It was going to be a long meeting. A long day.
He looked around the state-of-the-art room. Usually occupied by high-flying Sydney execs, it was now the Feds’ White Snake war room. Theirs until further notice. The whiteboard took up virtually the entire back wall and the core team sat in comfortable white leather chairs around a modern, semi-circular boardroom table.
Acting Superintendent Thurlow stood at the front of the room facing them. He was holding a remote with a built-in laser pointer. He pressed a couple of buttons on the remote and the cream curtains behind him opened silently to reveal a large screen, as the lights in the room dimmed. He obviously knew his way around a PowerPoint presentation.
“Ok boys and girls,” he said, “there’s a lot to cover, so rather than jump around willy nilly, we’re going to go through the case chronologically…”
He pressed a button on the remote and up came a shot of the Desert Gardens Hotel with the date superimposed at the bottom.
“…starting with Uluru, Thursday January 10th. This is CCTV footage from the Desert Gardens’ reception showing all ten of our heroes checking in.”
A 10-way split screen revealed the men arriving at various intervals and signing in. Thurlow used his laser to point out and ID each of them in turn.
“Big Theo Stomann was the first to arrive, and over the next two hours he was joined by George Somerville… Brent Dickinson… Matthew Muir… Marco Bellotti… Robert Murray… David Johansen… Eddy Van Heerden… Michael O’Connor… and finally the fearless leader of this motley crew, Colin ‘I didn’t do nuffin’ Caldwell.”
He pressed another button and the split screen was replaced by Channel 9 news footage of a gang of white supremacists clashing with predominantly aboriginal marchers at an Invasion Day protest in Melbourne’s Federation Square. All the neo Nazis wore flamboyant Aloha shirts, plus baseball caps, and Aussie flags as scarfs around their mouths to hide their identities. However, in one scene in which there was a scuffle over an aboriginal placard, a man mountain had his scarf pulled off. The news cameraman zoomed in for a close-up and Thurlow paused the action. It was clearly Eddy Van Heerden.
“All were card-carrying members of a neo Nazi group called The Lads Society,” the Super continued. “This is now part of a much larger conglomerate called Home Base and believe you me, now that they are very well organised, there is big trouble brewing, but that doesn’t concern our White Snake investigation.”
He pressed the remote and the screen showed a group photo of around 30 people, predominantly men, standing under a sign that said:
TRUE AUSTRALIA
ANNUAL NATIONAL CONFERENCE,
ULURU, CENTRAL AUSTRALIA.
“What does concern us is what they were doing there…” he continued.
There followed grainy shot after grainy shot of ‘the lads’ mingling with True Australia conference delegates, with Caldwell prominent in nearly every photo.
“It now appears that they were lobbying True Australia to support their various causes. Time will tell how successful they were… and how successful WE are in establishing a possible link – if any – between this political lobbying and the deaths that followed. So, at the risk of covering old territory, let’s look at each death in depth. In case it sparks something we’ve overlooked.”
A press of a button and photos of Robert Murray appeared on the screen.
“Robert Murray arrived at Uluru on Thursday the 10th at 1.30pm and checked out at 8am on Saturday the 12th, although he wasn’t scheduled to leave until the Monday. As far as we can gather, he did not engage any True Australia members even though with his family’s wealth and connections – he was a bodyguard to a retired True Australia senator – he would have been an obvious lobbyist.”
Next were shots of Robert and Fiona together. They included an older wedding photo with him in army uniform and more recent piccies, probably lifted from Face Book. The last two showed them on the balcony of their riverside unit and standing next to their sparkling new Beamer and Land Cruiser.
“It would be good to find out why he left The Rock early to return home to Brisbane and wife Fiona, but of course no one can – or will – tell us.”
Next came more news footage; this time it showed the totalled Land Cruiser, full of rust, mud, sludge and scrub being winched back up and onto the road. An attractive young female reporter was in the foreground, providing details of this unusual case, but the sound was muted. In the background, council workers were seen constructing a guardrail. Better late than never.
“The couple died on Sunday the 13th when their Cruiser plummeted into a ravine in the Gold Coast hinterland whilst on route to Robert’s father’s house. Two important points to note…”
The screen cut to forensic photos of the wrecked car’s air bag’s firing squibs alongside a shot of how an untouched squib is supposed to look. The Super used his laser to point out specific areas of interest.
“One: as you can see, the vehicle’s airbags were deliberately tampered with… which rules out snake activity.”
Next came a stock shot of a carpet snake, emblazoned with a Getty Images watermark.
“And two: snake blood and scales were discovered on Murray’s shirt, which rules it straight back in again. Let’s discuss those two points for a minute.”
Eric Weiss raised a finger on one freckled hand, removed his reading glasses and ran the other hand through his collar-length light ginger hair.
“Yes, Eric?”
“The whole thing with the bodgied air bags, Brian. It doesn’t make sense.”
