Without a Doubt Read online

  Pulling open the door, he wiped his brow and gave a sigh as he took another swig of water, closing his eyes for a few moments. There was always a sense of relief once the cattle were in the yards—the hardest part was done. All that was left was to draft and load. He grabbed the satellite phone from the passenger seat.

  The sun was high in the sky now; the coolness of the morning fog had burned off with the intense heat of the day. To the north the telltale signs of what could be a late thunderstorm were building.

  Bulldust started to dial a number, but the phone rang before he could finish.

  ‘Okay?’ he answered without saying hello.

  ‘All good. ETA another hour.’

  ‘Right.’

  Bulldust put the phone back into the case and fished out a roughly made ham and mustard sandwich. The bread was a little stale, but it didn’t bother him. He just needed to refuel. Two mouthfuls in, the bread stuck to the roof of his mouth, so he had another slurp of water from the CamelBak and kept chewing.

  Once he’d finished, he shrugged off the CamelBak and lowered himself to the ground. He put his hat over his face and lay out flat for a few minutes, resting his back. Feeling something digging into his leg, he reached down and pulled out a rusted horseshoe. The ground out here was littered with them. And rocks. Without opening his eyes, he tossed it away and continued his rest.

  Ten minutes later he dusted himself off and walked over to the group of men. Chris was leaning against a tree, while Bill and George were sitting propped against the tyres of the bull buggy. They each had small eskies on the ground next to them, and George, being older than the others, had his thermos and mug of stockman’s standard—black sugarless tea, perched on top of the lid. They weren’t talking, just concentrating on their food.

  ‘We’ve got an hour,’ he told them.

  Bill cracked open an eye. ‘Time to draft?’ He had a long scratch down his arm which had been bleeding. The flies were showing it a lot of interest, but Bill seemed oblivious to the insects buzzing around and crawling over his wound. He must’ve got too close to a tree somewhere.

  ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

  The men heaved themselves to their feet and walked to the yards with a new-found energy.

  As they ran the cattle through the yards, they yelled to each other constantly.

  ‘Cow, right!’

  ‘Cow, right.’

  ‘Too small! Right!’

  ‘Cleanskin, left!’

  ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry! Push up!’

  ‘Hey, girls, up there!’

  They continued to move the cattle through the yards, taking off the calves that hadn’t been branded or didn’t have an earmark or any other identifying feature to indicate which station they’d come from. These cleanskins would be going to a holding station before being branded as Bulldust’s own.

  He was the highwayman.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Locking the gates only keeps honest people out,’ Dave said to Spencer as they drove the long road towards Barrabine. Detective Dave Burrows and his family had been stationed in the goldfields of Western Australia for two years now, and he and his superior Detective Spencer Brown spent most of their time on the road, in heavy discussion on police procedures. ‘It takes nothing to use a set of boltcutters to cut the chain or padlock and get in.’

  ‘I agree,’ Spencer said, ‘but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t encourage miners and station owners to lock their houses or gates or …’ He broke off as they rounded the corner of a dirt road and saw a ute pulled off on the side of the road.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone in the vehicle or close by.

  ‘Oh, hello. What do you reckon’s going on here?’

  Spencer shrugged. ‘Probably out in the bush taking a slash.’

  ‘Check it out?’

  ‘Might as well. Got nothing else pressing.’

  Dave lifted his foot and started to slow the vehicle—a quick conversation with the driver to make sure everything was okay and they could restart their animated discussion about locking gates. Leaving someone on the side of the road wasn’t done out here. Dave looked over at Spencer as he pulled up next to the ute.

  ‘Just going back to locking houses and gates, you’re kidding me, right? Most of those leases don’t even have fences, let alone gates! Can you imagine any of the private miners out here locking their shanties? They’d need a dirty great chain and padlock!’

  ‘Again, I know.’ Spencer looked out the window and Dave knew he was checking out the parked vehicle. He turned back to Dave. ‘I’ve been here longer than you, remember? But the stations do. They have fences and gates and they should be padlocked.’

