Where the River Runs Read online

  ‘Except we know that it wasn’t a short time ago.’ Jack glanced over at Dave. ‘There’s no flesh.’

  ‘I know, I know. That box is intriguing me.’ He tapped the steering wheel as was his habit when he was thinking. ‘Trouble is, if the remains are old, we’re going to have trouble investigating. Depending on the age of the bones obviously. I’m mean, if they’re fifty years old, is it in the public interest to excavate them? Can we make an arrest? Maybe not. We might be tying up money and resources for no outcome. If they’re twenty years old, we’ve got cause to investigate. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see what the forensics crew say.’

  As Dave drove, he noticed there were kangaroos still huddled under the trees for shelter. A large mob of emus was out grazing on the side of a hill and they walked slowly, their heads down, looking for food. It seemed as if the whole hill was moving.

  ‘Pity we didn’t get this rain in the growing season,’ Dave said. ‘Would’ve made the farmers’ lives much easier.’

  Jack’s phone dinged with a phone message. ‘Hell!’ He jumped. ‘Bloody internet connection,’ he said, digging into his pocket. ‘Never works when you want it to, then scares the shit out of you when you least expect it!’

  Dave grinned. ‘Just keeping you on your toes.’

  He listened to the message and said, ‘It’s the council wanting to know if we’re going to authorise the roadblocks for the Christmas pageant.’

  ‘Of course. We always do. When is it?’

  ‘Next Sunday evening. When’s that? Five days’ time.’

  ‘Bloody hell, when’s Christmas? Tuesday?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I haven’t got Kim a Christmas present yet. She’s so hard to buy for,’ Dave sighed as he pulled up at the crime scene and switched off the engine.

  ‘Funny, she says the same about you.’

  Dave harrumphed. ‘Can you get the crew on the radio and find out how far away they are? I’ll check the scene.’

  The rain had stopped but the slope below the remains was still slippery. As he suspected, the tape hadn’t been touched. A flock of galahs rose overhead, screeching as they soared into the grey-blue sky. The birds settled in another tree and started stripping the leaves. The sound of twigs cracking and the low murmur of galahs as they talked to each other filled Dave with pleasure. He wondered if whoever was buried here had enjoyed the galahs, or if, like many farmers, they had found them annoying and destructive.

  How had this person died, and why did they end up here? At least one other person must know about the death, because the body had been buried. And how long had the body been in the ground?

  He knew he’d get some answers soon enough, but he couldn’t help turning the questions over in his mind. As a detective, he’d had to learn the art of patience; sometimes it took weeks for results and information to come through, though it never stopped him from thinking about or querying the crime scene or investigation.

  The sound of an engine overtook the birds and he turned to see a white government-issued van heading towards them, with another car following. Looked like the whole forensics team had come out.

  Dave took one final glance at the tent and went down to meet them.

  As he watched the team leader, Michael Finlay, give the nod for the body bag to be shifted, Dave stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting to talk to him.

  It was two days after the discovery of the grave and, after much painstaking work, the remains were heading back to the lab in Adelaide; soon there would finally be some information. John Gardner and Tim Dunston, the evidence recorders and custodians of the site, would stay and finish sifting through the soil, but the bulk of the work was done.

  ‘There we have it, Dave,’ Finlay said, walking towards him and taking off his gloves before wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘All done. We should have something to report just after Christmas. So long as the coroner doesn’t get inundated with suicides. It’s that time of the year, I’m afraid. God, the humidity is awful, how do you stand it?’

  Dave nodded in agreement. ‘It’s not something we get up here very often. More the dry heat and really hot days during summer. But, as you can tell, we had rain yesterday, and as soon as the sun comes out, things get a bit sticky. This is quite unusual.’

  ‘I’d hope so. Anyone would think we were in the middle of the tropics!’ He mopped his brow again and looked up at the sky, which was dotted with fluffy white clouds. ‘Bit of breeze would be nice.’

