Overkill : Pure Venom

by Lawrie Jordan

  “Relax,” Somerville reassured them. “Nothing here that can kill you. They’re only Carpet Snakes. Got them from one of our brothers who works in a pet shop. I had him remove the fangs on some of them to protect the dogs,” he said picking up and donning a well-used welding glove, “but the boys are more advanced now, so I’m introducing some that are fully fanged. Like this one. If they get bit, they won’t cark it, but it’ll teach them a valuable lesson.”

  He opened the cage closest to him, reached in with a gloved hand and expertly grabbed the snake just behind its head. As the python tried to wrap itself around his arm, he tossed it to the floor.

  Caldwell and Van Heerden each took a step back, expecting either the snake to lunge at them or the rottweilers to knock them over in their haste to attack.

  Nothing happened.

  The snake stayed where it landed, simply curling itself up into a coil, head raised and eyes darting around the room, while Bear and Devil stayed put.

  “I got some Brown Snakes lined up down the track too, but these’ll do to keep the boys on their toes till then. Might even give them some one-on-one bouts soon just to see how they go. Sharpen their reflexes.”

  He waited another fifteen seconds or so, nonchalantly looking around the room and up at the ceiling, before issuing the command. “Snake!” he sooled.

  The dogs instantly sprang into action. Devil went straight for the tail, grabbing it firmly and shaking his head vigorously. And as the snake retaliated, attempting to bury its fangs into his snout, Bear seized it just below its head. Both dogs thrashed their heads from side to side and pulled back hard and, almost as soon as it started, the one-sided fight was over. The snake lay in two writhing pieces on the floor, at the feet of the grinning dogs.

  “Yay!” Somerville exclaimed, as the cab horn sounded outside. “Four-point-three seconds… a new world record!”

  Chapter 20

  Hold all calls.

  While Ronda sat at the war room table chatting with Toby Winslow about the frightening spread of neo-Nazism in Australia, Mike stood at the back of the room studying the whiteboard. His eyes swept the board, re-reading every note, scanning every photo. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but there was something they were all missing, some small piece of the jigsaw puzzle that would help them understand the big picture. What the hell is it? Nothing’s leaping out. Why are these arseholes dying?

  His contemplations were interrupted by Brian Thurlow as he and Eric Weiss entered the room and made their way to the table. Mike strolled over and sat next to Toby as Brian took up pole position and commenced this session’s investigations.

  “Hello again, team,” he said, picking up his remote/laser pointer and dimming the house lights. “There is still so much to go through, so let’s get straight into it. Victim number two… three if you count Fiona Murray, although I personally believe she simply got caught in the crossfire…”

  He pushed a button and the vision of Stomann checking in at the Desert Gardens reappeared on the Powerpoint screen.

  “…was Theo ‘Salad Dodger’ Stomann. Now this being the fatality that got first Mike and then Ronda involved, we’re all familiar with it. But here it is in a nutshell. He checked in at the hotel at 12.10pm…”

  The screen showed CCTV footage of him at the bar.

  “…and proceeded to get quite pissed as he waited for his mates to show up.”

  On screen: a group shot of ‘the lads’ gathered around two orange and white Fly Uluru helicopters. Theo stood at the back, thinning hair tousled by the strong wind and looking anxious.

  “At 2.30pm, the group went on a Heli-Tour of The Rock…”

  The vision cut to Stomann on his knees behind a saltbush, upchucking something severe.

  “From all reports it was a very bumpy trip. One of the pilots took that candid shot.”

  Next came piccies of the group riding camels. Brian zoomed in on the 120kg Stomann riding his beast of burden; neither of them looked particularly happy.

  “At 4.30pm, they went on a short camel ride. Apparently the operators make more money selling overpriced souvenir photos like this than they do the 20-minute rides.”

  Next a photo of an Avis people-mover bearing NT plates. Thurlow was quick to point out that it may or may not have been the actual van.

  “Then just after 6.30pm, our heroes jumped in a mini van and headed out towards The Rock. They had the van back in the Desert Gardens Hotel car park by 10.00pm.”

