Tommy O’Rourke was on a mission. He set letter out in front of him on the coffee table. This was the perfect place to start his search. Maric Cottages was a popular retreat for tourists and anyone looking for quiet country relaxation. The cottages were in the Diamondvale area, a little east of the township of Stanthorpe in the Queensland granite belt. Tommy arrived and settled himself in his cabin with the setting sun casting a red glow through the front windows. He had been planning this trip for some time. Julie and the kids were at their Grandparents in Melbourne for the April holidays and this was the perfect opportunity to investigate. Tommy picked up the letter and leaned back on the leather couch. It was a copy of the original letter from his Grandfather Patrick (Plover) O’Rourke to his wife Marie. The nickname “Plover” was given because Patrick had skinny legs similar to the grey bird. He had always been known by family and friends simply as Plover. The letter was posted in 1890 and was preserved in the family due to the disturbing fact that Plover was neither seen nor heard from again after sending it. He had worked in the tin mines around Stanthorpe to accumulate money while his wife and son in Brisbane. He stayed in an abandoned cabin on a property in the Diamondvale region and went home every month to see his family. Wife Marie reported him missing when he failed to arrive at the expected time and didn’t contact her. A search was carried out without success. He was never seen again. Tommy sat and perused Plover’s faded handwriting. The first paragraph stood out as a clue for Tommy.
‘I am missing you and Michael as usual, but I now believe it has been worthwhile coming here. Through my own endeavour, I have discovered something that will put a sparkle in your beautiful eyes. I will keep it safe for you. There are thieves around this place but they will get a hot reception if they try anything. I will see you at home in two weeks.’
Plover was a larrikin but he would not leave his wife and child. Something unexpected had happened to Plover.
Tommy had heard about ‘The Stanthorpe Diamond’, a good sized gem found in the area a not long before Plover started work at the tin mine. He was sure that Plover had been fossicking for gems around Diamondvale as well as working in the mine. The letter from Plover hinted that he had found something valuable and was wary of being robbed. Tommy thought there were two likely scenarios for his disappearance. One was that he was done over and disposed of by some scoundrel with robbery as the motive. The other was that he had come to grief while fossicking in the hills – falling into a rocky cavern or gorge. Tommy’s plan covered both possibilities. He would find the most likely places in Diamondvale for finding gems and investigate the area. It was a long shot but he thought it worth a try. He would also try to locate the old cabin where Plover stayed – maybe he would unearth some clues.
Tommy had a good night’s sleep in a bed that seemed big enough for a family of four, ate a cereal breakfast and drove into town. He found a men’s barbershop and went in for a haircut – the barber always knew everything going on in the local area. Following some conversation on the football and the impending election, Tommy got to the reason he’d come in for the haircut.
“Are there any old abandoned cabins around Diamondvale that you know about?” Tommy asked
“Are you looking to buy in the area?” the barber responded.
“No, my Grandfather used to work in the tin mines and he lived here in Diamondvale. I’m just interested,” Tommy replied.
“Yeah, there’s a few. Some are just ruins now, burnt out or fallen to pieces. I know of one in Marcus Lane. You need to drive around and you will see some remnants. Quite a few people just up and left when times were hard,” the barber said as he looked at Tommy in the mirror.
“I’ll do some scouting around tomorrow,” Tommy paused. “What about gem fossicking – any good places for that?”
“Yeah, some are still trying their luck up on the ridge behind Reilly Road. Fossicking seems to be addictive for a lot of people.”
“Reilly Road, I’m staying in a cottage right down the end for a few days. That will be convenient,” Tommy said as he bent his head forward and the barber ran the number four blade up the back of his head.
“Oh, Maric Park, yeah, directly behind there and along the ridge. But you want to be careful if you go traipsing around up there. It’s dangerous in among the boulders and crevices,” the barber said flipping the little white-haired brush across Tommy’s neck and shoulders and pulling away the black cape like a Spanish bullfighter.
The day was still young and Tommy headed back to the cottage to collect his backpack, fossicking shovel and put on his hiking boots. The day was clear and cool, with the sky such a sharp blue it was almost painful to look at. Tommy made his way up the track behind the cottages. The path had been hacked out for those wishing to find a vantage point on the granite outcrop to view the surrounding country - perhaps with a bottle of wine. Tommy had a different plan and turned off the main track when he reached the end, near the top of the ridge. It was rough going. Tommy wasn’t naturally athletic and took his time stepping around and over the ubiquitous grey speckled granite rocks and through the scrubby bush. The larger boulders, some single monolithic, and some in random stacks were an impenetrable barrier that forced Tommy to detour many times. He stopped on a number of occasions to inspect places where a person may have fallen or become trapped, not expecting to find anything. Any poor soul meeting their end out here would be soon consumed by the wildlife, Tommy thought. He was also being vigilant for unusual pieces of stone that may or may not have had any value. Tommy had started to tire after an hour with the pain in his shoulders increasing from the weight of his backpack and shovel. He looked for a spot to rest and noticed an open patch of grass through the low bushes. He took a step through the bushes and his foot slipped out from under him on the gravel and leaves.
