FLEUR

McDONALD
Fool’s Gold
Suddenly
One Summer
First published in 2018

Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2018

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 Prologue

1945
The stars and the cold breeze were the only witnesses to
the death.
Perhaps a bird saw the woman throwing the rope over
the branch of the thick salmon gum, and maybe a dingo,
sniffing along a scent, stopped to watch the woman take
the steps to her final breath.
Paddy doubted it though.
It had been weeks since he’d seen a dingo and no doubt
even longer since one had passed this way through the
thick bush north of Barrabine. Water out here was scarce
and wild dogs, like all creatures, stayed within walking
distance of a watering point.
Scratching his head in distress, Paddy stood and watched
the body swing gently for a few more moments. He’d heard
about scenes like this over the years, but had never seen one

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firsthand. He wished he hadn’t come across this one—the

whole sight was causing his heart anguish.
Even though there didn’t seem to be any witnesses, there
had been visitors. What would have been a pool of blood
on the ground under the body was now a small hole where
the ants had scavenged. The line of moving black was
scurrying busily up the tree trunk, across the branches
and down the end of the rope for titbits to take back to
their queen. A crow had been sitting on the dead woman’s
shoulder when Paddy had first arrived. The damage the
bird had done to her face was indescribable.
Looking away, he surveyed the familiar landscape. Red
earth stretched for miles, scattered lumps of ironstone
and quartz lying on the surface. Saltbush and bluebush
littered the landscape, while salmon gums and gimlet trees
rose tall and majestic against the blue sky.
The landscape was harsh; hot and dry. Too hard for
some, while others loved it. The land, weather and life had
clearly been too tough for this woman. It was pointless to
question her decision; there would be many reasons, he
knew. He’d heard about them from his friends and their
wives—too isolated, too hot, too hard. Paddy understood.
Sometimes, when he’d finished shovelling dirt from the
depths of the earth without finding any gold, he’d thought
life was too hard as well.
He searched the area for any sign of life—a little humpy
or camp, the smell of smoke—but the landscape lay quiet,
not revealing where she had come from or who had loved
her. Barrabine, the closest town, was too far; she wouldn’t

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 Fool’s Gold

have walked from there. She would have lived around

here somewhere. Somewhere within the vast miles of red
dust, little water and no company. With a man gripped by
gold fever.
He’d seen it before and knew he would continue seeing
the pattern for as long as he travelled through these
empty miles.
Still, surely someone had to be missing her. Or perhaps
he hadn’t been back to camp to realise she was missing
yet. What if there were children . . . No, he banished that
thought. No mother would have left her children at camp
by themselves to do this.
Scratching at his three-day growth and keeping his eyes
averted now, he felt agitated and sad, as though he had to
do something for her. But what? It was too late to help her.
Too late to plead with her not to do this.
Paddy did the only thing he thought right. He took a
shovel from his battered old car and began to dig. He’d
give her a burial so the dingos couldn’t dig her up or the
crows peck at her. Or the ants finish eating her. Then he
would travel to Barrabine, stopping in at all the little digs
along the way, letting people know what he’d found.
The next of kin might be angry he had buried her, but
the way he looked at it, he couldn’t leave her here like
this. If he put her in the ground, at least the family would
know where she was. There would be somewhere to come
and mourn and remember. He would have to find and tell
them. Make sure they knew what had happened to her.

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 F L E U R M c D ON A L D

From the treetop a crow watched his effort, the only

noise the shovel hitting the hard earth and his grunting.
Puffs of red dust rose with each shovelful and his breathing
became more laboured.
Finally he was done.
Driving his car close, he stood on the roof and cut the
rope and the body fell into the grave he had dug with a
thud. He said the only prayer he knew and then started to
fill in the grave.
‘Heavenly Father, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom
come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven . . .’
Casting around for rocks, he couldn’t see any big enough,
so he got out his handsaw and started to cut wood to lay
across the mounded dirt.

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 Chapter 1

1997
‘We’re not staying here long, are we?’ Melinda asked, her
lips curled in disgust.
‘For as long as the department wants me to, I guess.
Maybe one or two years.’ Detective Dave Burrows pushed
open the gate of his new house and ignored the hissing
sound that came from Melinda as he said, ‘or two’.
He’d been told his new partner, Spencer, was going to
meet him at the house with the keys, but either they were
early or he was running late because there was no sign of
him. Maybe there was a key somewhere, so they could get
out of the incessant heat.
He ran his fingers along the doorframe. Nothing. He
lifted the frayed mat before moving on to the empty pot.
Nope, no key.

