Bones In The Well (Foley & Rose Book 3)

Book summary

"Bones In The Well" is a gripping crime novel set in the vast Australian Outback. Major Crime Investigators Russell Foley and Sam Rose are tasked with solving a chilling case: skeletal remains of young women found in an abandoned well. As they connect the remains to missing backpackers, another girl disappears, intensifying their urgent hunt for a ruthless killer in a land of endless desolation. This suspenseful story blends mystery with the harsh realities of survival.

Excerpt from Bones In The Well (Foley & Rose Book 3)

A hand snaked over Miranda Winters’ shoulder and grabbed her roughly from behind. She cringed as the strong fingers, smelling heavily of nicotine, slammed painfully across her mouth. She tasted her own blood as her teeth cut into her lip. She tried to scream, managing only a muffled, garbled cry. Immediately she regretted the effort, as the hand tightened even further across the lower half of her face.

 A second strong arm encircled her waist pinning her arms in front of her, then yanked her backwards. Her backward momentum was suddenly halted as she crashed into the chest of someone behind her. She felt the hot, foul smelling breath against her cheek. In an instant, her feet left the ground, and she felt herself carried backwards. Palpable fear, gripped her tighter than the arms embracing her. She could not move her head in any direction. She darted her eyes crazily from side, to side, searching for someone, anyone, who might see she was in trouble. She saw no one.

Earlier, before the sun sank behind the Devil’s Marbles, there were people everywhere, tourists mostly. Many strolled casually through the area looking at the amazing rock formations, while others relaxed at their respective camp sites, animatedly discussing the spectacle of a glorious sunset over the Marbles as they enjoyed their ritual happy hour.

A few, like Miranda, were young, most were middle-aged, and a few were elderly. All were filled with wonderment at the red, yellow, and orange, hues, draped like a fine, transparent curtain across the western sky as the hot central Australian sun slowly settled below the distant horizon.

Formed by the combined processes of weather, and erosion, over tens of millions of years, the Devil’s Marbles comprised hundreds of granite boulders, scattered over a large area approximately one hundred kilometres south of Tennant Creek, and three-hundred-and-ninety kilometres north of Alice Springs in the heart of Australia’s Northern Territory. Some of the boulders balanced precariously on top of one another, appearing as though they may topple at any moment. Others appeared to have been cleaved neatly down the middle by the unpredictable forces of nature. A short, gravel, access road from the Stuart Highway running from south, to north, through the centre of the formation, led the inquisitive traveler to the basic campground on the eastern fringe of the area.

 Managed jointly by the traditional aboriginal owners and the Territory Parks and Wildlife Service, and now officially known as Karlu Karlu/Devil’s Marbles Conservation Reserve, the area attracts over one-hundred-and-forty thousand tourists every year, many of whom are back-packers, just like Miranda Winters.

 For those traveling on a shoe string budget, also like Miranda, there are no outrageously overpriced accommodations designed to separate the traveler from his, or her, holiday dollars. Folks who visit Devil’s Marbles either drive motor-homes, tow caravans, carry tents, or sleep in their vehicles. There is also no power connected to the area, and ablution facilities are limited to two basic, biochemical, composting, unisex toilet blocks.

* * *

Now it was dark, and no one was around, at least Mandy couldn’t see anyone within the scope of her vision given the limited movement of her head. She was in trouble, deep trouble. Surely someone would see her predicament. Just a short while ago, before the sun set, there were people all over the place. Now there was no one.

 Mandy had heard a few horror stories about girls, and sometimes boys, who came to Australia in search of adventure and fun. And, perhaps for those so inclined, a holiday romance. She supposed back-packing in a foreign country, wherever it may be, came with potential risks, particularly for a young, attractive female. She had plenty of family and friends back home in London eager to point those risks out to her, and not the least vocal was her mother and father.

Australia had an ignominious reputation for back-packers going missing, even murdered. But, Mandy figured the sheer number of young, high spirited tourists who sought adventure in the land-down-under offered her more than acceptable odds against her becoming one of the unfortunate statistics. Besides, she liked to think of herself as a thrill seeker. Since she arrived in Australia, she had bungee jumped from a bridge, tandem parachuted from a plane, snorkeled on the Great Barrier Reef, taken a fast lap in a V8 Super Car around the famous Bathurst racing circuit, climbed Ayres Rock, and even tried rock climbing in the Summer Day Valley in Victoria’s Grampian Ranges.

 Mandy did not consider herself immune from danger, it was more she figured the potential risk of her falling victim to danger was minimal. If she was going to take the plunge and spend the money to travel to the other side of the world, she was determined to get value for her money.

 She had a small number of friends who had visited Australia, and not one of them had anything adverse to say about the experience. To the contrary, each of them pestered her, almost to annoyance, insisting she should go. Inwardly, she was jealous of them all, but ultimately, she decided she simply had to go and experience it for herself. Despite the warnings of those few loved ones.

