As Dave opened the car door, a whirly-whirly of dust blew across the yard and a chain banged against the steel gate.
‘Looks deserted,’ he said, taking in the peeling sign that announced Wallina Stock and Station Agents. The sign was attached to a large tin shed surrounded by a tarmac pad and a high wire-netting fence.
‘Seen better days, that’s for sure,’ Bob said, hitching his jeans up as he got out. ‘Spencer did say we might need to make an appointment.’
A dog barked in the distance as Dave went to the glass door that looked like it had been inserted in the wall of tin without much thought. He pushed, but it stayed firmly shut.
Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peered through the glass and saw in the dim light a large bench holding a few brochures and an empty coffee cup. Twenty-litre drums lined the wall and a few lick blocks were on top of them.
‘No one here,’ he called. He glanced up at the sign, hoping to see a phone number they could call, but there was nothing. From the pocket in his blue stock squad-issued shirt, he took out his notebook and wrote a couple of sentences describing what he could see, then wiped his hands on his dark denim jeans to get rid of the sweat on his palms. The sun was high and the wind was warm.
‘How do station owners pick up their gear?’ he wondered aloud. ‘You’d think there’d be a merchandise guy or someone floating around.’
‘Probably not that surprising. They wouldn’t get a huge amount of business this time of year. Mustering time would be busier.’
As he spoke, they heard the crunch of tyres on dirt and turned to watch a Toyota Prado drive in and park next to the tin shed. A tall man with a wide girth and a red face got out with a smile. Dressed in moleskin jeans and a light green shirt, with a large Stetson hat, Dave thought he looked just like a station ringer.
‘G’day, didn’t know I was going to be having visitors otherwise I would have been here earlier. Sorry to keep you waiting.’ He held out his hand. ‘Peter William. What can I do you for?’
Bob introduced them and handed him a card.
‘Stock squad, huh? Perth? You’re a long way from home.’ He unlocked the glass door and reached in to turn on the lights. ‘Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘We’re here making some enquiries about Nefer Station,’ Bob said as they followed him in. ‘Is it only you here?’
‘Nah, my missus helps out but she’s crook today. She usually mans the phones and loads up the orders when they come in. It’s a quiet time of the year, so I didn’t come racing in this morning. Tea?’
‘Cheers,’ Bob said, and Dave nodded.
‘So, how can I help? I assume this isn’t a social call if you’re talking about Nefer Station. Heard there’s a new manager out there.’
‘Yeah, seems they’re missing a few cattle. You deal with them?’
‘Sure did. That Dunstan Kendal, he was a good guy. I was a bit surprised when he shot through the way he did.’
‘You knew him, then?’ Bob sat at the wobbly Laminex table and nodded for Dave to get out his notebook.
‘Yeah, like I said, a good guy. Battled a bit with the owners, I think, but he was a good manager, so I don’t really know what’s happened out there.’
‘Tell me a little about Kendal.’
Peter placed mugs of steaming tea on the table before grabbing the milk and sugar out of the fridge and setting them down.
‘I’m not sure what to tell you. He’d been there for a while. I don’t know how long—couple years, maybe?’
‘And you’ve been the stock agent all that time?’
‘I surely have.’ Peter nodded, spooning three sugars into his tea.
‘And Kendal, he was a good manager?’
‘From what I saw, that would be right. Trouble was, his bosses weren’t as easy to get along with. He used to tell me about fences they wouldn’t fix and cattle straying.’ He leaned forward. ‘See, that’s where I’d assume the cattle have gone—across to the neighbour’s joint. Kendal used to say that they’d expect him to fix everything on a lick and a promise, and you can’t do that out here. Fences have to be good quality. Tight, you know?’
‘Good fences make good neighbours,’ Dave agreed.
‘And that’s the truth of it.’ Peter nodded. ‘I think it’s pretty unfair that the owners are trying to pin this on him, if I’m honest about it.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well,’ he spread his hands out in disbelief, ‘isn’t that why you’re here? They think the cattle have been stolen.’
‘Not necessarily. We get called in to find where the cattle have gone. Now, yes, sometimes that might mean they’ve been stolen. Other times they could’ve wandered next door to the neighbours’ place because the fences are bad, just as you’ve said.’