Thurlow took the screen back to the airbag images, as Weiss went on.
“That would only work if you knew they were going to crash at speed. Yet, as far as I can gather, the brakes and the steering – two things that might actually cause the accident – weren’t touched. So why muck around with the airbags? Did the person who tampered with them know that his victims would be driving off a bloody cliff?”
His partner Toby Winslow – tall, athletic and ruggedly handsome – also chimed in.
“True that. Plus I know that if you try to muck around with the airbags, a big-arse flashing red airbag icon comes on straight away. If that happened, you’d pull over immediately. Well, I would anyway. It’d be damn near impossible to ignore. You’d think it was going to go off at any second and whack you in the face.”
All around the table heads were nodding in agreement. Detective Michael Marr spoke up.
“Welcome to my world, folk. One mystery after another, followed closely by an impossibility. It’s been like that from Day 1. Snakes getting in and out of hotel rooms, serving trays appearing out of the blue, snakes in churches…you name it.”
Superintendent Thurlow was there to keep the team focused. “That is so true, Mike. I’ve never worked a case like it. But before we move on, let’s finish with the Murrays. Is there anything we should know about the snake, Ronda?”
Ronda opened a file on the desk in front of her and turned straight to the relevant pages.
“Yes, a fair bit actually, Brian,” she replied, fussing with a Stirling silver snake bracelet on her left wrist.
“I’ve got Veejay’s notes here, plus before he rushed off to the States he sent me some sample scales and blood found at the scene. So I did some follow up tests. Veejay said it was a very large Python, but what he neglected to say was that it was a male.”
“That’s significant how?” Thurlow asked.
“Well unlike most other animals, where the males are usually the larger of the species, with the majority of snakes the reverse is true. In fact, female carpet snakes can be up to four times bigger than their male counterparts. So the snake that killed Robert Murray, being 4-plus metres long, would have to be one of, if not the biggest male carpet snakes ever recorded in Australia.”
She looked around the room and could see that everyone was suitably impressed, so she continued.
“In fact, all the snakes involved in all of our group�
�s deaths have all been mind-boggling big and all have been male. Even the acanthophis antarcticus a.k.a. Death Adder that got Dickinson was much larger than average. Maybe that’s a coincidence, it may even be inconsequential, but like everything else it sure seems strange.”
Thurlow had been staring at the snake on screen. He turned around suddenly and looked at Ronda.
“Hang on, back it up a moment,” he said. “You said the snake that killed Murray? The Coroner has established that his death was caused by the trauma of the accident. The injuries were horrific.”
“Exactly. So Murray and his wife Fiona would have died instantly, or within minutes of the crash?”
“Without doubt.”
“So the snake didn’t arrive to strangle him after the crash. You can imagine the massive bang the car made touching down. Not to mention the vibrations. Like every critter within 200 metres or more, it would’ve got the hell out of there and not come back for at least half an hour. Maybe more.”
Once again, all heads around the table were nodding.
“Which means that the snake was already in the Land Cruiser when it sailed off the edge,” Weiss noted.
“Not just in the car,” she replied, “but wrapped around his frigging red neck choking the shit out of him.”
There was a brief pause as everyone pictured in their mind that happening.
“Then why didn’t we find a snake carcass in the wreck?” Winslow asked.
“I don’t know,” Ronda replied, closing up her file and leaning back in her chair. “Maybe it survived.”
But how is that possible? everyone thought, but no one asked.
Mike had the last say before they broke for morning tea.
“One mystery after another, followed closely by an impossibility…”
Chapter 19
In training.
With an almighty ZAP! the aliens fused a tearful young mother and her five-year old son together to form a monstrous abomination. This grotesque two-headed mutation continued to transform, with both victims screaming in agony.
The macabre metamorphosis complete, it moved on seeking out other humans. If their prey were extremely lucky, they would die quickly. If not, they’d be in for a fate far worse than death. The silence as they crept stealthily towards an unfortunate, unsuspecting teenage girl was palpable. Closer and closer they shuffled, razor sharp teeth ravenous for flesh, with the girl none the wiser…
Right then the two huge hounds leapt to their feet in unison. Both started growling and snarling savagely, barking their heads off as, seconds later, the outside security lights came on, flooding the front and back yards.
George Somerville almost jumped out of his skin, but he was quick to react.
He sat up and slammed off the “Colour From Outer Space” horror movie he’d been watching on his DVD. He grabbed his shotgun, checked that both barrels were loaded (for the twelfth time today) and eased off the safety. I’m ready for you, prick.
George moved to the closed wooden venetian blinds over near the front door of his bungalow. He prised two slats apart and peered out. He could see nothing but shadows, but thought he heard something over the dogs’ incessant barking.
“Quiet!” he yelled, and the two Rotties fell instantly silent, albeit with a whimpered protest from Bear. They were still very agitated though, with bared teeth and the hair at the back of their necks bristling under their severely spiked collars.