“Shit!” Tommy yelled out loud.
He went down with a thud onto his tail bone. He skidded on his boots, arse, hands, and backpack down the gravelly incline about ten metres to the bottom of a gully. He sat there stunned, heart thumping looking at the bloody grazes on his palms.
Tommy sat stunned for a moment. “Jesus, think I’ll call it a day,” he muttered to himself.
He stood up and bushed himself off and looked around. He froze at the sight of an object protruding from the ground near his right foot. It was a bone – looked like a human leg bone – broken off at the end.
Tommy marked his way back to the track with yellow tape strategically wrapped around trees as he progressed. He contacted the local police on his mobile and they were sending someone out to investigate. Tommy thought he may have found a crime scene and was as careful as possible not to disturb the area.
Tommy directed the police to the bone site and then left them to do their job. The detective in charge came to see Tommy at his cottage before they left with bone samples. It was late afternoon and Tommy sipped a glass of red wine as he sat on the deck contemplating the circumstances of Plover’s demise.
“Mister O’Rourke, we have recovered some samples and have finished here for the moment,” the young detective said as he stood on the cottage steps.
“How does it look?” Tommy asked with trepidation.
“It’s not your Grandfather that’s for sure’” he said with a smile. “It’s a big animal of some sort. They’re very old bones. We’ll know more after they’ve been examined. Let you know when we have something,” he said as he turned away towards the police vehicle. Tommy didn’t know if he should be relieved.
Tommy planned to go back home the next day and decided he would find Plover’s cabin before he left. He resigned himself to leaving without resolving the mystery. The morning was cool and clear, a replica of the day before. Tommy locked the cottage door and stood for a moment on the front deck looking out across grasslands with scattered patches of gums and a dark line of low hills in the distance marking the horizon. I would have enjoyed being here a lot more if his mission wasn’t so serious, he thought.
He jumped in his dusty red Mazda3 and drove off down Reilly Road. Tommy had a general idea of the location of the cabin if it still existed. There were a few unsealed laneways running off Reilly Road and, as indicated on Plover’s letters, the cabin was on one of these. A short drive from the Maric Park Cottages and he was at Marcus Lane and turned off. The lane was narrow with a property fence and paddocks on the right and thick bush on the left. The bumping dirt road tested the Mazda’s suspension as he drove. He continued on between two solid timber fence posts and knew that he was now on someone’s property.
Just a tourist who took a wrong turn if anyone asks, Tommy thought. The lane was disappearing into the bush and he was about to stop and turn around when he saw it. A red brick chimney stood like a monument in the long grass on his left. Tommy stopped the car and got out. This had to be it. He stepped carefully through the grass over towards the chimney. Lying all around were the blackened remnants of the framework of a timber cabin. Bushfire or arson had destroyed the place. Tommy felt unsettled as he gazed around the ruin. He walked to the open hearth of the brick chimney and noticed a piece of dirty grey material hanging out from under the lintel. He pulled it down and staggered back in horror as bones, a human skull and bits of material cascaded onto the brick base.
“Oh my God!” Tommy blurted, he couldn’t believe what happened. He stood motionless looking down at the remains, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. His mind raced – how could he be in the chimney? Tommy squatted down and retrieved a small tied leather pouch lying among the scattered bones. He prized it open with shaking hands and laid a white translucent stone in his palm. It was the size of a macadamia nut. Tommy’s thought went back to Plover’s last letter. What was it he said?
‘I have discovered something that will put a sparkle in your beautiful eyes. There are thieves around this place but they will get a hot reception if they try anything.’
Plover had got himself wedged in the chimney trying to hide his diamond and died from asphyxiation. Tommy squirmed at the thought. At least he will get a proper burial.
The results of forensic tests on the bones in the chimney confirmed that it was Plover. Tommy also had a call regarding the bone pieces he had stumbled across on the ridge behind the cottages. They had been identified as around 450,000 years old and belonging to a huge wombat animal named Diprotodon. Tommy had the stone that he had recovered from the chimney appraised by a jeweller. He was advised it was chlorite quartz and worth nothing.