‘And what do you think has happened here?’
‘At this point we’re still investigating.’
‘Kendal was trying hard, but not getting any support from his bosses.’ Peter put down his mug and leaned back in the chair. ‘And I’d see it, you know? He’d come in and book up some fencing gear, then they’d make him return it. I’d have to hand out credits. You can see it on their accounts.’
‘How many times did that happen?’
‘I’d have to look it up, but at least three that I can think of quickly.’
Dave jotted down some notes. ‘We’d like to see that paperwork.’
‘Sure, no problem.’
‘And the cattle, did they have good breeding?’
‘Yeah, they were pretty good. Genetically solid for here.’
‘Where did you sell the calves?’
‘Used to put them on a truck and send them north. They’d end up on the boats going to the Middle East. That’s where most of them went. If there was a demand, I could send them west and put them through the sale yards, but freight is cheaper across to the coast from here and the prices wouldn’t be too much different for the type of cattle I was selling.’
Bob nodded. ‘I see.’
‘Have you met the owners?’ Dave asked.
Peter nodded. ‘Yeah, once, not long after Kendal started. Got an invite out to a meet-and-greet.’
‘And?’
Peter shrugged. ‘Seemed normal enough to me. Can’t remember which one I met—the Chair of the board, maybe? Anyhow, whoever it was, they didn’t seem to know their way around a set of cattle yards, if you get my meaning.’
Bob and Dave waited, until eventually Peter continued. ‘He knew nothing about station country. Or breeding cattle. Seems to me that the board haven’t spent time on the land.’
‘Right. And what about other stations around here—any talk of missing cattle?’
‘No.’ Peter spoke slowly, squinting as if in deep thought. ‘No, I don’t reckon I’ve heard anything. And I would. Bush telegraph and all that.’
A thought flashed into Dave’s mind and he spoke up. ‘The brand SA in an upside-down horseshoe, have you sold any cattle with that brand recently?’
‘I don’t think I even know that brand. It’s not a WA brand because I’d remember that.’
Dave nodded as his heart sank a little. He’d hoped Peter might say he’d sold some just last week, and they might have got a lead on Bulldust and Scotty. Still, he persisted. ‘Do you recognise the names Ashley Bennett or Scott Bennett?’
‘Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell.’ He repeated their names, then took out his mobile phone. ‘I’ll just check and see … Nope, doesn’t look like I have them listed in here. Where are they from?’
‘We’re not really sure,’ Bob said as he glared at Dave. ‘Dave’s just information gathering. Now, Peter, can you remember the last time you sold cattle for Nefer Station?’
‘I can look it up, no worries. Don’t reckon it’s been this year, though.’ Peter went to stand.
‘What we’d really like is to see their sale accounts as well as their merch account, if you wouldn’t mind. Could we see all the transactions from the end of the 1999/2000 financial year up until now?’
Peter paused. ‘Do you need a warrant for that?’
‘Not if you willingly show us.’
Frowning, Peter looked at them. ‘I reckon I might need to speak to the boss about that.’
Dave glanced around. ‘You’re not the boss?’
‘Nah, I just work here. It’s a multinational, you know, and I’m employed by them.’
‘Sure, give your boss a call and let us know.’ Bob stood up. ‘But if you could just give us the last date you sold cattle, that’d be much appreciated. If you’re more comfortable with us getting a warrant, I’m happy enough to come back with one this afternoon.’
Bob’s words were a bluff, Dave knew. To get a warrant would usually take much longer, but this always seemed to work.
‘Take me a couple of minutes to get the computers running.’
‘We’ve got time,’ Bob smiled.
‘Right.’ Peter went into another office and started a computer, while Dave stood and read the posters on the wall. Adverts for stations up for lease lined the pinboard near the door.
‘Lots of places for lease,’ Dave said.
Peter’s voice filtered back through the open door. ‘There sure are. The high interest rates of the eighties hurt a lot of families, and I know it’s a while on since then, but many of them have been hit with bad seasons, and interest piling up on interest has caused a lot of pain to so many owners. Some haven’t been able to hang on.
