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 and an energetic kelpie.

  Website: www.fleurmcdonald.com

  Facebook: FleurMcDonaldAuthor

  Instagram: fleurmcdonald

  TikTok: Fleur McDonald (Author)

  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

  Broad River Station

  Voices in the Dark

  Out in Nowhere

  DETECTIVE DAVE BURROWS SERIES

  Fool’s Gold

  Without a Doubt

  Red Dirt Country

  Something to Hide

  Rising Dust

  Into the Night

  Shock Waves

  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 2024

  Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2024

  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

  Cammeraygal Country

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

  Email:info@allenandunwin.com

  Web:www.allenandunwin.com

  Allen & Unwin acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the Country on which we live and work. We pay our respects to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elders, past and present.

  ISBN 978 1 76147 010 3

  eISBN 978 1 76150 516 4

  Typeset by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Nada Backovic

  Cover images: @jacquibarkerphotos (landscape); iStock (car)

  To every single person from Allen & Unwin with whom I’ve worked over the past fifteen years, I am incredibly grateful.

  And to my True North.

  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

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Detective Dave Burrows appeared in my first novel, Red Dust. Since then Dave has appeared as a secondary character in sixteen contemporary novels, including Out in Nowhere, and seven novels set in the early 2000s in which he stars in the lead role. These novels are Fool’s Gold, Without a Doubt, Red Dirt Country, Something to Hide, Rising Dust, Into the Night and Shock Waves.

  In these earlier novels, Dave is at the beginning of his career. His first marriage to Melinda has ended due to issues balancing their careers and family life. No spoilers here because if you’ve read my contemporary rural novels you’ll know that Dave is currently very happily married to his second wife, Kim.

  I had no idea Dave was going to become such a much-loved character and it’s reader enthusiasm that keeps me writing about him. Dave is one of my favourite characters and I hope he will become one of yours, too.

  PROLOGUE

  ‘Stop it. Don’t do that!’

  The man stirred as a panicked voice filtered into his dreams. He was glad of the intrusion. His dreams were never nice. Usually, they were something about droughts and stock dying of starvation, their carcasses spread over the orange earth, little black spots, flies, buzzing hungrily over the rotting flesh.

  ‘No!’

  He frowned. That woman sounded as if she meant what she was saying. Was it to him? What did he have to stop?

  Something was sticking into his back. Not just sticking, jabbing at him. His whole body felt as if it was weighed down with iron. He tried to wiggle out of the way, but as soon as he shifted, spikes dug into him once more. What the hell was that? Branches, maybe? Was he lying under a bush? How had he got there?

  Opening his eyes, the world spun and spun until his stomach felt queasy and he thought he might throw up.

  ‘Don’t do that!’

  The woman’s voice again. A fury and terror.

  ‘I’m going to report you. Fuck off and leave me alone.’

  Geez, just stop, be quiet, he thought. My head hurts enough without your bitching.

  ‘What’s the matter, sweetie? Why are you acting like that? Can’t you see I want you?’

  In among the nausea and dizziness, the man frowned. The male voice was familiar.

  There was the sound of a hand slapping skin and the rumble tumble of two bodies rolling together, then a squeal.

  ‘Stop it, please!’

  She was begging this time.

  Unease flickered. Was that woman okay? He should help! That’s what good men did. Help when ladies needed it.

  ‘Hey,’ he tried to call out.

  The words died before they even left his mouth. Vomit rose in his throat and he rolled quickly, turning his head to let the vile liquid onto the ground. Instead, it pulsated onto his chin and down his chest.

  The heaving stopped and he lay there, exhausted, the world still spinning, albeit more slowly than before.

  He could hear sobbing now.

  ‘Don’t, just don’t!’

  Another yelp. This time male.

  ‘What’d you do that for? Bitch!’

  The man frowned and tried to push himself up. He really did know that voice. Who was it? What was going on?

  ‘You all right?’ he called, weakly, so faintly his words would have been drowned out by the passing traffic.

  Okay, he was near a road. Now he just had to work out where and how he’d got here.

  He remembered music. And beer. And then … rum, maybe? Shots. Oh yeah, he remembered the shots. Tequila. Salt. Lemon. Not in that order.

  Running now, footsteps and fast breathing. Whimpering.

  He struggled to sit up then pushed some branches out of his face and away from his body. That’s right! It had been his mate’s twenty-first. He was the youngest of their group. Twenty-one and there’d been … strippers?

  ‘Bitch! Come here, you little tart!’ Whose was that voice? He knew it for sure. Who …

  Heavy, clumsy steps. Chasing. Heavy breathing. A girl whimpering as she ran; it sounded like she was running in circles around where he was half sitting, half lying.

