by Ray Smithies
‘Oh Sam, there you are, I was about to come looking for you. I need your help to plant some orchids in the glasshouse. This is Sergeant Burke from the local police station who’s here investigating the terrible incident this morning. Sergeant, please meet Sam Vaccaro, who is my resident gardener come handy man,’ said Martha.
The two men exchanged greetings.
‘Mr Vaccaro, did you happen to see the incident this morning?’ Burke said.
‘No, officer, I was asleep at the time.’
‘I must be on my way now, thank you both for your time.’
~ * ~
Just prior to twelve o’clock Darren Burke arrived at the town mortuary, which was situated at the rear of Pedley Base Hospital, and was immediately ushered into a side room where Jake’s father sat waiting. The sergeant could see how this tragedy had affected Phillip Reynolds, for his bloodshot eyes kept staring at a blank wall. With his body trembling slightly, he looked a thorough mess. No sooner had Burke arrived that an orderly entered the room.
‘Would you both please follow me,’ the man instructed.
They were led into a further waiting room of similar size, but without the decor and pleasant surrounds of its counterpart. This was empty except for two chrome metal chairs placed to one side.
Burke turned to Phillip Reynolds. ‘If you’re not up to this, it can be postponed until tomorrow if you prefer.’
‘No, I need to get this over with now,’ replied Reynolds forcefully.
‘All right, I’ll proceed first with the doctor and then return.’
Doctor Williams, who was in charge of the mortuary, appeared and introduced himself, then gestured for Burke to accompany him through. In a dimly lit second room Burke observed the body of Jake Reynolds lying on a highly polished steel table.
The young man’s appearance was considerably better than what he had anticipated. With the exception of a large gash to the head, the rest of the body looked remarkably unscathed. Burke thought his clothing had probably minimised the amount of cuts and abrasions. Since death had only occurred some hours earlier, and with no time to prepare the body for viewing, he noticed how natural the young man’s facial features appeared. For Jake looked asleep or at peace with the world, unlike Burke’s own father’s recent passing, where heavy makeup had been applied and cotton wool had been stuffed into his cheeks, resulting in a change of appearance.
‘I’ll fetch Phillip Reynolds to make a positive identification,’ said Burke.
‘Yes, please do. I’ll issue the death certificate stating the contributory causes,’ responded Doctor Williams.
Following the necessary signatories and formalities, Burke returned to the police station. He phoned Helen O’Neill once more, but again heard the same recording. This time he left a return instruction to contact the Pedley Police Station upon her arrival in the morning.
~ * ~
I
had volunteered that afternoon to drive downtown and collect a few things for Emily, who didn’t feel up to any public scrutiny following this morning’s drama. She anticipated that too many people would be asking their numerous questions and decided to avoid these inquisitive types.
Sometime later, after completing the list of errands and having survived the occasional line of questioning, I returned to my car and started filling the boot with the afternoon shopping. Suddenly my attention was drawn to an argument half a block away. Now seated behind the wheel, I recognised the two men in verbal assault, which I couldn’t help but think was totally out of character.
Stephen Buchanan, a local bank manager, was a respected citizen with some influence in Pedley. He was an ex-boxer and not one to cross paths with, for despite his reputation of having a short temper he never displayed this type of behaviour in the public domain.
Ben Johnson, by contrast, was the Esplanade Hotel publican, a moody and difficult individual who, oddly enough, was equally respected and contributed generously to numerous organisations within the community. Both men were clever and successful in business, but were also cunning as foxes and not the type to be totally trusted. I always considered these two acquaintances but never friends. My one contact with both men was a monthly meeting where community issues were discussed and acted upon.
I noticed Buchanan throw something to the ground, his hands flying in all directions like a lost tourist in some non-English-speaking country. Johnson expressed his dislike with strong verbal retaliation. What on earth was going on here? What would make these two men act in such a way? Whatever the reason, it didn’t look good and it was best ignored, I thought.
I turned the ignition key and hit the accelerator. Ben Johnson had climbed into his car at the same time and, unexpectedly, he reversed straight into my path, forcing me to slam on the brakes. I came to a screeching halt, but I had already collected the rear corner of his bumper bar.
Johnson got out of his car and came over to inspect the damage, grumbling as he made his approach.
‘Oh, it’s you, Tom. Sorry about this, my fault entirely. Your damage appears less anyway, so just send me the bill and I’ll take care of it.’
‘Very well,’ I replied, studying a damaged grill and headlight in addition to some minor bodywork.
‘See what you made me do!’ fumed Johnson, directing his comment toward Buchanan standing on the footpath. With that brief encounter he drove away, still muttering to himself.
‘Stephen, what in the bloody hell is going on between you two?’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen either of you behave like this before.’