 All she had to do was save the money required for the return airfare, plus a bit more to sustain her until she could get a part-time job. As a trained nurse, she figured it would take her eighteen months to accrue the required funds, but, such was her determination and enthusiasm, it took just twelve.

* * *

Mandy struggled to breathe. The hand across her face slipped upwards a little and now crushed against the lower half of her nose as well as her mouth, making it difficult to suck air into her lungs. She moaned again, struggling frantically against the anonymous force carrying her backwards. She desperately needed to breathe, and waves of panic washed over her. Is this what it feels like to drown?

 From sheer panic, Mandy made the decision to fight back. If she didn’t, she was sure she would suffocate. Her legs swung free of the ground, and she tried to kick backwards, hoping to score a hit hard enough for her attacker to loosen his grip and allow her to take a much needed breath. Anticipating her resistance, her attacker slammed her feet hard on the ground. He leaned close and hissed in her ear.

 “You try that again, and I will kill you right here, right now!”

* * *

Initially, traveling to the other side of the world alone was a source of nervousness for Miranda, much more so for her parents, but of those she would have chosen to travel with, all had already been to Australia, which left her no alternative but to go alone. She’d hoped she would meet another like-minded Brit also traveling alone; a nice English boy would be perfect. They could team up; safety in numbers, she reasoned. The idea eased her parents’ concerns, albeit minimally.

 As it transpired, Mandy did meet another back-packing Brit. Lillian Clutterbuck was an extroverted, opinionated, twenty-two-year-old from Hartlepool, in England’s northeast. Mandy met Lilly in Sydney, and they traveled together for several weeks until Lilly met Michael, a typical sun-tanned, surf loving Aussie boy. Lilly elected to part company with Mandy and continue her travels with her new found love, following the surf breaks up and down the east coast.

Initially, Mandy was disappointed about the prospect of continuing her travels alone. Having someone else to talk to, as well as to share traveling expenses as they crossed the seemingly endless kilometres between towns and cities, was nice. Eventually, however, she settled into a routine and, for the most part, she was comfortable with her own company, until now.

 Mandy was trapped within the strong arms. She was not a big girl; the contrary was the case. But whoever was carrying her to God knows where seemed to be doing so with such ease she might have been no heavier for him than a small child.

She certainly wasn’t helping him; it was impossible with her legs dangling, and swinging crazily beneath her. Somehow, she managed to get one arm free, and she grabbed at the hand across her mouth, trying desperately to pull it away from her face. She needed air.

The man stopped, and lowered Mandy until her feet just touched the ground. “I won’t tell you again!” he spat into her ear. “If you want to die here, I’m okay with that!”

Mandy stopped struggling. The man lifted her again, and continued to walk backwards. Every step he took, she could sense the distant campsite getting further and further away. She looked in its direction, nestled peacefully behind the shadowy shapes of the domed granite rock formation silhouetted against the dark eastern skyline. Help was right there. So close.

In the darkness, any hope of assistance from any of the many tourists, who were by now settling down for the night, was rapidly disappearing. A blanket of hopelessness, heavy and suffocating, settled over her. She realised with a resigned finality, all hope was lost. She thought of her mother, and her father, and hoped they would forgive her.

 After what seemed an eternity, but was in reality no more than a few minutes, her captor spun her around. They were in front of a large, dark vehicle. She didn’t know what type of vehicle it was; motor vehicles were nothing more than a mode of transport for Mandy, and not something she needed to be particularly knowledgeable about. She could see it was big, and it loomed in front of her, a big, dark shape against the surrounding blackness of the night.

 Without warning, the man slammed her against the side of the vehicle, and her forehead cracked against the side window. A sharp pain streaked across the front of her head, and what little air she still had in her lungs was expelled with a loud Whoosh!

 Before she could recover, her arms were yanked roughly behind her, a knee was rammed roughly into her buttocks forcing her body even harder into the side of the vehicle, and her hands were bound tightly together with something she guessed was plastic cable ties.

Mandy began to sob. “Wh… what do you want?” she stammered.

 “Shut the fuck up!” the mad hissed.

  Then, he covered her mouth with a smelly, dirty rag, and tied it behind her head. It tasted of oil, or grease, and she gagged, as she struggled once again to breathe. A solitary tear escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

 Her captor dragged her roughly to the back of the vehicle and opened the large rear access door. A light came on, and she immediately recognised the vehicle as a large four-wheel-drive.

 Rough, strong hands shoved her into the rear cargo compartment; her backside fell hard onto the floor, and her legs dangled out the back of the vehicle. She was wearing a light, summer dress that rode up high, almost to her thighs, briefly exposing a glimpse of white panties. Her captor paused, stared for a few seconds at the enticing view, and smiled. Mandy thought she heard a soft moan. She tried to slither backwards, deeper into the vehicle, hoping her dress would come down, preserving her modesty.

The man grabbed her legs and pulled her forward. With one big hand, he held both her feet tightly together, slipped a cable tie over them and yanked it tight, securing her legs together. She felt the thick, plastic tie cut deep into her ankles.