  ‘Don’t!’ The woman’s voice was loud and high. ‘Don’t come near me, you fucker!’

  ‘Come ’ere.’

  Was that a stumble and then a fall?

  ‘Do you need help?’ he called out. Except the words ran into each other, and even he couldn’t understand them.

  Silence. Not even footfalls now. Only cars. The ever-constant hum of cars.

  A high-pitched yelp. The woman.

  Brakes screaming through the night and a sickening thud.

  He finally got himself upright and staggered out into the open. A grassed, wooded area, like a park with scrub, opened onto a highway. The space was only lit by a few streetlights lining the footpath.

  Cars stopped, lined up behind one another. Blinkers flashed; spotlights on. There was a bundle lying on the ground in shadows on the road.

  ‘Oh my god, oh my god, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop!’ This voice was fearful. A man, standing zombie-like, staring at whatever was on the ground.

  Someone came running from the car line-up. ‘Call triple zero! I’m a doctor!’

  Then another person came running, and another, and another.

  Too many people surrounded the front of the car to see no matter how much he squinted.

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and he blurrily turned.

  ‘Mate, what are you doing here? How’d you even get here?’

  ‘Maaaaate,’ he replied, swaying sligh
tly. How to answer the question? ‘Too much piss! Time for more.’ Narrowing his eyes, he tried to bring his friend into focus. ‘What’re you doooin’ ’ere?’

  ‘Looking for you! You deserted us at the party. Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘What’s goin’ on over there?’ His speech was slurred. He didn’t even really care, being seen like this. Perhaps he was still too drunk to give a toss. That was it, he guessed.

  ‘Whatever’s happening has nothing to do with us,’ the man answered comfortingly. ‘Come on, let’s get you back to the dorms. I reckon a sleep is what you need.’

  There were red flashing lights on the road now, and an ambulance had pulled up, sirens wailing. What was on the ground?

  And where was that woman? Her voice echoed through his brain. What he thought was a smile was really a grimace, and it slipped quickly away to a frown.

  ‘What’d you do there?’

  His finger didn’t line up as he pointed, then touched his friend’s cheek. Fingers came away red and bloody.

  ‘Must’ve caught myself on a branch. Like you have. Here.’ A finger jabbed at his own face. ‘Don’t worry about it. Come on, mate, it’s time to go home.’

  ‘There was a woman,’ he mumbled, his eyes heavy now. ‘Needed help.’

  ‘In your dreams I reckon, fella. Let’s go.’

  A strong arm around his shoulders, guiding him away from the road and towards the college.

  That’s where he was! At the back of the college. In the bush near the sheds. Because that main road ran to the back of the campus.

  ‘She needed …’

  ‘She needed nothing.’ His mate’s voice hardened. ‘Nothing at all.’

  CHAPTER 1

  The toddler banged her hands down on the highchair. Peanut butter was spread over her cheeks, hands and every surface in sight, while her face was alight with laughter.

  ‘Ruby! What in the world are you doing?’ Hallie Donaldson, wipes in hand, came rushing across the office to where her daughter was strapped into her highchair in front of a computer screen.

  ‘Mumma!’ Ruby said, grinning at Hallie. Her smile fell away when she saw the wipes in her mother’s hand and her arm flew across her face. ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, yes. You need a big clean-up, Ruby-girl,’ Hallie said, gently taking hold of her daughter’s arm and making one quick swipe across her face. ‘Have you been watching Daddy on the screen?’ she asked, with a quick glance across to the footage from the water-monitoring cameras that showed a coloured image of a trough and tank. The lower half of a windmill could be seen in the background, although the base of it was obscured by red dirt and bushes. A white piece of rag attached to the ladder flapped gently in the breeze. Alex had tied it there to give them an idea of which way the wind was blowing when they checked the screen from inside the office.

  ‘Dadda!’ Ruby pushed her mum’s hands away quickly as a man’s face appeared on screen.

  Hallie turned. Her handsome husband, with his wide smile, two days’ worth of stubble over his jaw, and red dirt and sweat leached into the felt of his hat.

  ‘Dadda!’ Ruby banged her spoon on the tray.

  Taking the utensil from her hand, Hallie sighed at the noise. ‘Ruby-rubes, a bit of quietness wouldn’t go astray.’

  ‘Dadda!’

  ‘Yep, that is your dad.’ This time, instead of being annoyed, Hallie pulled the office chair next to Ruby and sank into it. She pushed her hair back from her eyes and looked up at the air conditioner to make sure it was still on. The room felt unusually hot for mid-morning. The blue ribbon attached to the vent streamed into the room, signalling the air conditioner was working.

