Opaline Evidence

By Robert Peterson

WALKER FARADAY, his wife NICOLE and their difficult son JOHN migrate to Australia after the Second World War and buy up cattle stations The Lazy Goat and Dallas Downs next door on opal fields west of Longreach in Queensland. Walker’s uncle CYRUS and wife BONNITA buy neighbouring Candle Downs station. Aboriginal folk, fauna, governesses, opal miners and explorers cruelly disappear on Faraday land. Their remains, plus numerous animals and birds are found dynamited, buried, burned, poisoned or on meat ant nests. Most though are never found, such is the cleverness of the perpetrator.
Trailing for Outback evidence of murders and cruelty over vast acreage comes as opaline as the smokiness clouding precious local opals found about Longreach.
Walker dies mysteriously before son John cruelly argues with mother Nicole for the rangeland's management. John rides his motorbike into a strung up wire on the farm he manages. Fingers point to his wife CAARA or their irritating son GORDON, an exact clone of his father’s sadistic ways. Caara's parents die mysteriously on Nicole Falls. Younger son SIDNEY returns from Naval duties for holidays. Gordon contrives for all four of the Faraday cattle stations. Sister BETH marries WARREN when she falls pregnant. Gordon marries CHEN, a Chinese lass from the same complication. They both demand Caara buys them a house each. KELLY comes onto Lazy Goat to fossick for Opals and spends time with Nicole. Bikers taking time off from mining duties arrive to camp on Lazy Goat.
Governesses are found buried about Caara's farm. Workers and family are systematically poisoned and shot at. Animals are stolen or poisoned.
Tribal natives, bikers, Gordon's father-in-law Hu Bao, brother-in-law Warren, Nicole’s farm managers, Police officers and brother Sidney all scheme for a slice of who-done-it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Peterson
• Release date: Jul 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301087334

Robert Peterson

The Author grew up in North Queensland in the wettest town in Australia, as oldest of three boys after his elder sister suspiciously drowned in the Babinda Creek. He achieved an Associate Degree in Agriculture at Gatton Campus of Queensland University. Began serious writing on retirement after joining a local writing club and Writing.com. Accomplished writing awards at school and local shows, wrote agricultural extension and research articles, monthly farm memos and local newspapers over 20 years and collection of sensitive security metadata on a diamond mine. Humour arose as positive energy-challenging dimples of 30plus surgical operations over his life. The Author’s written work is Australian fiction reworked from numerous assumed bush homicides garnered while imbibing over a bar, around a campfire or out fishing on the Great Barrier Reef. The Author’s non-fiction life’s work competes as a Guinness Records tag for life’s stuff-ups, such as riding on a large crocodile, bitten by snakes, a giant eel, a stonefish, tiger sharks, gored and kicked by horses and cattle. The Author presently lives in Mandurah, Western Australia with his wife Glenys.

Book preview

Opaline Evidence

By

Robert Peterson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

93,000 words

Published by

Robert Peterson on Smashwords

ISBN: 9781301087334

Opaline Evidence

Copyright 2013 by Robert Peterson

Thank you in advance for downloading this ebook. This work remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. Alteration of content definitely not allowed. If you enjoyed this book, then please encourage your friends to download their own copy.

The author appreciates your support and respect for his property.

Regard most events as a fictional version of real events in a natural beauty of an outback Australian tropical bush.

Table of Contents

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

Biography

Chapter 1

March 1941

Patriotic Walker Faraday said goodbye to his loving wife Nicole, their son John and enlisted in the Second World War when America became involved after Pearl Harbour’s demise. Walker was a strong farming man newly turned 24 who noticed the way returning soldiers from the First World War were welcomed home as heroes. Bands played, marching girls twirled batons, truck floats decked out and balloons rose into the sun.

The wounded and wheel chair-ridden warriors languished hidden from view in recovery institutes.