‘Tom, I’m sorry it had to come to this. As you heard, Ben will pay for the damage. As for our disagreement, we just had a misunderstanding over something that got out of hand.’
‘It must’ve been a massive misunderstanding from what I’ve just witnessed. As far as the car’s concerned, it’s not so much the money but the bloody inconvenience of getting the damn thing repaired!’ I remonstrated, thinking misfortune seemed to come our way when we do a favour for someone.
~ * ~
The next day I couldn’t help but think that life at the park would never be the same again. On top of everything, I now had this murder investigation to contend with. It would only be a matter of time before the city detectives arrived, reliving the events of yesterday with their countless routine questions and treating us all with a degree of suspicion.
Perhaps there would be a visit from the Pedley Advertiser, with some bloody reporter exaggerating the article to give us publicity, but for all the wrong reasons. I could picture their front-page accusations directed at the park for negligence and discrediting the good reputation of Pedley. After all, bad news does sell.
I was going about my morning chores when I was confronted by Kurt Muller who was returning from the beach with his legs still covered in wet sand. Muller, a park resident, was a powerfully built man in his late thirties who was strong as an ox. He was often referred to as a bludger by his fellow tenants. They said he drank constantly, was unpredictable, irresponsible and generally kept to himself. He had an intimidating presence, an arrogant tongue and was cunning by nature. Contrary to his unsavory character, Kurt Muller was no fool.
‘A good morning for a walk, Kurt,’ I started, to encourage a response.
‘Cut the crap. All this murder business has turned the place into a sideshow. Bloody hell, there are more cops and spectators than residents!’
‘But that’s to be expected. You’d better brace yourself for more police because I’ve heard there are two detectives about to arrive from the city.’
‘Just have them keep their distance!’ added Kurt aggressively and with that he continued on his way.
Around fifty minutes of routine tasks went by, with my mind reliving the past twenty-four hours rather than concentrating on the jobs at hand. This constant torment was playing havoc with my thoughts. Why was Jake Reynolds murdered? Was he the intended victim? What was the motive? Would the city detectives take long to arrest the guilty party? Had Brigi
t’s condition improved? It had become a circle of questions that yielded no answers.
I had decided to return to the office and have lunch with Emily when from around the corner appeared Ruth Evans, the resident busybody, who would undoubtedly start bombarding me with her usual umpteen-dozen questions. I had to grin and bear it. There was no escaping her for she had already cornered me for the onslaught.
‘Oh, Tom, wasn’t it tragic what happened to young Jake Reynolds? And poor Brigit, how is she coping? I’m afraid all this nasty business has got the better of me.’
‘Yes, a sad time for all, Ruth. I’m told Brigit’s condition is serious but stable.’ I knew Ruth was the type of woman to thrive in such circumstances. I could only tolerate her in small doses for her conversation was generally directed at the unpleasant side of life. Now approaching her sixtieth year, she had a sharp eye and went to extraordinary lengths to know everybody’s business.
‘I guess the police will be questioning all the residents,’ she probed.
‘Probably, but I’m sure you’ll be ready for them. I must go now and not hold up Emily for lunch,’ I responded, thankful for this excuse as a means to depart.
~ * ~
In the company of his immediate superior, Senior Sergeant Ross Whittaker, Darren Burke had just hung up after talking to Helen O’Neill when two city detectives walked into his office to be briefed on the Jake Reynolds case. He gave them a carefully detailed summary.
‘So there you have it,’ he said. ‘Not a great deal of information at this stage.’
Detective Sergeant Alan Forbes, a plumpish and pale man of around fifty years with an intimidating presence and steely eyes, was the first to respond. He had been appointed to head this investigation based upon his uncanny ability to catch his man. His reputation for solving difficult cases was unsurpassed.
‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘there are a number of leads to investigate. For instance, who associated with Jake Reynolds and, for that matter, Brigit O’Neill? We need to determine if the young Reynolds lad was the intended victim. And why did he choose this route when danger signs along the cliff should have acted as a deterrent? We also need to unravel the motive, means and opportunity. By investigating the associates of these young people, we may discover the reason behind such an act.’
Forbes continued. ‘Motive, your key ingredient, can derive from a multitude of reasons. With this in mind don’t overlook the problem that Pedley’s concealed for years - its drug trade. Based on known facts, together with the forensics report submitted this morning, I tend to agree with your judgment, sergeant. It has all the hallmarks of drug underworld repercussions as a result of young Jake Reynolds witnessing a gangland murder. What intrigues me is what the lad may’ve overheard. You mentioned underground networks and the distribution of drugs in your summary, but because you couldn’t elaborate in more detail that secret will now be taken to the grave.’