Whoever, whatever was outside had also heeded his command; it was as quiet as it always was at 10pm on a school night in the sleepy outer suburb of Londonderry, 60km northwest of Sydney.
Suddenly Bear growled deeply, turned and made a beeline towards the back door, while Devil stood guard at the front.
So, two of ’em, eh? Well, they can have one barrel each.
George inched back until he felt the hallway wall behind him. From here he could swivel 180 degrees and see both doors, and no one – or no thing – could sneak up behind him. Still, sweat from his forehead rolled down his cheeks as he shouted his first and final warning.
“Ok, assholes. You can fuck off now, or fuck off never. You’ve got 30 seconds to crawl off back where you came from before me, Mr Winchester and my boys unleash hell!”
Silence, but he and the dogs knew that whatever it was, was still out there, waiting and watching.
10 seconds passed. Nothing.
20 seconds. Still nothing as he noiselessly crouch-ran back to the front door, shotgun unlocked and loaded in his right hand.
29 seconds and he had his left hand on the deadbolt, ready to wrench the door open and release the Rotties when he heard:
“Who are you calling an asshole, asshole? Can’t some blokes visit a mate without being threatened? Call off your hounds.”
He exhaled deeply, laughed nervously, reset the shotgun’s safety and opened the door. “Fucking hell, Col. You scared the crap out of me…you too, Ed. Come on in.” And then to the dogs: “At ease!”
His two visitors gave him a fist-bump handshake as they walked inside and perched themselves on two of the four stools beside Somerville’s homemade timber bar.
They were flanked by Bear and Devil, who watched them intently but passively.
Van Heerden leaned over and went to pat Devil. “Hey, boy…”
“No!” warned Somerville. “He’s a one-man dog, Ed. Touch him and your wanking days are over…at least with that hand. Bear’s even worse. Lay a hand on him and you won’t have a dick left to pull. Apart from that, they’re perfectly harmless. Good doggies.”
Van Heerden backed off, but kept a wary eye on both canines as Somerville poured them all a drink; a very large Scotch, no ice, for Ed, Bundy & Coke for Caldwell and a Tooheys New for himself.
“So,” the host asked after setting down the drinks and drying his hands on his unfashionable salt and pepper ponytail, “what brings you two out here? Is there a problem? Blacks getting restless?”
Caldwell took a big gulp of his rum and nodded appreciably before speaking.
“Nah, nothing to worry about, mate. We’re both in town for the big “White Lives Matter More” march up Darlinghurst Road tomorrow and thought that while we were up here…”
“What?” Somerville cut in, annoyance written all over his angular, suntanned face. “You’d check up on me? Make sure I wasn’t going to crack… is that what you think?”
The redhead held up his hands defensively and shook his head.
“Nah mate. Not at all. Nothing like that. It’s just that since we met last down in Tassie, Johansen’s gone and so are Muir and Bellotti…”
“Those poofters!?” Somerville spat. “Good riddance to ’em I say. Fucken queers are only one step up the rung from coons. But hey, if you’re worried about me, don’t. You’ve seen what my defences are like. If you hadn’t ID’ed yourselves when you did before, old ‘Winnie’ over there would have air-conditioned your head, and one or both of my boys would have torn you a new arsehole.”
Van Heerden downed his Scotch and set his glass down on the bar, ready for a refill.
“Yeah, pretty damn impressive, bru. Might invest in a couple of them rotties myself. Been a few abo-lovers snooping around my place in Dandenong ever since I got my mug on the telly. Let’s see them snoop with a dog hanging off each arse cheek.”
***
It was now almost midnight. Drinks had been drunk. Pizza eaten. Yarns told.
Arrangements made for tomorrow’s big march through Kings Cross. And now the Legion Cab had been called to ferry the visitors back to their hotel. Fifteen minutes away the operator said.
“While you’re waiting,” Somerville said, “you wanna see the dogs in training?”
Both men looked at each other and nodded apprehensively. Why not.
“Cool. Follow me.” Then addressing the hounds: “Fall in.”
With an excited dog at each heel, he walked down the hallway, opened a door on his right, flicked a light switch and stepped inside.
Caldwell
and Van Heerden followed suit. They expected to see a bedroom, games room or maybe a study, but the large white room had no furniture or carpet. Just a curtained window at the back, numerous black and white framed photos of Adolf and Ku Klux Klansmen, and a bank of wire cages along the left-hand wall. WTF… bird cages? No, at second glance the 10 cages contained snakes. Big snakes, all around the two to three-metre mark.
Van Heerden and Caldwell both flinched as the snakes got animated by the light and agitated by the dogs and started moving up, down and around their cages. As they moved, the smell of snake shit and piss got even stronger as the sawdust at the bottom of each cage was stirred up.
Overkill : Pure Venom Page 12