  ‘But then if they’re not locked when the owners are home, doesn’t it draw attention to the fact the places are deserted when they are locked?’

  Spencer gave a laugh and gently punched Dave in the arm. ‘You’re a dog with a bone. Come on, let’s just agree to disagree. You think they shouldn’t be locked and I think they should be.’ He paused and looked at the ute again. ‘Let’s find out who this is before we get out. Can’t be too careful.’ Indicating to the ute, he reached for the radio mic and asked for a registration check.

  After a moment of silence, the answer came back: ‘Owner is Jeff Cane. Nothing outstanding and rego is up to date. No priors, either.’

  ‘Roger that, thanks, Tez.’ He hung up the mic and narrowed his eyes as he looked around. ‘Don’t reckon our Mr Jeff Cane is here though. Can’t see any signs of life.’

  ‘Hmm. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah, let’s do it.’

  Dave opened the door and got out, looking around. Normally an abandoned car on the side of the road was broken down. Dave would’ve been able to tell that from the first glance—the bonnet would be up and sometimes a door left open. If it had been there a long time, anything of value would’ve been stolen and perhaps there would have even been graffiti on the outside of the vehicle.

  This one was wasn’t like that at all. The car was fairly new, in good condition. No flat tyre; nothing to indicate it had broken down.

  It looked as if Jeff had just walked away. This situation felt different, as if something sinister was about to happen. For Dave, this was worth noting because he trusted his gut instincts. He glanced over his shoulder and into the bush on the other side of the road before carefully inspecting the area for any signs of disturbance.

  His hand strayed to his hip, near his gun, while Spencer got out the other side of the patrol vehicle and adopted a similar stance. Continuing to observe the ute and surrounds, Dave took a couple of steps towards the vehicle.

  ‘Hello?’ called Spencer loudly. ‘Police!’

  The only noise was the flies buzzing around Dave’s head. The air shimmered with a dry heat and in the distance a mirage flickered, while the heat was oppressive.

  ‘Anyone here?’ Dave yelled out.

  A cry cut through the silence as a crow rose from the tree in protest at Dave’s shout. Dave walked close enough to be able to see into the vehicle and confirmed there was no one nearby.

  ‘Clear,’ he said as he stood up, holstered his gun and reached into his pocket.

  Spencer walked over and peered into the ute. ‘Is the engine warm?’

  Dave pulled out a set of latex gloves and wiggled his fingers into them before putting his hand on the bonnet. Instantly an intense heat filtered up through his fingers and he yanked them away. ‘Wouldn’t be able to tell, considering how scorching it is today. But it’s certainly hot. More than likely from the sun.’

  He tried the passenger door and it opened. The glove box contained an assortment of chewing gum, receipts, registration papers and a manual for the ute. Flicking through the manual, Dave saw that the servicing had been kept up to date. This didn’t seem the sort of vehicle that would’ve been abandoned; it was too well cared for.

  The centre console held a few coins, a pocket knife, bandaids and a packet of Panadol.

  ‘Not much here,’ Dav
e said to Spencer, who was examining the driver’s side, his hands also gloved.

  ‘Nope, not much at all. No luggage, no water, nothing to indicate whoever was driving had been planning to stop for any length of time. If there was camping gear, well, that’d be another story.’ He paused while he inspected the floor. ‘Can’t see any blood … Ah, lookee here.’ He tapped a photograph taped to the underside of the visor. ‘A nice family shot—Mum, Dad, two kids. Girls. And the must-have border collie.’ He pulled it away and turned it over. ‘Jeff, me, Sam and Emily. Einstein.’ Spencer paused. ‘Guessing that’s the dog.’

  ‘Jeez and they made you a detective,’ Dave smirked.

  ‘And there’s a “Dave joke” right there,’ Spencer grunted as he leaned in and looked underneath the seat. He grabbed at a stubby holder and passed it to Dave.

  ‘The Barrabine pub,’ Dave read. ‘Well, that doesn’t narrow it down too much. I reckon everyone who’s ever been there has one of these.’