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This hadn’t been the welcome to Barrabine he’d been

hoping for. He’d wanted his new wife Melinda to love the
place as soon as she arrived, for there to be a welcoming
committee of . . . well, he didn’t care who, just someone
to make Melinda feel comfortable and happy. To make a
friend straightaway. For the house to be lovely and modern.
Sadly, it was tiny and rundown, with a patch of brown
lawn at the front. The fibro dwelling had a small porch,
which would keep the northern sun from the doorway, but
there weren’t any verandahs to keep the house from heating
up or to sit on with an evening drink.
The garden was a mixture of stones and dead weeds
and was distinctly unappealing.
Like the entrance to the town.
The expansive blue sky had seemed to shimmer as
they’d driven seven hours east from Perth and were closer
to Barrabine, and the shiny-trunked gums had large pieces
of bark hanging from their branches. For a moment Dave
had had to squint—the bark looked like a body hanging,
swaying in the breeze.
Dave was sure he’d never seen dirt as red as this country.
It was the colour of rich copper. Then there was the ground,
scattered with little stones glinting in the sun. He’d pointed
it out to Melinda, saying it looked like blue metal had been
spread across the ground, and bushes and trees grown up
through it. She’d shrugged, clearly not impressed.
There’d been no mistaking that they were heading
towards a mining town. Piles of dirt which seemed to reach
the sky had risen above them, so long they seemed to create

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 Fool’s Gold

a range line. Their bluey-grey dirt didn’t seem to match

the red on the surface and Dave wondered how deep they
had to go down for it to change colour.
Then the shanties had appeared—small tin sheds on the
fringes—and Melinda’s lips had formed the same thin line
that she wore now as she’d crossed her arms.
They’d been only minutes inside town boundaries when
Melinda had made mention of the rubbish lying on the road
and, yes, he’d had to agree there was a lot. Beer bottles
and cans, takeaway chip buckets and plastic containers.
She’d fallen silent as they’d approached the centre of
Barrabine and seen a group of Aboriginal people sitting
around a campfire, their swags near the fence of a house.
The children ran around playing chasey, their feet bare,
their smiles wild and delighted, while the adults stared at
the passing cars with blank faces.
Following the directions Spencer had given him over
the phone, Dave had made a series of turns through wide
treeless roads and found their street, driving along slowly
until they saw the number 12 on the gate.
Not sure whether to ignore Melinda’s gasp at the sight
of the house or to follow suit himself, he’d decided to grab
her hand and give it a squeeze. The two of them had sat
in the car, the air-conditioner blowing, and stared at their
new home. It was nothing like they’d imagined.
The heat had stifled them both as they’d got out of
the car, and the north wind had howled around the side
of the house, slamming the car door shut from under
Dave’s hand.

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‘Geez.’ He looked at Melinda; her mouth was still a

thin, tight line. That was not a good sign.
Nope, the welcome hadn’t gone according to plan.
The streets were dusty and everything looked tired and
worn and in need of a good clean.
Dave had to admit Melinda had a point—not that she’d
made one out loud, but he knew his wife well enough: she
didn’t like it here.
He supposed he could have asked for a posting to a
coastal town. Somewhere there wasn’t excitement. Or
perhaps he could have asked for a position in Bunbury,
where Melinda’s parents and two sisters lived. That held
less appeal to him than living in Barrabine did for Melinda.
Not that he would have told her that.
To Dave, the posting to Barrabine was exactly what he’d
wanted—it was a town on the edge, the wild west. There
would be excitement, mystery and intrigue here. Everything
a newly badged detective looked for. But the main reason
for this posting was it would help him get to where he
wanted to go: the stock squad, a squad which focused on
agricultural areas, solving sheep theft and rural crime. For
him, that would be the perfect job.
Melinda moved closer to him just as a voice called out
from over the fence.
‘Oi, missus!’
Dave saw Melinda freeze and groaned inwardly. It was
a welcome of sorts, just not the kind he had envisaged. He
put his arm around her and turned with a friendly grin.
‘G’day, mate. How are you? Bit warm today.’