Walker drove around the family ranch in Garfield, near Austin in Texas USA for one last look at peace, said goodbye to his kinfolk and finished off serving in Australia. His initial barracks were with the 22nd Service Group for the Fifth Air Force at Amberley Airport, 40 km southwest of Brisbane. Flying supplies for refuelling became his main line of duty, re-arming and repairing to an advance airfield at Gorrie Airfield, near Larrimah in the Northern Territory. Up to 6,500 Australian and American service members worked on aircraft and intelligence at Gorrie where the only rail came south to Larrimah/Birdum from Darwin. Roads back then were in a sorry state of repair.

Walker’s tall stature and blond curls stood out among his fellow service members as he received a warm fair dinkum welcome in his uniform. Walker flew west over The Great Divide range into the drier inland country and he saw it come and go with sporadic rainfall. Mostly dry desert country yet sprawling seasonal lakes of water in the Channel Country when monsoon season remembered its annual duty. He landed his aircraft on dirt runways for refuelling when his plane broke down on several occasions. He heard stories of dinosaur tracks and skeletons, gold mines and he bought several samples of opal.

Walker flew in daylight or nightshifts, from Adelaide, Townsville, Darwin or Brisbane, with refuelling stops on the way. Walker winged over much of the continent on his flights, as he deviated through air traffic, storms and pick-up points.

Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) High Frequency Direction Finding Stations or 'Huff Duff' such as the Julia Creek facility using generator power to the DF Marconi-Adcock equipment helped Walker stay on course on major commercial air routes through Darwin, Groote Eylandt, Karumba, Cloncurry, Cooktown, Townsville, Rockhampton and Archerfield. In response to Japan's invasion of the South-West Pacific and the US-led build-up of a defence network in north Queensland, RAAF HF/DF stations were built during 1942 at Julia Creek, Mingela (near Charters Towers), Moongobulla (north of Townsville) and Kairi (on the Atherton Tableland).

Walker became infatuated with the Australian rolling downs country. He saw it all from his eagle's view. He also borrowed vehicles and headed bush on precious days off. The endless plains produced, to his experience, a zoo full of strange animals. Some ran, hopped, galloped, and even looked edible. Others wanted to eat him. He flew past huge soaring wedge-tailed eagles, watched dancing brolgas, chatted to bug-eyed koalas and possums. Traditional native dreamland tales of yesteryear were an alternative style from the American Indian to hold his attention.

Walker and Nicole’s family farm animals back home contracted Foot and Mouth disease in his cattle several years back, and he saw cheap land here in Oz - huge acres of it.

Herds of kangaroos, emus, buffalo, camels and horses scattered before him as Walker flew overhead. Cattle and sheep did likewise, even wild razorback pigs in large sounds (droves). Waterfowl and flocks of corellas and budgerigars took to the air ahead of his wings. It excited his farming instinct. Aussie tales of the bush grabbed his energized interest. The Down Under way of taking wind out of his sails, clipping his wings, wrong-footing/left-footing a plod soldier of American Service personnel entered a point where he never knew if crocodiles could fly or dinosaurs still roamed the bush.

Was Australia so primitive and different to the USA? American service personnel thought so, until they experienced the truth. Walker wrote home often, sometimes falling asleep in his bunk half way through. He jotted down parts to write home as he flew, ever alert for an enemy out there somewhere.

A weekly letter, as this one to his wife Nicole, read:

My dearest Nicole,

I imagine you and young John every moment, every day, especially every night. The idea that made me enlist for this godforsaken war has drifted to an aching abscess in my mind. The food is passable. The hours leave me so tired that I no longer fear death. I dream this war will end soon and hold you in my arms again. Cute butt, beaut hips and hooters, and an absolute horny devil after a few wines. There are a few horny devils here, but they have spines, long tails and individual eyes that flick about for flies to eat.

All this imagining of romance has caught me in a sweat, sweetheart.

I see you sitting beside me and I dream of a cosy fire again when I fly at night, looking down on reflections of the moonshine on the sea, the rivers and inland lakes. I miss your touch, your sensual warmth and caress. Damn this war, damn Hitler and damn the Japs. I have my eyes peeled for the buggers every hour of flight, and some.