  Eric, who’d been doodling at the bottom of his notes, looked up and spoke up.

  “What, three-and-a-half hours?” he said, thinking on the run. “It was summer so the sun would have set around seven or thereabouts, right Mike? So what were these boogaloo boys doing driving around in the dark for three hours? Not much to see after sunset, apart from kangaroos and cactus and you’d soon get bored with that. This lot would at least.”

  “Yeah, I questioned them about their movements at the time,” said Mike. “They said they had a few beers while they watched the sun set on The Rock, a few more while they watched the moon rise and did some stargazing. They then drove around aimlessly for a bit before they struck car trouble. A fuel problem Caldwell said with that smirk he gets on his ugly dial. I had no reason to doubt them at the time, but in hindsight, I wonder what they really got up to.”

  “Up to no good no doubt,” said Brian, “and yet another question to add to our ever-growing list. Anyway…”

  Next came more bar shots with some of the lads, Stomann included, mingling with True Australia Conference delegates.

  “…Stomann partied on till midnight and then staggered off to his room.”

  And then shot after shot of the morning after, up in Stomann’s suite. Most of the gory pictures were taken by the Coroner before the body was taken away, the latter ‘aftermath’ shots supplied by Mike himself.

  “And the rest has been pretty well documented”, the Super said as the shots rolled on. “Now, round about here I’d normally ask if there are any questions, but I already know what they are.”

  Proceeding to press the remote, he started counting off on his fingers. Obviously a man who could multi-task.

  “How did a whopping big snake, miles from its home turf, get in and out of Stomann’s room? Why did it attack him so relentlessly, pumping so much venom into him that he was dead in…how long, Ronda?”

  “No more than 15 minutes,” she replied.

  “15 minutes,” Brian repeated for effect before continuing his count.

  “Why did it attack him at all? Where did that silver serving tray come from? Was it brought up to his room by the same person or persons who tampered with Murray’s airbags the very next day? And, of course, the most important question of all…”

  He paused, smiled and looked around the room.

  “…how did Stomann’s poor camel pull up after humping that fat bastard around?”

  All the guys laughed, but not Ronda. “Not funny guys,” she said, “the poor camels shouldn’t be forced to carry such heavy loads. Stomann should have been given a bicycle instead.”

  “Yeah,” Mike added. “Or better yet an exercise bike.”

  ***

  The White Snake team had paused for coffee and croissants provided by The Hilton’s ever-helpful meetings coordinator, and were now ready to wade back into the quagmire.

  Superintendent Thurlow took up his usual position and pressed on.

  “Right, moving right along we have Chris O’Connor…”

  The same sequence of shots as Stomann’s appeared on the screen: O’Connor checking in, drinking at the bar, in the group Chopper photo, riding a camel, getting pally with the True Australia guys, and so forth.

  “Arrived on the 12.45pm airport shuttle bus, took part in all the group activities, kept a comparatively low profile after Theo’s death…”

  The final shot of O’Connor at Uluru was a selfie of him wearing a brand new “I DIDN’T climb Ayers Rock” tee-shirt, snarling a
nd giving the white supremacist sign with one hand and flipping the bird with the other.

  “…and headed back home to Adelaide on Monday the 14th.”

  Three hands shot up, Weiss, Winslow and Ronda.

  “Yes, I know what your question is…that gash on his cheek that looks suspiciously like a fingernail scratch. Mike?”

  “Yeah, I was all over that too obviously. He said that when they were pissed and skylarking in the dark that night he ran into the scrub and scratched his face on the branch of a dead Mulga tree. His mates backed him up, swore that was true. They said he was lucky not to lose an eye. Once again, I had no reason to doubt them at the time. Had I known what I know now, I would’ve got a doctor to have a closer look at that scratch. You know, swabbed it.”

  That question answered, Brian continued. He pressed the buttons on his remote again to reveal external shots of St Mary’s, plus police and coroner photos of a blood-splattered, white-faced O’Conner slumped base over apex in a confessional at a suburban church, his dead eyes wide open and frozen in fear.