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 Fool’s Gold

‘Who you mob?’ the curly-haired Aboriginal man wanted

to know.
‘Looks like we’re your new neighbours . . .’ He broke
off at the sound of a horn and turned in time to a police
car pulling up at the kerb.
A short, fat man hauled himself out using the handrail.
He had a large smile on his face.
‘Dave, my man! You’ve made good time. Didn’t think
you’d be here for another half an hour. I was going to open
the place up and give it a bit of an air before you got here.
Get the air-con on.’ He gave his hand a cursory wipe on
his shorts and held it out. ‘The heat’s made itself felt today.’
‘We had a smooth run,’ Dave answered, taking Spencer’s
hand and shaking it hard. ‘How’re you going?’
‘Excellent, excellent.’ He turned to Melinda. ‘You must
be the new bride! Congratulations. Welcome to Barrabine.’
‘This is Melinda.’ Dave turned to introduce her.
She nodded before saying, ‘Thanks.’
Dave wanted to cringe. One-word replies were an even
worse sign than tight lips. He glanced at her out of the
corner of his eye and saw she was swallowing hard. Maybe
she was on the verge of tears.
‘Come in, come in.’ Spencer ushered Melinda towards
the house.
‘Oi, who you mob?’ the Aboriginal man reminded them
all he was still waiting for an answer. ‘G’day, Mr Spencer.’
‘G’day there, Ernie.’ Spencer turned and said to Dave,
‘Ernie will make a great neighbour. Always keeps an eye
on what’s going on, don’t you, mate? Loves a chat,’ he said

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by way of introduction. ‘Ernie, Dave and Melinda Burrows.

Our new detective and his missus.’
Dave felt Melinda recoil at the word ‘missus’.
‘G’day,’ Ernie nodded to them both. ‘Good neighbours,
good neighbours.’ He gave a grin, showing a perfectly white
and straight set of teeth, and Dave couldn’t help but smile
back. His cheeriness was infectious.
‘Go on with you now, Ernie,’ Spencer waved him away.
‘Let these good people settle in before you start having a
yarn. All right?’ He turned back to Dave.
‘I don’t mind having a yarn,’ Dave began but was silenced
with a look from Melinda.
Spencer slipped a key in the lock and madly shooed all
the flies out of their hiding place in the shade, then threw
open the door. ‘Now I know this place looks a bit ratty
from the outside,’ he said, ‘but it’s nicely renovated inside.
Come on in, Mel. You don’t mind if I call you that, do
you? Have a look at your new home!’ He gave another
wide smile and gestured as if he were a gameshow host.
‘I’m Melinda, not Mel,’ she said, walking in front of
Spencer and into the house.
Spencer paused. ‘Apologies. My mistake. Everyone seems
to have nicknames around this place. Melinda it is.’
‘Sorry,’ Dave said softly to Spencer’s back as he followed
him inside. ‘Long day, and I think it’s all a bit of a . . .’
‘S’all right, mate.’ Spencer stopped and gave him a wink.
‘I’ve been here for a few years. Seen it all before. Barra
can be a bit of a shock to anyone, let alone a new bride.
Don’t worry about it. Gawd, you should’ve seen Kathy

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 Fool’s Gold

when she first got here. Cried for days. They adjust after
a while. Come on, in you go.’ He patted Dave’s shoulder
and turned back to the dimness of the house.
Dave was pleased to see the house was certainly better
from the inside. It had the smell of new carpet and paint, and
even though the kitchen looked a little tired, it was clean.
Dave watched as Melinda ran her fingertips across the
benchtop, then looked at them to see how much dust they
had collected. She brushed her hands across her shorts and
moved off down the dark passageway. He could feel her
eyes everywhere, taking in her new home. What he couldn’t
see was her reaction.
Spencer continued to talk as if he hadn’t noticed
Melinda’s aloofness or the fact she’d walked out of the
room. ‘I’m sure you’ll feel much better once your furniture
gets here, Melinda. Should only be about an hour away.
I rang head office to check and they gave the driver a call
on the radio. Having familiar things around you always
makes a place feel like home. And I guess you’ve got some
nice photos of the wedding to hang on your wall. Pictures
always make a house seem homelier too. I know my wife
has covered almost every spot. Photos of the kids when
they were at school, holiday snaps, landscapes. You name
it, it’s up there.’ He gave a bit of a chuckle. ‘Bit of a mad
photographer, so she is.’
Dave frowned as Melinda didn’t answer. He hoped her
rudeness wasn’t as obvious to Spencer as it was to him.
Spencer slapped his knee. ‘Oh, hell, I forgot. I’ve got
bread, milk, coffee and butter in the car. I’d better grab