  Hallie frowned and wiped her forehead. She got up and dragged the stool over and climbed up, holding her hand in front of the stream of air. Cool enough.

  Must be her. Probably a hangover from last night’s lack of sleep. Ruby had woken up six times and Alex hadn’t heard her once. Every time she’d slipped out of bed to soothe the cries of their toddler, her husband had given a deep and long snort that any boar would have been proud of and rolled over.

  How did men sleep through a baby crying? she wondered. This was quite normal, according to her friends in the city. Jasmine’s husband never moved from when he went to sleep until the next morning, waking fresh and bright, wondering why Jasmine was bleary-eyed and exhausted when she’d been up to their two-month-old six times.

  Skye’s partner, Craig, was another. He tended to be a bit more restless at night, apparently, but he still didn’t wake. Skye had been so annoyed one night, she’d brought their bub into the bed with them and when Craig had woken with the alarm at 6.30 a.m. and rolled over to kiss her good morning, he’d got such a fright to come face to face with a screwed-up little boy’s nose rather than Skye. She’d told their group later, as they’d sipped lattes in the park and rocked prams back and forth with their feet—while Hallie had watched on in envy over the Zoom call—that Craig had been totally bewildered. He’d not heard a thing.

  Alex worked hard and often it was so, so searingly hot in the Flinders Ranges that Hallie could understand why he would feel drained every night. She certainly didn’t begrudge him his sleep. However, it would be nice if he woke up one morning and told her he’d heard Ruby crying in the night. Or even better, mutter at 11.24 p.m. that he’d get up to her this time. Then again at 2.56 a.m. Maybe even at 5.23 a.m., too. After all, he was usually up by 5.30 a.m.

  Huffing another sigh, Hallie went to the window to draw the curtain and try to keep the worst of the heat out. Still, I might be too late, she mused. Gathered under the hot tin verandah roof were the tiniest of black flies and any other insect looking for shelter away from the forty-plus-degree heat, a sure sign it was already ‘bloody hot’, as her father-in-law would say. ‘It’s bloody hot, Ruby,’ Rod would tell his granddaughter unnecessarily when he sat at the kitchen table for his morning smoko. As if the heat were a surprise, after living out in nowhere for all his nearly seventy years. ‘Hmm, bloody hot,’ Alex would agree before Hallie had a chance to have input. She was always at the stove waiting for the massive kettle to boil so she could pour the steaming water into their teacups, little beads of sweat on her forehead. It wasn’t just outside that was always ‘bloody hot’.

  No matter how many times Hallie sprayed the verandah or had the bug zappers out, there would be another wave of insects ready to invade her home whenever she opened the door. Still, she was happier to have the insects inside than the dogs, which usually smelled because they’d either rolled in something dead or gone for a swim in a creek with rancid water. The smell that clung to their long, shaggy, black and white coats never seemed to bother Alex; he happily let them sit under the table or alongside him in the lounge room, his hand straying down to pat their silky ears. Not that there was any carpet for the smell to seep into. Lino or plain cement floors kept the house much cooler, Nicole, her mother-in-law, had told her. ‘And the dust is hard to get out of the carpet pile.’

  Unfamiliar with dogs, let alone their smell, Hallie wanted to kick them out. If she was honest, though, perhaps she was a bit jealous of the way that Alex gave his attention to those dogs and not always her. Farmers did that, her friend Maggie, from the neighbouring station, told her.

  Dropping a kiss on Ruby’s head, Hallie checked the screen to see what Alex had been doing since he arrived at Red Dirt Bore.

  ‘Seriously,’ Hallie muttered, ‘Red Dirt Bore. That could be any bore on this place! There’s red dirt and dust as far as I can see in every direction!’

  ‘Mumma?’ Ruby spoke around the spoon she was forcing into her mouth now.

  ‘Yes, darling?’ Hallie answered in that tone all mothers have they haven’t really heard what their child said, but knew an answer was required.

  Alex had disappeared from the screen, presumably unpacking all the equipment he needed to make sure the windmill was pumping properly. The bullbar of the ute was just visible in the picture and every type of bird had flown in to perch on the trough or the tank’s edge. Those birds were savvy, knowing the appearance of a human usually meant water. Alex would undo the bung and all the dirty liquid would run out onto the ground, a river of life-giving water, an opportunity for baths and squawking. Lots of squawking.

  With the water spreading out like a small flood, the birds would flock in, ignoring the person who was close by, scrubbing at walls of the cement trough and getting rid of all the algae. Their happy, loud cries alerted their mates, and finally, after they all arrived, and following a few little tiffs to work out the pecking order and who was able to be in what spot, there would be a blissful silence, broken only by contented, muted bird song as they warbled softly from the back of their throats and preened themselves in the cool water.