  ‘Dunny paper …’ Spencer’s voice was muffled. ‘And …’ He fell silent and Dave looked over at him.

  ‘And?’ he prompted.

  Spencer looked up at him before reaching back under the seat and pulling out a bundle. He placed it on the seat and carefully unwrapped it: a handgun.

  ‘Well then,’ Dave said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Dave raised his eyebrows and held out his hand. Spencer passed it over and Dave examined the gun carefully then brought it up close to his nose. He couldn’t smell gunpowder.

  ‘Don’t think it’s been fired recently.’ He frowned as he looked around the landscape. The area they were in was dense with trees and scrubby bushes. The powdery red soil had a few chunks of quartz on the top but was free of ironstone, which meant this wasn’t an area that would interest prospectors. It was plain pastoral land. ‘What are we looking at here?’

  ‘A ditched car,’ Spencer said, mopping his brow. He walked over to stand underneath the shade of a spindly tree. ‘No sign of the owner. No reason to suspect anything. But not everyone carries a handgun underneath their seat.’

  ‘There’s enough red dirt to indicate he’s from around here, or at least been here for a while.’

  ‘Hmm. Might be a miner who’s protecting his lease, but I don’t recognise the name. I know most of them. And this ain’t mining country.’

  ‘Might be a station owner.’

  ‘With a handgun?’

  Dave shrugged. ‘Never know.’

  ‘You’re right there, but they wouldn’t be using this to euthanise their stock. This is a protection gun.’

  Dave nodded his agreement and watched as Spencer rubbed his chin—a sure sign he was thinking.

  ‘Could’ve been protecting himself from wild dogs. If this were New South Wales and if they had a discretionary licence, they’d be carrying one for pigs and dogs.’

  ‘Yeah, but they’d still have to have a licence. Hey, got some footprints here,’ Spencer said from the tree, ‘heading this way.’ He started striding out and Dave followed after he’d grabbed the camera and his hat from the patrol vehicle.

  Wishing the heat wasn’t so intense, he snapped a few shots of the ute in situ before taking some of the inside and following Spencer.

  The footprints were clear and deep in the red soil and seemed to be heading in a westerly direction. There was a chunk of rubber out of the sole impression of the right boot, which would make it easy to identify the shoes. If they found them.

  ‘Bugger, we’re going round in circles here,’ Spencer called out from a few hundred metres ahead. Dave looked up and got his bearings. They had indeed just walked in a circle and they were back at the front of the ute.

  ‘So where did he go to from here?’ Spencer mused.

  ‘Not anywhere in his vehicle,’ Dave answered.

  His partner fixed him with a stare. ‘Jeez and they made you a detective?’

  Dave gave a loud laugh. ‘Touché.’ He enjoyed the friendly banter between them; their relationship was very different to the other coppers he’d worked with back in the city. They’d been mates, for sure, not great mates, but mates. He’d trusted his partners—that was a given. You couldn’t patrol streets without knowing your partner had your back. But Spencer had his back too, plus his genuine friendship. He and his wife, Kathy, had been constant supports for both Dave and Melinda in the two years they’d been in Barrabine. Spencer cared more for the people who worked with him than rules and regulations.

  Dave went back to their four-wheel drive police car and called into the station, asking if a Jeff Cane had been reported missing.

  ‘Negative,’ Tez answered.

  ‘He got a licence to own a handgun? Or one registered to him?’

  Pause. ‘That’s another negative.’

  Dave nodded to himself. He’d already known that was going to be the answer.

  ‘Well, we better go make a visit to the wife,’ he said.

  The door opened as they pulled up in front of a dust-covered weatherboard house situated on one of the wide streets of Barrabine.

  A quick glance around told Dave this was a tired family. A tricycle was tipped over next to a sun-rotten clam paddling pool, both sitting on a dust bowl of a front yard. Thick wire netting attached to a wooden fence surrounded the boundary and kept the children safe.