I met wonderful people yesterday at an area called Matilda Country – cannot say exactly where, everything is so strictly secret for the war. You can cook eggs and bacon here on a sheet of corrugated roofing because it is so hot, but it tastes a treat. Locals have weird customs here in the bush and they drink beer at a rate, sing bawdy songs and stagger off to bed.

Tell young John I love him. I will not recognise him when I arrive and hope the ranch is behaving itself. Keep smiling for me.

Love always, Walker.

Folks back home in Texas would tell Walker his parents were ailing fast in their retirement home, and the ranch run-down due to the war effort. Letters kept coming to keep him happy, and so he was – almost, if any soldier could – until Hitler and Tojo eventually went on an extended flight to oblivion.

Nicole Faraday took on the farm duties while Walker was away. She could ride a horse as well as any man. Sleeping on a ranch with a young child made any unusual noise a calamity, especially when hurricanes came whispering through the trees. Living away from the township always became fraught with danger. She was not a woman, a mother, to push around, yet…

Nicole stayed an attractive and a vivacious woman to know. Her parents lived on the farm in a separate bunkhouse to help with young John. The boy missed his dad and he took umbrage with anyone or object around him. He became a handful. One of those children who stood out as a rebel to societal norms - a bronc no one could tame.

Nicole came back into her lonely kitchen with Johnny after doing her daily farm chores one morning. Two dishevelled young men were ransacking her cupboards for food. She had a child to protect. There were dishes, cups and cooking containers all over the floor. John began crying at the calamity and ran off to his room. She wished he would hide in a closet or under his bed, yet could not tell him that in company.

Would John run to Grandma’s home over the yards? What if they burned the homestead down with John inside? The home militia never came around when she needed them.

John remained a lonely boy, never wanting love and cuddles and preferring the outdoors where he could find mischief. She trained the boy to react in times of trouble, yet he never listened.

Nicole struggled to remain calm and maintain her normal voice as she commented. If you men are hungry, I can fix you a meal, make up enough food to take and you can be off away from here. My men will soon come for their day’s work orders. The reality of the situation frightened her. Two armed villains against a woman did not conjure an even playing field for a positive outcome.

One could only imagine what Nicole thought at that moment. Did she run outside and shout for help, when real help was unavailable? Milkmen, bakers and grocers never visited farms. Should she take up a knife and threaten the men who wore side arms?

Bluff was her best and only option.

We are running from the law, bitch, so stay out of our fuckin' way and we will not hurt you! The taller fellow looked mean, with a raw scar down his left cheek and they both reeked of rancid body odour from running. He gave Nicole one of those second looks she often received from men folk when she shopped for her rations in town. Her ruby hair lay in soft curls over a full mouth under green eyes with a farm-work hardened body to match. Tight work jeans on a woman boasted her feminine form.

Please leave me enough food or I will not get through the week. My car is broken down and the mechanic has not come to fix it yet. The men took no notice as they checked everywhere for anything to eat, trade or hock.

You did not mention your husband, ma’am. Is he away with the war? The second fellow possessed a sickly cough and emaciated look on his face. How should she answer?

Yes. His absence was obvious, with few plates left out and no man size boots or clothing hanging up at the door. She must change that. My parents are over in the other ranch house still. They come over every morning to check on me. Take Johnny for walks.

The tall man gave his mate a grin. They both looked directly at Nicole with cunning appeal and her fear increased. She swallowed and quickly opened the door wide for them to leave and not see what hung behind it. They kept gathering and whispering, leaving most of the contents on the floor. It was hard for a woman out of town with wartime rations in place, standing, watching outsiders take away her family’s cash, valuables and food.

Young John called out to his mum. John began to read his mother’s tolerant ways and saw how to obtain his own means, the only tactic to stop his obsessive badgering. He became a bleating sheep when she was busy with housework. She maybe should slap him down occasionally, but a mother’s love always prevailed. Come home Walker!

She froze and her lips quivered. I must attend to my young child. Please leave before he becomes frightened. It was too late for that and she silently cursed the youngster for never obeying her teachings.