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the bag before the heat gets to them. And Kathy, that’s
my wife, she’s coming over to see you tomorrow, Melinda.
She’s more than happy to help you unpack and show you
around. Local knowledge is good to have when it comes to
Barra: where to shop, when the fresh fruit and veg trucks
come in, and all of that. Be back in a sec.’
The front door slammed, leaving Dave and Melinda alone.
Dave made his way to what he thought was the main
bedroom and stood in the doorway watching as Melinda
turned in circles looking at the room. He could see
the outline of a dark brown stain on the ceiling, under the
new paint, but the walls were a clean, vivid white. Briefly
he wondered how long they would stay like that with all
the dust around. He hadn’t been here ten minutes and the
red dust was already over his hands and shoes.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, then quickly wished he
hadn’t. Her thoughts probably weren’t going to be good ones.
Melinda remained quiet.
‘It’s comfortable,’ Dave said, hoping to get Melinda
talking. ‘And we don’t have to pay rent. We’re going to be
able to save a heap of money here, honey.’
She nodded and swallowed hard. Realising she was
indeed close to tears, Dave went to her and put his arms
around her.
‘It’s okay.’
Melinda rested her head against his chest and muttered
something.
‘What’s that?’ He leaned down to hear what she was
saying.

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 Fool’s Gold

‘I’m sorry,’ she gulped. ‘I’m being a cow.’

Dave smiled. ‘Look, all of this is new and I know it’s a long
way from your mum and dad, but you’ll settle in quickly. If
Kathy is anything like Spencer, she’ll be warm and friendly.
In a couple of months you’ll have new friends and a new
job. We’ll both have new friends and new jobs.’ Dave’s tone
was earnest, as if he were reminding her he was new here
too. ‘Spencer said Kathy had a bit of a hard time settling in
too—maybe you guys could chat about it.’ He hoped those
words would bring some kind of comfort.
‘I know, I know,’ she nodded and Dave felt hot tears
on his chest.
‘Look, I know Barrabine seems a little . . .’ He paused,
not wanting to say rough or backward and give her more
reasons not to like the place; finally, he settled on ‘. . . iso­
lated. But we’ll both get used to it.’
‘What if I can’t get a job?’
‘I’m sure the hospital couldn’t say no to a paediatric
nurse as good as you.’
‘They can if there aren’t any vacancies.’
‘We’ll work it out, Melinda. I promise.’

‘And this, Dave,’ Spencer said in a loud voice, ‘is Plenty

Street. There’s always plenty on offer here.’
Dave looked around at the buildings trying to work out
what the plenty on offer was. They were plain and without
signage.

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‘They’re the brothels of Barrabine,’ Spencer explained

with a flourish. ‘Now, what you need to know is brothels
are an important part of Barrabine—single men make up
the larger part of the population and there’s a need for
sex workers here. As a copper, you have to understand the
history and why we leave them to their own devices. If they
weren’t here there’d be trouble, if you get my meaning.’
He looked over at Dave and raised his eyebrows. ‘There
are only five left. Used to be ten. We have a great working
relationship with the madams in Barra. They come to the
police first if anything goes wrong. Us. The coppers. And
we need that. Sometimes they can give us the heads-up if
someone is odd or causing trouble, and vice versa.’
That certainly is different to the city, Dave thought.
They drove in silence for a while, Spencer taking quick
turns here and there before saying, ‘Down here is the jail.’
Spencer listed the number of criminals incarcerated; it was
more than Dave had expected. ‘I had one bloke put away
last week. I’ve been chasing him for years.’
‘What’d you get him on?’ Dave asked, his eyes running
along the razor wire at the top of the fence as they drove
slowly by. You’d have to hope no one ever got away because
the jail was almost in suburbia. It seemed to go from houses
to jail without any land or break in between.
‘I’d known for ages he’d been illegally prospecting on
mine leases—ones that didn’t belong to him—but I’d never
managed to get there quick enough to catch him in the act.
‘We had a bit of rain last winter and the dirt gets real
slippery out here—even after a small amount. Well, Clever

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 Fool’s Gold

Clogs managed to get himself bogged on someone else’s

lease, with ten ounces of gold in his pocket.’ Spencer let
out a laugh and his large belly jiggled, touching the steering
wheel. ‘Of course, he tried the oldest trick in the book:
he’d found it elsewhere. Trouble was,’ he turned to Dave
gleefully, ‘I got a search warrant for his GPS and, after
a little more research, I managed to come up with a wit
who had heard him bragging in the pub the night before,
saying he was heading back out to the same spot as the
GPS had shown he’d been because he’d clean up out there!
He’s gone inside for a couple of years. Pretty happy with
that result.’ Spencer gave a bit of a laugh. ‘Now if he’d kept
his mouth shut, I doubt I would have been able to get him
put inside. I’ve found that people who’ve found gold can’t
help but brag.’
‘That’s a good thing for the gold squad, I guess. Anyway,
well done. Always a great feeling when you get a result like
that. Especially if you’d been chasing him for a bit.’
‘Dead right, my man, dead right. Proving where gold
has been stolen from can be a bit of a problem sometimes.
It doesn’t come out of the ground with an address or GPS
coordinates.’
‘Other than gold stealing, what other type of crime is
most prevalent here?’ Dave asked. Just then he saw a group
of young boys with a shopping trolley running down the
street. There were two inside the trolley, one pushing it
and the others yelling encouragement.
‘Look at those little buggers! Kids making their own
fun. We don’t interfere with that type of thing too much,