  A slim, worn woman jogged down the steps, a baby in her arms.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she called. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Mrs Mary Cane?’ Spencer asked as he opened the gate. He had to talk loudly above the screech of the weary hinges.

  ‘Yes.’

  Dave heard the fear in her voice as soon as she realised they were here to see her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We’ve come to talk to you about your husband, Jeff Cane. Does he own a white Landcruiser ute with the registration number …’ Spencer reeled off the number without looking at his notes.

  From inside the house there was the sound of two young voices; one was laughing and the other crying. Dave recognised the music from the children’s program Play School, but it was drowned out as the baby on Mary’s hip started to cry. It seemed the photo Spencer had found in the ute was a few years old. It hadn’t showed the new baby. Looking around the yard, he couldn’t see any evidence of a dog either.

  Mary was jiggling the child so hard Dave thought she might be about to throw him over her shoulder. ‘Yeah, yeah, he does. What’s happened?’

  ‘Can we come inside?’ Dave asked. ‘Here, let me take him for you.’ He reached for the baby, but she held him away.

  ‘Nope, just tell me what’s going on.’

  If she could’ve crossed her arms, Dave was sure she would have.

  ‘Your husband’s ute was found abandoned on Clydie Road this morning. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. Are you able to tell us the last time you saw him?’

  Her expression crumpled at the news and she buried her face in the baby’s chest, her shoulders heaving with sobs. ‘I told him, I told him!’

  ‘Come on.’ Spencer put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Let’s go inside. Do you have someone we can call for you? Someone to help with the kids?’

  Mary shook her head but let herself be led inside.

  There were toys lying all over the worn carpet and the kitchen sink was piled high with the day’s dishes. Two little girls were lounging on a Barbie couch in front of the TV. The littlest one still had tears on her cheeks, but they both turned and regarded the two strange men with wide eyes.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ Spencer guided Mary to the kitchen table while Dave smiled at the two girls.

  ‘What are you watching?’ he asked, walking over and squatting down to talk to them.

  ‘Play School,’ the older one answered. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Dave. I’m here to talk to your mum about a couple of things.’

  ‘Are you a poo-leese-man?’

  ‘I am! How did you know?’ Dave was intrigued; as a detective he
didn’t wear a uniform.

  ‘Your car’s got flashing lights, like the one in the story my daddy reads me.’ She pointed out the window and he realised she must’ve looked out when they pulled up.

  ‘Very clever! What’s your name?’

  ‘Emily.’ She pointed to herself as she said her name.

  ‘And what about you?’ he asked the smaller one.

  ‘She’s Sam,’ Emily answered for her.

  ‘You’ve both got pretty names.’

  ‘Why is Mummy crying?’

  ‘I think she’s feeling a bit sad. Do you have a grandma or nana or someone who comes and visits you?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘Grandma lives in Perth.’

  ‘Ah. Okay, can you girls stay here while we finish talking to your mum?’

  Emily nodded and got up and tried to pull the couch closer to the TV. ‘Get off it, Sam.’ She managed to up-end the other child and shifted it before sitting down again. ‘Come on, Sam.’ Now Emily patted the space next to her and turned back to the TV as her younger sister plopped next to her and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘It wasn’t the worst argument we’ve had,’ Dave heard Mary say as he walked over to the kitchen. He was struck by the similarities between this house and the one he and Melinda lived in. Although Melinda, now she was at home with a new baby, kept their house as neat as a pin. Tidiness seemed like an obsession to her.

  ‘But it was bad enough because he said he needed some time. Three kids under five puts so much pressure on a marriage.’ The tears were hot on her cheeks. ‘But not having any money …’

  ‘He left last night?’

  Mary nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘About nine, I guess. I wanted to go to bed. Logan had just had his feed and I was about to put him down for the night. Jeff came in to ask me why the telephone bill was so high.’ Her voice became louder. ‘How the hell am I supposed to manage these three without talking to my friends and mum? I need them to stay sane!’

  ‘It was the phone bill that caused the argument?’ Although Dave had seen lesser issues cause a rift in a marriage, he had to be sure.