We will leave when we are friggin’ ready. They placed their two sacks of cans, jewellery and bread near the door and advanced on her. Men who did not join up for the war effort knew few scruples. These men were scraps of the worst end of that group.

Come here, lady. Do not scream or I will belt the life out of you! She sensed what was coming and began crying in huge sobs. If only she could have reached her rifle, turned around and fired before they would be on her. She hesitated too long to find out. She must protect young Johnny. The boy continued with his monotonous banter. A nagging boy only heightened their antagonism.

Please go now. You have food and I will not notify the police until you are away. Nicole backed away to the doorway leading to the sleeping area. Her son John was in the other direction, in the old guest room where the morning sun was best.

We have pulled the telephone line down in several places. You will not be calling the police at all – or them old folks over in the other quarters. Give me a hand, Curly, to hold her down. She looks a slippery one. Fatso did better than that. He belted Nicole several times to enhance her cheek colour and ripped her clothing as the tall one licked his lips and dropped his trousers to around his ankles. Some men never bathed for weeks. The thought of venereal disease, crabs and body sores terrified Nicole. That wheezing cough could be tuberculosis.

The older woman over in the other dwelling, Nicole’s mother, was obviously not his type and she now lay crumpled next to her husband, with their old dog Checkers licking their staring faces to keep any buzzing flies at bay.

Nicole would grow to wonder at the pain and suffering that the driftwood of society could dish out to others.

Both men took turns at enjoying their coarse sexual pleasures as Nicole bit her bloodied lips and kept still so as not to annoy the men. Their breath would flatten Superman. Anger was not one of her personality traits that stood out, yet she felt it rising with the experience. They would pay. She was down as far as they could push her – unless the bed frame collapsed.

Satisfied now, the pair dressed and whispered quietly as they looked over at the crumpled bed. You have a child, woman, so if you behave we will let you live. We will shoot you if you come out of the house until we are away. Fatso was not so sure and they argued. They tied her hands and feet as a way of settling their feud. There were only so many killings before their adrenaline thrill waned and hunger took precedence. Killing, for these men, became a thrill habit to survive their way of living, yet there came a time to be off and find the next honey pot to raid.

That kid was sure a howler.

Young John cried out and called for his mother again. Mummy, tell those men to go away. I am hungry. I want toast with strawberry jam. I will throw my toys away! The tyke never experienced much discipline, or common sense.

They took the boy for insurance. We will leave him out in the fields for you to collect. That way, we will be gone a good distance. Nicole screamed and pleaded until Fatso silenced her with several more blows. She focused on these despots with ebony eyes of a perceptive cobra, stalking intensity of a hungry cougar.

Nicole was no use to her child if she died. She held her gaze as blood trickled from her lips and eyebrows. Her left eye closed as her body reacted to the pain. Her right eye, the one she shot with, stayed focused on two foul excuses for humanity taking her only child away.

Nicole took several deep breaths to stay in focus. She must be sure that her next actions were winners or die a lonely way, leaving her son to meet the same fate.

The household fell silent now, except for Nicole squirming and grunting at freeing her hands and feet. She carefully raised herself, sitting before staggering off the bed, hopped with jeans asunder right to the kitchen, desperately looking for a way to free her bonds. Halfway there, Nicole tripped as she overbalanced in her restraints and fell sideways into the doorway architrave. It hurt terribly but she braced herself against the wall and rose up again. She reached over for a knife from the block resting near the sink and sliced at her leg ties - shoelaces from her working boots.

John screamed to show her the way the men were travelling. He was good for something after all. She heard several slaps followed by more bawling. The kid learnt slowly, maybe never, until big boys rearranged his ideas on life.

Now free of those foot laces, Nicole placed the knife between her feet and sawed at her hand knots. The knife slipped a touch. Its blade cut into her forearm. It took but a minute or two more, a lifetime to Nicole. Rub a little, cut a little more. The intruders should have taken horses to make their get-away faster, but horses could not traverse fences so easily. Gates were on roadways where human contact created attention.

