Did she want to come?

This was none of her business. It was Barry who was the policeman. She was the forensic pathologist and her role was clearly delineated.

Or was it? She was a member of the police force and she was deeply concerned.

There was no choice. Of course she wanted to come. It was a heaven-sent chance to talk to someone she was really interested in.

‘I’ll let Barry know,’ she told him. ‘Maybe he’ll want to come, too.’

‘I’m not asking you as a police officer,’ Alistair snapped. ‘If you want to do any police work then that’s a separate issue. I’m asking you as a visiting doctor. I might need help.’

Right. She thought about it. Police sniffing round at this stage might do more harm than good. But as a doctor…

‘You’re right. I’ll leave my badge at home,’ she told him. ‘I’ll come, and I’m only wearing a stethoscope.’


The farm was thirty miles out of town, and the country was some of the most barren farming land Sarah had ever seen. For as far as the eye could see there was red dust, a few straggly ironbarks, and sad-looking windmills that looked as if they’d long given up on their task of trying to eke any moisture from this dusty soil. The wind was rising and tumbleweeds were rolling aimlessly in the wind.

The land up to five miles from the coast was still lush and green. But here…

‘The hills act as rain catchment,’ Alistair told her. ‘Out here the rains haven’t come for the past three years.’

‘It’s dreadful.’

‘It won’t always be dreadful. That’s why the international conglomerates hold on to their properties. There’ll be a few years of lean, and then the rains will come and this country will be some of the richest grazing land in Australia. They’ll stock it up, make a fortune from it, milk it for all they’re worth and then sit back while the dry takes over again.’

‘So Howard gets to sit and wait?’

‘He’ll be doing basic maintenance,’ Alistair told her. ‘He’ll make sure the main buildings aren’t vandalised. Once the rains arrive the place comes alive, and no one wants to waste time rebuilding ruined homesteads.’

‘But it must be the pits of a life,’ Sarah said, staring around her in dismay. ‘So lonely…’

‘There are people who love it. People who make a lifetime career of it. There’s a chap further south who’s a really well-known poet. He sits up here, takes a wage for doing minimal maintenance and has all the time in the world for his poetry.’ He smiled suddenly with that engaging smile Sarah loved so much. ‘Mind, it’s pretty bleak poetry. There’s not a lot of “hosts of golden daffodils” in this lot.’

‘I wandered lonely as a tumbleweed,’ she agreed, smiling.

He laughed, and the tension took a backseat again. Sarah found herself relaxing. No, she didn’t want to go home, she thought. She wanted to stay here until the case was solved.

She wanted to stay here by Alistair’s side for as long as she could.

‘Barry wasn’t helpful?’ Alistair asked, and she had to haul herself back to thinking of something other than the way she was reacting to this man.

‘Barry’s appalling.’

‘So put in a report when you get back.’ Alistair grimaced. ‘We need to get rid of him.’

‘You won’t get rid of him unless he puts a foot wrong. And he won’t.’

‘I hope he won’t,’ Alistair said grimly. ‘The man’s a loose cannon. I don’t trust him.’

‘He’s all you have.’

‘Yeah.’ He cast her a sideways glance. ‘He’s all I have. And it’s not much at all.’

The homestead was surprisingly pleasant. Alistair’s truck bumped over the cattle grid, and she saw there were trees lining a long driveway. They were poor excuses for trees, but they were trees for all that, and there was even the semblance of a garden around the long, low house.

‘Howard will be using bore water to keep the trees alive,’ Alistair told her. ‘When the rains come it’s important to get competent staff, and they won’t come if the place isn’t good.’

‘So Howard won’t get to stay?’

‘No, but he knows that. They all do. People usually have a reason for doing what he’s doing.’

‘It’d work,’ she said slowly, staring at the outbuildings. Everywhere looked deserted, but by the look of the small cottages scattered around the main homestead the place was built to accommodate half a dozen families. ‘As a base for accommodating people while they process papers-teaching them rudiments of language-sorting places for them to go-it’d be perfect.’

‘You really are serious?’

‘How many people come out here?’ she asked, and Alistair shrugged.

‘No one.’

‘There’s an airstrip.’ She looked over at the back of the house, where a windsock was waving wildly in the wind. ‘I’d like to see if it’s been used recently.’

‘We need to see to Howard.’

‘Yeah. Medicine first.’ She grimaced. ‘Okay, I’ve put the handcuffs away for the moment. Let’s play doctors.’

They needed to play doctors. Howard was in real trouble.