‘Can you see that ad for Jacaranda Downs? Family-owned place. Been in the same hands for eighty years. They just had to walk off. Bank wouldn’t back them anymore. Criminal. That land is just sitting there with no one on it. Banks haven’t got their money because the family has declared bankruptcy and yet if they’d let the family stay there, they would’ve had a chance of getting some repayments back. I don’t understand how the bigwigs in the city make their decisions, do you?’
Dave gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘Right, here it is. I sold a hundred steers back on 10 June in 2000.’
‘Where to?’
‘These went across to go on the boat. Live export.’
‘Great. Well, thanks for your time, Peter. If I haven’t heard from you later, I’ll be back with a warrant to grab that other information we need.’
‘No worries. Anything I can do to help.’
‘Oh well, there is one other thing. Do you know where Dunstan Kendal is now?’
Shaking his head, Peter gave a half laugh. ‘Nah. Wish I did. I liked the fella. Good to have a beer with.’
Dave narrowed his eyes. ‘So, you socialised with him?’
‘Ah, well, not a lot. We used to have a beer together when we were in the pub at the same time. But we weren’t glued at the hip or anything. Kendal was just a great bloke to be around, you know.’
The men got back into the troopy and looked at each other.
‘Different story there to what John told us,’ Dave said, glancing back at his notes.
‘And that surprises you because …’
‘Not surprised, but it is different.’
Bob took out his mobile phone, dialled and then listened.
‘Yeah, Holden here. Can you do a check on Peter William, lives in Wallina.’ Pause. ‘Nope, don’t have a DOB. But the numberplate on his vehicle is … 9JJ-714. Might be a company vehicle, though.’
He lowered the phone and glanced over at Dave. ‘Come on, let’s get going out to Nefer Station. Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. Uh-huh. Right. Address?’ Bob wrote with the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. ‘Good, right. Cheers for that.’
Putting the phone back in his pocket, he turned to Dave. ‘Just go for a swing by 18 Norwood Street.’
Dave looked across at him curiously but flicked on the indicator in the direction of the main street. ‘William’s house?’
‘Yeah, let’s just get a bit of a feel for him.’
‘Did you pick up on something?’
‘No, no, just crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s.’ Bob turned to the window. ‘Reckon I saw that street on the way into town.’
‘We need a map.’
‘Just read the street signs, son! That’s the best way to get a feel for a town. And it’s not like there’re too many of them in Wallina. Here we go, Jackson Street, and the next one is …’
Dave looked as he drove past. ‘Hunter Road.’
‘And … ah, here we are, do a U-turn. It’s that one we just passed.’ Bob jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.
‘I’ll do a lap of the block,’ Dave said as he turned down the next street. ‘Built in squares, these towns.’
They were both silent as they watched out for number 18.
The houses on Norwood Street were like the others Dave had seen in Wallina. Mostly weatherboard and looking in need of some TLC. Occasionally, there would be a brick house with a nice garden at the front, but he knew the cost of getting the bricks from Perth would be prohibitive.
‘Here we go,’ Bob said. ‘Sixteen, ah. Oh.’ Bob fell silent as number 18 came into view. ‘Well, bugger me dead.’
It was clear that a woman lived in the weatherboard house. The lawn, though dry in some spots, was neatly trimmed, and a few tough flowers bloomed bravely in the garden beds that lined the length of the walls. On the verandah was an outdoor setting with cut flowers in the middle. A reading chair swinging from the ceiling and as it swung in the wind, Dave caught sight of a book on a brightly coloured cushion.
In the driveway was a silver BMW X5.
Dave whistled. ‘Whoa, that’s an expensive four-wheel drive.’
‘Pretty flash. Guess the wife drives it.’
Dave slowed right down and they crawled by. Curtains hung in the windows and fairy lights ran the length of the railing.
‘Nice place, though. Better than some of the other shit-boxes around here.’
‘Mmm,’ Bob said.
‘Any priors?’
‘On who? Peter? No.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘The question should be, what are you thinking, son? You’re a detective, too.’ He turned to Dave and gave a wink. ‘Just saying.’
His face serious, Dave said, ‘He liked Kendal a lot. The only person we’ve found so far who has anything good to say about him. And sometimes we know that the best place to hide is in plain sight.’