Then, he lifted her legs, swung them round, and pushed her onto her back in the cargo bed. He stepped back, leered at her for a moment, and then slammed the door shut.

Mandy lay on her back across the cargo bed with her head hard against the driver’s side of the confined space, with her arms secured painfully beneath her. With difficulty, she managed to turn onto her side. When she tried to stretch, she found she couldn’t extend her legs, so she drew her knees up to her chest and lay in the fetal position.

 Never having felt at ease in confined spaces, Mandy sensed a panic attack coming, and sobbed involuntarily. She had to control it. She had to overcome the urge to scream. Besides, no one would hear her, anyway. She remembered reading something, somewhere, about the relationship between fear and panic. When fear overrides the ability to think clearly and rationally, it becomes panic… or something like that. At this point, a panic attack was the last thing she needed. Get a grip! she urged herself silently, as she struggled to control her breathing and focus her thoughts on how she was going to get out of this mess.

 She heard her abductor get into the driver’s seat, slam the door behind him, and start the engine. Then, the vehicle began to move away. Where was he taking her? How far would they go? Was she ever going to see her parents again? Was she even going to live through the night? These were the thoughts crowding Mandy’s consciousness as she felt the vehicle bounce across the rough terrain.

 They were on a dirt road; she could smell the dust seeping into the vehicle. She thought about her car, back at the Marbles. She’d left it parked and locked, in the main campground while she walked through the magnificent rock formations, where, captivated by the beauty of the place, she lingered too long after the sun had set.

 Her car, an old but functional Ford Festiva, had by necessity become her accommodation as well as her means of transport. Everything she owned was in the car; her clothes, her passport, her mobile phone, her meager food supply of rice crackers, instant noodles, tea bags, and a few pieces of fruit; each of which seemed to be the staple fare of back-packers such as herself.

She wondered if anyone else camped at the Marbles would notice she was missing. She thought not. She had not befriended any of her fellow travelers other than to say “Hi” to a few as their respective paths crossed while wandering through the Marbles, snapping photographs and wondering at the amazing balancing act of many of the huge boulders. Accordingly, she doubted anyone would even notice she had not returned to her car. She was alone, gagged, trussed hand and foot, dumped into the back of a car, and was being driven to a fate upon which she did not want to speculate.

* * *

Wherever her abductor was taking her, it seemed to be taking many hours, but Mandy guessed it was less than an hour. Her abductor played country music loudly, and occasionally she heard him singing softly along with the tune. Mandy had never been a fan of country music; it was the music of hicks, and mountain dwelling, in-bred folk. The quality of her captor’s voice did nothing to assuage her dislike of the genre.

She began to count the number of songs played, mentally figuring three minutes per song. At one point, she lost count but decided it was close to twenty. By her estimation, they had been traveling for approximately one hour, perhaps an hour and fifteen minutes. She usually wore a watch, but had left it in her car; she wouldn’t be able to read it anyway, with her hands trussed behind her back.

 They were still traveling on rough dirt roads, she deduced, given the jolting and bouncing her body was forced to endure. Her fingers were becoming numb, and she wriggled them in a vain attempt to relieve the tingling. A persistent ache in her shoulder where she lay on it promised to spread to her neck, and back. She considered turning completely over but, to do so would leave her with her back to the rear cargo door of the vehicle, an option she quickly dismissed. If they stopped, and the stranger opened the rear door she wanted to be facing him and whatever he might have in store for her.

Mandy closed her eyes and tried to shut out the awful music pounding through the vehicle’s sound system, and the equally awful vocal accompaniment of the man who now had total control over her life.

            Eventually, the vehicle slowed, and stopped, and, thank God, so did the music. As Mandy lay in the cramped, uncomfortable space, waiting for whatever was to follow, she heard the crackle from the engine compartment as the motor cooled in the cold night air. She focused intently, listening for any other noises which might give her an idea of where they were. She heard only the engine crackle.

 She waited, expecting to hear the driver moving about, opening the driver’s door and shutting it behind him. Was he coming to drag her out of the back of the vehicle? Nothing! Mandy heard not a sound.

The driver must be sitting quietly in the front seat. What was he doing? What was he going to do? She found herself hoping he would do something, anything. Waiting for something to happen, was worse than the prospect of dealing with it when it finally did. Then, she heard him speak.

“It’s time, my precious,” the man announced in a tone, not loud, and not so soft she couldn’t hear, but in a normal, controlled speaking voice, as though he might be ordering a litre of milk from the local corner store. So unassuming was his announcement, Mandy could almost imagine him smiling.

The driver’s door opened, the interior light came on, and the front seat squeaked as the man got out of the car. He shut the door, and suddenly the vehicle interior was plunged into darkness. Mandy listened. She heard footsteps approaching the rear of the vehicle, and then the door swung open. The interior light flashed on again, and Mandy looked up at the man standing in the open doorway. Beyond where he stood smiling down at her, she saw only blackness—no street lights, no house lights, no corner store, nothing.