Renal colic was something that was commonly used as a ruse by drug addicts to get young and unsuspecting doctors to prescribe strong narcotics. It was a good fake diagnosis, as kidney stones caused pain that was well-nigh unbearable. The pain was distinctive, crippling, running from the loin into the groin. So drug addicts often arrived at emergency rooms screaming, doubling over in pain, swearing that they’d had kidney stones before.

But an experienced doctor could usually tell if it was real, and it wasn’t hard now.

Howard was doubled up on a bed in the back of the house. When they found him he looked up at them with eyes that were despairing.

He was a slight man in his late forties or early fifties, lean, weathered and hollow-eyed with shock. His face was drenched in sweat, he felt clammy, and his pulse-rate was up to a hundred and ten.

All symptoms almost impossible to fake.

‘I’ll give you some morphine straight away,’ Alistair told him. ‘Then we’ll get you into hospital.’

‘I don’t want to go to hospital.’ It was a whispered plea.

‘You can’t stay here,’ Alistair told him. ‘It’s the same problem that’s causing your gout. A build-up of uric acid.’ He was injecting morphine as he spoke. ‘Now the uric acid will have caused stones. We need to do something about them.’

‘Operate?’

‘If we’re lucky the stone will pass by itself. But you need a urologist, Howard. We’ll take you back to Dolphin Cove. I’ll watch for a couple of days, but if you don’t pass them then we’ll arrange an air ambulance to take you to Cairns.’

‘I can’t leave,’ he gasped. ‘I can’t.’

‘The place is dead quiet,’ Alistair said firmly. ‘You don’t have a choice.’ He signalled to Sarah, who was standing behind him. ‘This is Dr Rose, who’s assisting me for a few days. Dr Rose will back me up.’

‘I will.’ Sarah gave the man a sympathetic smile. All she had on this man were vague suspicions, and she could certainly be sympathetic until they were confirmed. And even if they were confirmed, a sentence of renal colic was cruel. ‘The good news is that renal colic is easily treatable,’ she told him. ‘You may well pass the stones in the next couple of days and be able to come straight home again.’

‘You’re a doctor, too?’

‘Sarah’s doing a bit of training with me for the next few days,’ Alistair told him. ‘She’s a city doctor-never seen places like this.’

‘Yeah?’ The man was too intent on his pain to care. ‘Can’t you just give me something to stop the pain here?’

‘I can. I am. But in four hours you’ll need more.’

‘I don’t want to be stuck in hospital.’

‘Tell you what,’ Alistair said, appearing to think it through. ‘You have a car here? What if I take you back in my truck-it’s set up so you can lie comfortably in the back-and Dr Rose follows us in your car. Then when you want to leave you can. If you pass the stone tonight you can come straight home.’

The man was trying to think. They could see the effort it took. Renal colic was one of the worst types of pain and the morphine hadn’t kicked in yet. Maybe Alistair should have waited until the painkillers took effect before planning, Sarah thought, but then she thought, No.

She was under no illusion. Alistair had suggested this plan for a reason.

‘Tell us where your house and car keys are,’ Alistair told him. ‘I’ll get you straight into hospital-get you comfortable. Dr Rose can lock up here and bring in your car in behind us.’

Howard stared up, desperation clearly written in his face. He looked from Alistair to Sarah and back again.

‘She’s a city doctor?’ he said doubtfully.

‘I can drive,’ Sarah said, in a voice that said she was a little bit unsure-maybe a little younger than she was-a little less confident. Certainly nothing like as confident as a police forensic pathologist should be. ‘If you think I can manage, Dr Benn?’

‘I think you can manage,’ Alistair told her. He turned back to the man on the bed and Sarah could see that he was trying to hide a smile. ‘She’s a real newbie,’ he told Howard. ‘But I think we can trust her to drive a car. Just go really slowly, Sarah, and don’t take any risks.’

‘No, Dr Benn.’

The thing was done.


Which was how Sarah stood on the veranda, watching Alistair’s truck disappear in the distance, holding the keys to the homestead in her hand. All the keys.

She looked down at them and grinned.

‘I won’t take any risks at all,’ she murmured.


‘Is she following?’

Howard was stretched out on the permanent bed Alistair used as often as not to transport patients. Dolphin Cove did have an ambulance, but it was old and rickety and usually it was less trouble for Alistair to use the Land Cruiser. He’d made Howard as comfortable as possible and, with the morphine kicking in, Howard was now able to think of something other than his pain. His brain might be woozy from the drug, but he obviously didn’t like the idea that he’d left someone behind with his keys.