  ‘We probably won’t get any among the hills here. You’d better get your car running and the aircon on,’ Dave grinned, then changed the subject. ‘Can you tell me anything about the bones yet? Just something to get me started on looking for a missing person?’

  ‘The pelvis and jawbone are consistent with the bones being male, but that’s all I’m telling you. You know better than to ask a lowly team leader to make a comment! But off the record and very much between you and me, in my experience …’ He scratched his cheek and grimaced a little. ‘I’d be lying if I said I could give you an accurate estimation of how long the bones have been in the ground, but I can see they are brittle and there is no flesh remaining on them at all, which puts them in the fifty years plus range. We’ll have to wait for the science before we can confirm that, though.’

  ‘Long time.’

  ‘Sure is. And you know what everyone thinks about tying up money and resources. I doubt they’ll see this as a priority. The bones will need close examination to determine cause of death, but the skull had a fracture in it. Now what role that played in the death, you’ll have to wait and see what the crew at the morgue say. Of course it might just be that the bones can’t tell you anything. If it was a heart attack, say, or a stabbing and the knife didn’t touch the bones … The bones can only tell us what’s happened to them. But of course a veteran of your experience already knows that, Dave.’

  The familiar thrill began to trickle through the detective. This could possibly be a murder! And one so old would test his skills. He knew that even if the powers that be in Adelaide weren’t too keen to spend time on it, he’d be pushing to do so.

  ‘The wooden box is certainly the worse for wear, which is another indicator that the remains have been there for a long time. We did find this underneath the bones.’ Finlay reached into his pocket and handed Dave an evidence bag.

  Holding it up to the sunlight, Dave studied the gold brooch within the clear plastic: two roses with long stems, a twisted gold rope holding the stems together and what looked like diamonds in the centre of the roses. He’d never seen anything like it before.

  He got out his phone and took a few photos, thinking he might be able to track down the owner of the brooch by showing it to people. ‘Wonder if this was an heirloom,’ he mused out loud.

  ‘It’s beautiful, whatever it is,’ Finlay answered. ‘And I’d think it was worth a small fortune. I don’t know much about antiques, but this is certainly one. I suspect if you find the owner of this, you’ll have a very good chance of IDing your John Doe.’

  ‘I agree.’ Dave handed it back to him. ‘I’ll start there. Make a few local enquiries. Hopefully someone will recognise it.’ He looked around then said to Finlay, ‘Well, thanks. I know it’s been a hard slog. Appreciate the time you’ve put in. Have a safe trip back to Adelaide.’

  They shook hands. Dave couldn’t wait to get back to the office and start researching the brooch. His gut told him that there was something very special about that piece of jewellery.

  And Dave always listened to his gut.

  Pulling up at the front of Shandona’s homestead, Dave heard the dog bark before he saw the border collie shoot out from under the plumbago bush and bark at his tyres twice, before heading back to the shade of the leaves.

  ‘Steady there, old dog,’ he said as he wound the window down to keep the car from overheating while he was inside.

  His knock on the front door echoed loudly through the old house. He heard a woman’s voice cal
l, ‘Hang on!’

  Taking out his phone, he pulled the photo of the brooch up on the screen.

  ‘Hello.’ Chelsea stood in the doorway, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that were covered in dirt.

  ‘You look like you’ve been working hard,’ he observed.

  ‘Been cleaning out the kitchen cupboards. I don’t think they’ve been done since Mum died,’ she answered. ‘And you look like you’ve been playing in the mud!’

  ‘It’s certainly a bit of a slippery slope up on the hill. The dirt cakes onto the bottom of your boots. I think I’m about three inches taller than usual!’

  ‘The joys of our sticky purple dirt.’

  ‘That’s it. Can I come in?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, where are my manners? The kitchen is a bit of a tip, but I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Dave took off his boots and followed her inside, saying, ‘No, no, that’s fine, I won’t hold you up for long. How long has it been since your mum passed?’