The two men began laughing now, 50 yards away and holding a squealing child over Fatso’s shoulder. Take the kid over the hill and slash his slobbering mouth. They did not reckon on a ranching woman desperate to retrieve her boy. Walker taught her to be a great cowhand. Now she rose on her own to heed his teaching. The eyes of a lioness gazed out at the light of day. There. Take my kid will you, you stupid bastards.

A .32 Remington rifle fitted with its telescopic sight and a muzzle break to cushion the recoil hung behind the opened front door. Walker bought it especially for shooting long distance at coyotes, bears and cougars and he taught Nicole how to use it while he was gone. The men would have seen the weapon hidden under rain gear, if they were polite and maybe closed the door when leaving.

The tall brute, Lanky, carried their stolen sacks of food and Fatso held up the kicking boy, who by now wore several slap marks on his bottom and pain to match. They strode about 100 yards from the house and slowly sauntering up a rise in the paddock, stopping to argue about whatever. Perhaps fatso wanted to return and silence her.

Nicole made her decision with not much time to consider her options. No one fucked with her when her son was in danger. They would see her if she ran after them and would no doubt shoot the boy before firing at her. It was a chance she must take in shooting both men – and miss hitting John. She settled down at the handrail to mend her shakes. The coppery taint of congealing blood raised her intention.

Her first shot pointed crucial at the air thankfully still, hardly a breath of crosswind. Too low, and the bullet would travel between his legs. Too high and she might hit her complaining Johnny. She spat out a blood clot and refocused her one decent eye.

Add a few inches for height above where she leant as cross hairs on the scope sought a hairy crack showing on a backside ripe for retribution, a 'T' for target.

The bullet shattered Fatso’s pelvis above his coccyx bones and he fell heavy as a sack of potatoes, or maybe pig manure. Now gutted, he screamed as any criminal would and began bleeding out fast. Life grew short on big jobs. The tall man lost his bravado, swore a curse, looking about in shock for a shooter. Fatso lay screaming on the ground with red offal sprayed about as porko petzi pomodoro con vino rosso e pane accuighe. Pork pieces in tomato sauce with red wine and anchovies. He wore a sunburnt shape with adiposed specks of kidney, liver and spleen under fermenting stomach contents now open to the elements – a fly heaven.

Too late, the streak dived for grass cover as the next salvo took him in the thigh region and scorched its way down through knee-bone to foot. Lead feet. Nicole began to shake as adrenaline and fear rose up, but she had a boy to save. She jerked another round into the breach and sighted. Panicky, John began running toward her and his frame covered her sight of the prostrate bodies.

She began to cry in frustration, shaking her head in anger. Stupid boy never listens. Can he see this rifle pointed at him? Duck down John, or he will blast you too!

The ugly one, nicknamed Lanky, rose on his good knee, snarled as pain wracked his thoughts and produced a wobbling Colt .45 to aim at John. Pain's torture showed on his open-mouthed face as he struggled to balance. The shot missed as John tripped and Nicole took her small window of revenge. If John stayed down. He usually combed his hair with a centre part.

Both men lay out there for the ravens and buzzards to squabble over their dinner, until a coyote or mountain lion smelt them out. She would have telephoned for assistance, but the lines were down for the week.

John met his mother partway home and they embraced, squeezing the life out of each other. It was a lesson for the 4-year-old boy that would influence his life’s values forever, especially when he found his pet dog with its head bashed in.

John was always a stubborn child at best. He had a way of railing against his mother’s will, now the father figure was absent. He probably blamed her for that too. Farm work left him in the care of Nicole’s parents who he despised, until now. They ate strange food, had more rules than their game of bocce. Their European accent did not help. He became a retaliatory child for any discomfort he felt.

John took to standing out in stormy weather, saturated by the slanting rain and wishing his dad would come home, having another dog – one bigger and stronger to fight off bad men, more toys and a bigger gun than his mother's rifle. An eagle flew from the storm and John aimed his imaginary gun at it as if to shoot it down. He began crying as his tears mixed with rain to wash away his hatred of the life given him. John kicked at the tufts of grass and swore with graphic words collected from the farm workers.

