

  This was not her home country. This was not a land she knew.

  The panic started, but as she let out a little moan, she realised it didn’t matter where she was. The most important thing was to cool her body. Then get away, for she knew she was in danger.

  Memories filled her mind and she felt fear swirl through her. She had to get away. There wasn’t just one man. Or two. There were three or four—she’d lost count how many had been on the boat with her. What she hadn’t lost count of was how many days she’d been subjected to their desires.

  That was the throbbing between her legs. The men had forced themselves on her day after day after day. Over ten days.

  She remembered because she’d counted the times the sun had gone down and come up. Although she wasn’t sure how long she’d been passed out for this time.

  ‘Dia harus mati.’

  ‘She must die.’

  ‘Tidak,’ she whispered. ‘No!’ This time she found a strength that she’d never known herself to have before. She raised herself up, ignoring the shooting pain and dizziness that swept over her.

  Away from the shore, the jewelled sea stretched to where the sea and sky touched. The water would be cold—it
would help cool her. She must slip in. Could she swim somewhere? Away from the men who wanted to hurt her.

  She couldn’t form the words in her native language, but she knew what the feeling was.

  Terror.

  These … animals! These animals had pulled her from the streets where she had been babysitting her little brother, weaving fishing nets as her father had asked them to. They’d held a knife to her throat and bundled her into a small van with no windows. Inside that vehicle had been dark and smelled like cigarettes, dog piss and rotten meat. She’d screamed and clawed at the doors as they’d shut, but the streets were so busy, so noisy that no one except her little brother had taken any notice.

  She’d heard him crying as the van drove away. Then there was just the roar of the engine, the stench and the men in the back, leering at her. They all had thin moustaches and sullen faces. One had a cigarette hanging from his lips while another was missing his front tooth. The other two looked at her as if they could eat her right there. She’d shrunk against the wall of the van, realising it was unlikely she would ever see her family again.

  The boat had been small and the waves large, when they had sailed. She had no idea where they were headed or why the men had even taken her.

  Not many hours had passed before the first one had entered the small cubicle where they had stashed her. The light had filtered in and she’d held her hands up to block the brightness.

  Unable to see anything but his silhouette, she’d whispered to him. ‘Tolong bantu aku.’ Please help me.

  Instead, she’d heard the tinkle of a belt buckle and a zip and she’d screamed again, trying to find a place to hide.

  There was nowhere in that small room.

  He had held her arms behind her back, and entered her with a force that had made her eyes roll backwards. Her scream had been swallowed up by the waves and wind that were pounding the small vessel.

  That had happened time after time after time.

  The men weren’t far away now. She could hear their voices drifting from the shore across the water. And the tinny sound of steel on earth.

  Digging.

  Quietly, she moved to the back of the boat and looked over her shoulder. They weren’t taking any notice of her.

  She dangled her legs over the side and slipped into the water without so much as a splash.

  The relief was instant; the cold water enough to make her draw in a deep, quick breath. Salt stung her lips. Treading water, her feet sought the sand beneath the waves, but there was nothing, so she used one hand to hang on to the boat. Her eyes looked for an escape route, but her brain wasn’t keeping up.

  ‘Ayolah.’ Come on, she muttered to herself. Tears pricked her eyes. Her brother. Her family. Where was she?

  Suddenly, two hands reached down and grabbed her under her arms and pulled her back into the boat.

  Opening her mouth to scream, one of those hands came down heavily across her mouth. ‘Shh. Don’t make a sound. I’ll try to keep you safe,’ the man said. He draped a towel over her shoulders. The first sign of kindness in many, many days.

  She wasn’t sure whether to trust his gentleness or not.

  ‘Where is she?’ another voice asked and the boat rocked as someone stepped onto the deck.

  ‘I’m going to take care of her,’ the kind voice said.

  For some reason, she believed the voice. Her body started to relax.

  ‘You? You wouldn’t know how to get rid of a body, let alone deal with her. I’ll do it.’

  Rough hands grabbed her and took her off the boat, through the water and onto the beach. The sand felt soft beneath her feet. Familiar. It gave her comfort.

  ‘Just leave her with me.’ The kind voice sounded fed up. ‘I’ve got a plan.’

  ‘You know what you’ll do?’

  She heard a fist hit a jaw and a bone crack.

  ‘What the fu—’

  Then there was silence. A few more steps and they were at the edge of the large red-coloured hills. She was having trouble understanding. There was nothing like this in Indonesia. There, it was green and rainy and the sun shone, but not with the heat she was feeling now. She licked her dry and cracked lips.

  She saw a deep, long hole had been dug. She closed her eyes and conjured up an image of her grandmother sitting on the floor in their shack on the edge of the sea. Her grandmother always stroked her hair back from her face when she was upset. She tried to remember what that touch felt like.

  If she had to take a memory to her death that would be it.

  Then she felt a push, and she was falling.