  ‘Mmm, two and a bit years now.’

  ‘Your dad lives here by himself?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m just here for a visit.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Until recently, here and there really. I used to travel a lot with my work. I’m a—’ she paused—‘was a concert pianist. I have an apartment in Sydney, but I’ve been staying in Adelaide for work.’

  Dave paused. ‘A concert pianist? That sounds like a fascinating career. How did you become a pianist?’

  ‘That’s an interesting question really,’ she answered, crossing her arms. ‘Have a seat.’

  Dave took a chair at the table and waited. Pulling out a chair too, Chelsea sat and chewed at her bottom lip before answering.

  ‘I won a scholarship to attend the Conservatorium in Adelaide when I was thirteen. By that age I was a little late to the party—most of those kids had been playing seriously since they were four or five. Sometimes even younger. They lost their childhood by doing that, so in one way, even though I was behind, at least I got to have fun when I was small. I loved the piano … Ah, maybe it was the music rather than the instrument. I think I loved music.

  ‘Anyway, Mum said it was a great opportunity for me, so I moved to Adelaide at thirteen, but by the time I got there I had some bad habits—or at least what the teachers called bad habits—technical idiosyncrasies, so I had to work a lot harder than the other students. And I did. I worked my heart out. It all paid off when I was offered a job with the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra.’

  ‘Sounds glamorous.’

  Chelsea gave a snort and shook her head. ‘If your idea of glamour is practising until your fingers and hands ache, if you like conductors yelling at you and never having a social life, then, yes, it was a glamorous life.’

  ‘Bit like being a detective,’ Dave said. ‘Everyone thinks the job is all about shoot-outs and running after criminals, when most of the work is done behind a desk researching and gathering information.’

  ‘Exactly! Anyway, from there I worked with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra—of course, that’s scary enough in itself. Sometimes you only get a week’s notice and you have to learn a whole score in such a small amount of time.’ She shook her head with a rueful smile. ‘It’s certainly a 24/7 job—late nights and long days practising. But that’s where the passion and love of it has to come in because I’m sure no one in their right mind would go through what we go through if they didn’t absolutely love it. You’ve got to have a hunger … a desire to achieve.’ Her voice became more urgent as she talked, and Dave could see the fire ignite inside her.

  ‘Is it the adrenalin of the performance that you love?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Yeah, that’s part of it,’ she paused, thinking. ‘One of my professors said that to be a professional you’ve got to be fearless—never doubt your own ability. That can get wearing because there are always times when you do. Doubt yourself, I mean. Sometimes another pianist will get brought in when you were sure you had the job.’ She shrugged. ‘But he also said it was about hard work, passion and a good dollop of luck.’

  ‘You obviously had all of those,’ Dave said.

  Chelsea was silent for a while, seemingly lost in memories. Then she looked over at him. ‘Yeah, I guess I did.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?’

  Dave sensed she didn’t want to talk about herself anymore, so he said, ‘I really came to see your dad, but I guess he isn’t here.’

  ‘No, he and Aria are out somewhere.’

  ‘Ah, the fun of being a grandparent.’ He glanced around at the cooking equipment and crockery piled on every available surface. ‘Big job?’

  ‘Yeah. Trying to help out a bit while I’m here. Don’t think Dad will notice, but I’ll feel good if I leave the place in better shape than I found it. So, what did you need Dad for?’

  ‘I was going to tell him that we’ll only be here another two days at the most. Probably less. We’re just tidying up the site and making sure nothing has been missed. As soon as we’ve done that, we’ll be out of your hair.’

  ‘I’ll let him know.’ Chelsea frowned. ‘Do you know who it is?’

  ‘No, not yet. It’ll take a while to get the reports from Adelaide but then hopefully we’ll have more of an idea when the person died and how. That’ll be the starting point.’