Before Burke could acknowledge these comments, Detective Senior Constable Paul Marsh intervened. Unlike his counterpart, this thirty-something detective was a ball of fitness. Burke guessed that he worked out at the gym, and judging by his pug nose he’d probably gone a round or two in the boxing ring.
‘Initially we’ll interview residents who live in close proximity to the crime scene,’ Marsh said. ‘This will include the three properties adjacent to the cliff and the operators and tenants of Harrison’s Caravan Park. It would seem a visit to Brigit O’Neill may have to wait until her condition improves, but we can at least approach the two respective parents for comment.’
‘I was on the phone to Brigit’s mother when you arrived. She should be at the hospital by now,’ Burke volunteered.
‘No rush, we can visit both parents tomorrow, and besides, Mrs O’Neill will need some time with her daughter before we start questioning her,’ added Forbes.
‘You have our full support on the case. Anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask,’ offered the obliging Whittaker.
Burke could sense an air of contention about Forbes. He had a bombastic nature and a contemptuous style, which didn’t sit well. These city dicks, he thought. They invade our territory and expect us country bumpkins to patronise their every whim. He could foresee a degree of conflict unfolding. First impressions generally sit true. It was only a matter of time.
~ * ~
Predictably, the lunch conversation with Emily centered on yesterday’s drama. It was as if no other topic existed and I could sense it was cutting deep with my wife.
‘Do you think this tragedy will affect business?’ she asked.
‘Hard to say, Em. It may in the short term, at least until the police make their arrest, and I expect the newspapers will have a field day over this, so I guess the bad publicity will hurt for a while.’
‘Have you heard if Brigit’s improved?’
‘Much the same, I’m told. Apparently she’s still serious, but at least in a stable condition. I heard Helen’s returning today from an interstate trip to see her.’
‘Tom, I can’t help but think that all this police presence will scare off our tenants,’ said Emily, still persistent about the business aspect.
‘Well, you better brace yourself for further social calls, my dear, because we’ll be inundated once the city detectives arrive,’ I replied in a slightly sarcastic tone.
I could see Emily was becoming depressed with all this negative talk, so I decided to use a different approach.
‘Em, after a lot of thinking I’ve decided to do a bit of investigating, but I’ll wait until the detectives downscale their visits. My knowledge of Pedley and its residents would be greater than that of the city police, and besides, I feel as if I owe Brigit something.’
‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘I’m aware of the danger, but after all, discretion is the better part of valour, as they say,’ I responded with a hint of aggravation.
‘Stop being stupid, Tom. This is a serious matter! I for one don’t need you involved in all of this.’
I ignored her comment, having already decided to commence my enquiries. The police, in my opinion, would take a month of Sundays to resolve this matter.
~ * ~
The two detectives, Forbes and Marsh, arrived at the front doorstep of Simon Walters, who had been the local pharmacist for some years and was a highly respected citizen within the community. He was a bachelor in his forty-second year and an acquaintance of Tom Harrison and Darren Burke through Rotary. He had a somewhat sombre and serious personality, but possessed a sharp wit when called upon. He was clever by nature and had influence in Pedley. A tall man of medium build, wearing bifocal spectacles, opened the front door.
‘Yes, can I help you?’
After introductions and the customary display of badges, Forbes said, ‘Mr Walters, can we have a few moments of your time? It’s regarding the death of Jake Reynolds yesterday, which we are now treating as a murder investigation. We’re focusing our initial enquiries on residents who live in close proximity to the crime scene, which includes your two neighbours and the tenants of Harrison’s Caravan Park.’
‘Yes, I heard about the tragedy at work yesterday, but how can I assist with your investigation?’ questioned Walters.
‘Were you home yesterday morning around seven twenty-five?’
‘No, I left home at seven because of work commitments. The pharmacy needs to be open by seven-thirty for my staff. There are routine functions to be carried out before the public are allowed entry at nine o’clock.’
‘Can you gain access to the cliff from your property?’
‘Certainly, as can my two neighbours. We all have a small gate along the rear boundary fence. I use mine to take a walk along the coast, but I never walk on the cliff side.’
‘Mr Walters, can you recall your whereabouts on Friday night and into the early hours of Saturday?’ asked Marsh.
‘Yes, I closed the pharmacy just after nine due to late-night trading, tidied up a bit and was home by nine-
thirty. I watched television to around midnight and then went to bed.’
‘Can anyone vouch for that?’
‘Not after nine-thirty.’
Forbes concluded the interview. ‘Thank you for your cooperation. Please phone me on this number if there’s anything else.’
The detective passed his card and they both departed.
After a brief walk next door, they were confronted by a German shepherd, barking so profusely it forced its owner to come running out of the house to control the situation.
‘Sit, Max!’ shouted a large buxom woman wearing jodhpurs and riding boots.