  Until she hit the bottom of the grave.

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘There’s no noise.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There is absolutely no sound. Anyone out here could scream, and no one would hear. Not a person for miles.’

  Bob leaned back in his chair and tipped his head towards the sky. ‘Give me strength.’ He looked back at Dave. ‘You’ve only just worked this out? Who made you a detective?’

  Dave was lying on his back, looking at the stars. ‘I’d forgotten,’ he said simply. ‘It’s been a few months since we’ve been outside of the city and I’d just forgotten how peaceful the bush is.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Bob got up and pushed his foot against the log in the flames, sending sparks shooting into the air, then grabbed another log and threw it onto the fire. ‘Well, I reckon your life is pretty noisy at the moment.’

  Dave was quiet, his eyes searching the sky. It was weird that he couldn’t see the saucepan constellation. Then he realised that it was because they were further north and the formation wasn’t visible at this time of the year.

  There were more stars than Dave remembered from when he’d camped out last time he was up here, high above Carnarvon. The night’s silence was only broken by the crackle from the small blaze or the gentle breeze. He turned his head at the orange glow coming from the east and saw the moon making her presence felt. Murky shadows from the white gums stretched out across the spinifex and blue bush, while the water in the river was as still as a millpond, reflecting the light of Lady Luna as she rose. Dave paused. Lady Luna. The name Mel always called the moon. He couldn’t help but think of the phrase every time he saw her rise.

  Cold air crept around his ears and he pulled his beanie down a bit further. Not just cold; icy. Tomorrow morning, they’d be lucky if there wasn’t condensation inside their swags.

  Then he registered what Bob had said. Reckon your life is pretty noisy at the moment.

  ‘Profound, mate,’ he said dryly.

  While pouring himself another whiskey, Bob said, ‘Well, think about it, son. You’ve got your father-in-law throwing lawyers at you.’ He waved the bottle around and the amber liquid glowed in the firelight. ‘Then you’ve got Mel …’ His voice trailed off and Dave knew his partner couldn’t describe his soon-to-be ex-wife’s behaviour.

  Neither could he.

  Bob cleared his throat and took a sip. ‘And now we’ve got this new missing sheep case. Lots of noise.’

  There were things that Bob hadn’t mentioned, like the death of Dave’s old partner, Spencer Brown. They’d worked together, stationed at Barrabine, for two years a while back. In that short time, Spencer had made a mark on Dave he’d never forget. His death had shaken Dave to the core and made him question everything he believed about policing and relationships. How long did it take to grieve someone? Dave didn’t know.

  What he did know was that if he could put his hand inside his chest and pull out the ache and despair, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Tear out the guilt and sadness of Spencer’s death. And the rest.

  He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply like his counsellor had told him to do.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  Jumping, glowing flames from the fire.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  Smell of smoke.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  The deep breaths lowered his heart rate and he was able to reclaim his thou
ghts.

  ‘Meditation, Dave. Best thing for you,’ his counsellor had said.

  He’d never wanted to go to counselling, but even Bob had thought it was a good idea. ‘Son, there are some things your mates can’t help with. Look at me.’ He’d held up his glass and toasted Dave. ‘This is how I cope, and I’d rather you didn’t end up like me. Just learn from the good bits, all right?’ He’d grinned but Dave had known how much that would have cost Bob to say. Bob! He was the epitome of the strong, silent type, dealing with any emotion deep within himself or not at all.

  The counsellor was about Bob’s age, with grey hair pulled back into a ponytail. He looked like a hippy and Dave had wanted to leave the minute he’d arrived.

  ‘What do you like doing best, Dave?’ The counsellor had leaned forward, encouraging.

  Dave had leaned back. Not encouraging.

  ‘Fishing? Camping? Walking, maybe?’

  ‘Camping.’

  ‘Right, go out camping. Light yourself a fire and lie beside it. Look at the stars, close your eyes and breathe. Breathe deeply. Don’t move. Only breathe.’ He paused. ‘And try not to think.’

  That had been five weeks ago. Dave had been too busy to go camping. Instead of lying next to a fire, he’d lain outside on the lawn and watched the stars.

  At first, he’d been restless. Not wanting to stay still for long. He had focused on the hum of the traffic and occasional honking of a horn. His mind had begun wandering, reliving that disastrous afternoon when everything had changed. The ghosts of the past had crowded in, and Dave had tried to run from them. By moving around; shifting his thoughts to a case. Getting a beer from the fridge; pacing the edge of the garden.

  Sometimes he thought he could hear his mother-in-law, Ellen, calling out to him. Other times, it was Spencer. Whoever it was, they always wanted his help. Help he couldn’t give.

  One horrible night, as he was lying there under the inky sky, his eldest daughter, Bec, had screamed out his name, telling him Bulldust was coming for her.

  Bulldust. The cattle-thieving, murderous bastard, who’d torn Dave’s family apart in one fell swoop.