  Chelsea got up and went to the window. She stood looking out, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘You know, I used to ride my horse all through that area when I was a kid. I’d pack a saddlebag with sandwiches and take a water bottle and disappear for the whole day. Pinto and I, we’d follow the creeks and pretend we were explorers. The only people to ever set foot here. Wouldn’t it be strange if that grave had been there all the while and we never knew it existed …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Tell me,’ Dave got up and walked over to her, holding up his phone. ‘Have you ever seen this brooch before?’

  Chelsea reached out and took the phone. ‘God, that’s beautiful. Unique. Did you find it with the body?’ She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

  ‘It was found at the scene.’

  ‘Stunning. Even though it’s filthy.’ She used her thumb and forefinger to enlarge the picture. ‘But no,’ she finally said. ‘No, I haven’t seen anything like that.’

  ‘Not in photos of old relatives?’ Dave prompted.

  Shaking her head slowly, she seemed to be reaching for a memory, but again she said no.

  ‘Well, if you come across anything, will you let me know? Maybe you could have a look through old photo albums if you have any.’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps my new career could be in detecting?’

  Dave laughed. ‘I’m sure you’d find some similarities between your old career and the new one.’ He turned to go. ‘Oh, one last thing, did you ever hear of any family members who have gone missing or who were just never heard from again?’

  A look of curiosity passed over her face, and Dave could see her brain was racing. ‘Are you looking for skeletons in the closet, Detective? I thought you would’ve had enough skeletons on your hands at the moment!’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose it sounds a little like that,’ he said with a grin. ‘But I have to ask. Old stories of lost relatives, people who wandered off into the bush and never came home? That sort of thing.’

  ‘I don’t know of anything like that, sorry. I’d love to be able to solve the mystery for you straightaway.’

  ‘If you think of anything, please let me know.’

  ‘I will.’

  He handed her a card. ‘Can you have Tom call me when he comes back in?’

  Chapter 7

  ‘Now see this here, Aria.’ Tom bent down and pointed to a tiny seedling pushing its way through the ground. The rains had caused the country to burst into bloom as they always did, but he knew it wouldn’t last. The first forty-degree day would see these baby shoots wither and die.

  ‘What’s that one called, Papa?’

  ‘This is windmill gra
ss. You can’t see it now, but the flower looks like a windmill. I’ll show you some photos when we get home. Like the windmill down at the house dam.’

  ‘Do they go round and round like windmills too?’

  ‘Only when they’re not attached to the plant. Your mum, when she was little, liked twirling them in between her fingers. Your uncle did too.’ He paused as he thought of Dale, which he did every day.

  ‘Who’s my uncle?’ Aria asked, looking up at him.

  Tom looked down at her and cleared his throat. Her eyes were so dark, they were almost black. Dark pools of deep brown, and as he gazed into them he thought there was something different about this little girl. She was calm and thought carefully about what she said. ‘Considered’, Pip would have called her. But could you call a four-year-old ‘considered’? That confused Tom and a familiar trickle of fear started to drip into in his stomach. He’d heard Chelsea call her an ‘old soul’ but he didn’t really know what that meant.

  Aria’s dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and the look on her face gave him a strange unsettled feeling. He wasn’t sure why. She didn’t look like either Dale or Chelsea, so she must resemble her father. But who was he? Tom realised he’d never asked Chelsea who Aria’s father was. Clearly he had nothing to do with raising her because neither Aria nor Chelsea spoke of him.

  ‘Papa?’

  He hadn’t answered her question. Clearing his throat, he shook his head. ‘Oh, it’s a long story, Aria.’ He looked out across the paddock, the familiar ache in his chest threatening to overwhelm him. ‘Long story,’ he repeated.

  ‘How—’ Aria started to ask, but he shook his head once more. She seemed to understand and stopped asking.

  Tom straightened up and looked out across Shandona. ‘We’re going to have to keep an eye on the sheep for flies now it’s rained.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So they don’t hurt the sheep.’

  Aria looked puzzled and finally said, ‘Flies are small. They can’t hurt sheep, Papa!’