The cruel look upon his face showed a precursor to his inner soul’s emergence. Killers would stay away from the ranch when he became the owner.

What John missed in his life was not clear to anyone about, only John. An outsider might get off his/her derriere and solve the dilemma, walk away or build on their own life. John stewed on it like a favourite recipe, a daily repast.

The ranch eventually soured Nicole's love for this land as she read Walker’s comments about the Australian bush with greater interest. She begged a long holiday after the memories of losing her parents, constant worry for the farm, her young boy and prowlers; disgusting intruders.

Male emu protecting young chicks... Author.

Chapter 2

August 1946

Walker began to love this country Australia and at wars end, home to a seemingly depressed wife, his own sick parents and a demanding child to watch over, he grew itchy feet. He begged his family to sell up and come with him to Australia. He told them of the scenery, rolling plains and wildlife. Gold and opals were there for the taking. Even a dinosaur skeleton or two.

In desperation, he placed his parents in aged care near the ocean, packed his wife Nicole and young John to Brisbane to skirt around for any land left over after soldier settler blocks came dispersed. She was glad to be out of Texas, its harsh memories, and she loved the photographs Walker produced for her. Her future seemed as though a dark cloud skimmed over the horizon.

The Faraday family settled down west of Longreach in between the Diamantina, Goneaway and Bladensberg National Parks on subdivided sections of the original Bowen Downs. The Scottish Australia Company with Nat Buchanan introduced the first cattle to the inland area of Queensland. Nat also rode with Buchanan searching for explorers Burke and Wills, then taking cattle to the Northern Territory.

Walker’s Uncle Cyrus and his wife Bonnita followed, to buy up Candle Downs and be near his Lazy Goat Waterhole along the Mayne River that flowed into the Diamantina. Walker also acquired Larson’s Wallow through hardship and sickness, over toward the township of Longreach from his neighbouring property. He logically renamed it Dallas Downs.

Young John studied via the School of Distance Education whenever he was not obliged to help his father on the cattle runs. Unhealthy things happened in the outback and this hellhole was no exception. This country looked beautiful one moment, yet turned its nasty side in the wink of a dusty eye, caw of a crow, chortle of a curlew or dalliance of a diamond dove as a warning.

Bustard (Plain turkey), Diamond Dove, and Curlew... Author.

Young John loved the land and summer heat, always out cuddling a snake, goanna or skink to his mother’s horror - until one bit his new dog, Fetch. He saw what pain they could inflict and began belting them over the head with a stick as he changed his view of the environment. Scavenging crows and hawks became targets for his rifle practise after he saw them taking to sick lambs. He started on kookaburras, ducks, peewees and magpies for practise after the hawks disappeared.

John ventured wider to lay in wait at waterholes for larger animals to shoot at. Dead wallabies, kangaroos, even emus began to lie about and stink up the waterholes and cattle troughs. Walker scolded him until he promised to stop his stupidity. John never seemed stupid and he resented the accusation, vowing to show his folks how he saw life on a desolate farm. Wild animals resembled cattle and sheep – rentals, here to kill when their time came – for example, those men back in Texas. Those two still impressed more graphically than a mere kangaroo, yet John took pleasure in killing. Surely, Walker saw how many bullets John used up, and the dead fauna around the farm.

John was born with white hairstreaks at his temples as a sign of his brain’s nerve structure. Doctors stated it was probably a genetic trait or because he eventually came born after the usual time of 40 weeks gestation.

The stockmen gave John a wide berth after John tried silly tricks on them. He always played with a razor-sharp skinning knife, filling their food with pepper, curry or salt. They wondered when dingo baits might come next on their menu. No amount of requests from Walker made any difference to his ways. He sulked and skulked off before daylight, as if he caught an addiction. Nicole began in vain to turn him to concentrate on the long-distance learning School of the Air. He clammed up or gave wrong answers. Johnny never shared the love – but hate for all beings. Halloween came to town in the scariest form. No one expected to grow old around our Johnny, a regular surprise machine.

December