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although they should take the trolley back.’ Spencer

shrugged. ‘We have a lot of break and enters, alcohol-related
crimes and DV.’ He paused. ‘It’s the domestic violence that
gets me,’ he said. ‘I hate it when uniforms go out to a job,
come back with the perp, lock him up and when we’re
ready to throw the book at him—or her—then the vic
decides they don’t want to press charges and the lowlife
walks. Trouble is it happens again and again and again.
You start to recognise the address when it’s called out over
the radio and know what’s been going on.’
‘I get what you mean. When I was in uniform, same
thing used to happen. It’s awful.’
They drove in silence for a little while and Dave contem-
plated what he was seeing. The main street had lots of
shops, from clothes and sports gear to gift shops. He
counted three cafés and made a mental note to ask a few
different people which made the best coffee. There weren’t
very many people out on the street and he guessed the heat
was keeping people indoors.
‘Usually busier than this,’ Spencer said, as if reading his
mind. ‘But school went back today and the mums will be
breathing a sigh of relief at not having to be out in the heat,
trying to entertain the kids. Town is always quiet the first
week back to school.’
‘It’s fierce, isn’t it? Different heat to Perth. Dry and . . .’
He tried to find a word to describe it. ‘Like the air wants
to crackle. And the flies! They weren’t this bad when I lived
out in the wheat belt.’

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 Fool’s Gold

‘You’ll know what crackling is like then when you see

the lightning! Man, some of the thunderstorms that come
through, I tell ya . . .’ He went on to describe how the clouds
would start to build up about three in the afternoon and
before long they would turn inky black. ‘The first thunder
crack always stops the town. Don’t reckon I’ve ever seen
lightning split the sky the way it does here. So bright, I tell
you. Sometimes it rains and sometimes it doesn’t. But, when
it does, the drops are about as large as a fifty-cent piece
and the air smells so sweet. You know that rain on dry
ground smell?’ Spencer smacked his lips. ‘Mmm, I love it!
‘You know, lots of things about Barrabine can take a
bit of getting used to, for sure,’ Spencer continued. ‘But I
wouldn’t want to live anywhere else now, and Kathy loves
it too.’
Dave wanted to ask him how long it had taken Kathy
to settle here. To find friends and be happy, but he wasn’t
sure he wanted his work partner to know that Melinda had
cried herself to sleep last night, thinking Dave hadn’t heard
her. But he had and his heart had hurt the whole time.
‘And the kids, what do they do? Why weren’t the ones
we saw back there in school?’
‘Probably playing hooky first day of term. We’ll keep
an eye on them. As coppers, we work hard at having good
relations with the kids in town. Some are more well known
that others, as you would know from Perth. We’ll head
up here,’ Spencer said, flicking his blinker on and driving up
the winding road to the top of the hill. ‘Finders Lookout.’
Parking the car under the lone tree, which didn’t offer

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enough shade, he pulled on the park brake and indicated

the steel structure with a spiral staircase leading to a plat-
form. ‘Too hot to walk to the top, but there’s a nice spot
around here you can look out over the town. Come on.’
Together they stood, hands in pockets, and surveyed
Barrabine. The silver roofs threw off the glare of the midday
sun and there was a continual line of cars on the highway.
Further out, Dave could see the red scars of the mines,
slashed across the earth. There were large, heavy machines
moving in the distance. The railway line glinted in the sun
but remained empty of carriages.
‘What’s that noise?’ he asked. The hum had been a
constant since he’d arrived. He caught a glance of the main
street, lined with heritage buildings, and the tall structures,
all different heights. Spencer had told him these were mine
shaft headframes.
‘That’s the mines,’ Spencer said softly. ‘The noise is there
all the time. Day and night. They work round the clock
to harvest the gold.’ He continued to stare straight ahead.
‘This is a hard town, Dave. One where fellas would rather
put you in the ground than give up where they’ve found
the yellow stuff. Where some blokes would rather take the
gold from others than look for it themselves.
‘The miners work hard, especially the ones underground.
And they play hard too. In a sense, Barrabine is like the
last frontier.’ He turned and looked at Dave. ‘I hope you’re
prepared.’

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