  “Two weeks later, he was found dead in a catholic church in North Adelaide. He’d been attacked – savagely attacked – by yet another poisonous snake… Yes, Mike?”

  Mike lowered his raised finger.

  “Just a technicality, Brian but it’s the snake’s venom that’s poisonous, not the actual snake. It’s only a minor thing, but…”

  “No, no you’re quite right, Mike,” Thurlow conceded, “we should get the terminology right. Details can be crucial.”

  Ronda maintained her poker face as she thought: Hmmm, I’ll remember that; having one’s dick pinched is a good way to retain information.

  Thurlow continued.

  “Anyway as you’ve no doubt read in your notes, Father Dominic, who would normally be hearing confessions in the church at this time, was called out to administer last rites. The address he’d been given was fictitious. He waited out a severe summer storm and when he returned, he found O’Connor dead. Cause of death was snakebite. There were no witnesses. What can you tell us about this snake, Ronda?”

  The herpetologist flicked to a page in her files flagged with a yellow Post-it note.

  “Nothing that will make things any clearer, Brian,” she said. “It was a 2.4 metre long Red Belly Black male. That’s crazy long for this species considering that the largest Red Belly ever recorded is only 14 centimetres longer.

  “Of all the group’s snakebite deaths to date…”

  All of the police officers mentally noted the words ‘to date’ and had to agree there would probably be one or two more, unless they could somehow put a stop to it.

  “…this one is the most puzzling. RBBs are the most inoffensive venomous snakes in the country. They’re generally real shy and would rather take flight than fight. If cornered, a Red Belly will spread its neck and hiss loudly… maybe even do a few mock strikes with its mouth closed. Believe you me, it sure looks intimidating. I thought I was a goner the first time I encountered one. But I backed off and so did she.

  “Red Bellies, or ‘Ned Kelly’s’ as we affectionately call them, usually only deliver a serious bite under extreme provocation or molestation – say if you were unlucky enough to step on one, or stupid enough to grab one – and yet O’Connor’s nemesis tagged him three times and injected an amazing 948 milligram of venom into him. That’s not a defensive behaviour pattern, gentlemen, that’s 100% aggro. It would have virtually emptied out its full reserves…and no snake ever voids its venom glands voluntarily. They’d save some for…”

  Ronda was interrupted by a mobile phone ringing loudly somewhere close. Everyone around the table motioned to grab theirs, but it was Thurlow himself who produced the ringing culprit.

  “Sorry guys,” he said, “I’ve silenced all calls apart from Operations, and told them only to call in an emergency, so it sounds like I better take this.”

  “Thurlow speaking…yes, Ray…really?...how long ago?...and you’ve recorded it?...can you patch it through?...a minute…yes, I’ll wait.”

  Then to his colleagues, in particular Mike and Ronda. “Three days ago, Eric and Toby’s team from Counter Terrorism successfully downloaded Remote Spyware Applications to the mobile phones of Caldwell, Somerville and Van Heerden.”

  He stopped and listened intently to his phone, but obviously the person on the other end hadn’t got back to him yet.

  “So far, monitoring of the RSA has proven interesting, but not earth-shattering. Usual white supremacist bullshit, although Caldwell did refer on two separate occasions to someone he called “The Benefactor” which we’re looking into. However, this call that’s come through… five minutes ago one of those gentlemen placed a call to Triple 0 and…”

  He raised his left hand, indicating that Operations were back on the line.

  “Yes, Ray…yep, patch it straight through,” he said hitting the speaker button on his iPhone. It was paired to the speakers in the room, so everyone could hear. At once the slightly echoey recorded voice of the 000 operator came through.

  “You’ve called Triple Zero. Is it a Police, Ambulance or Fire emergency?”

  Silence.

  “Triple Zero. Police, Ambulance or Fire?

  More silence, followed by a loud sob, sniffling and uncontrollable crying. Finally, a man’s voice, high-pitched, full of desperation and despair.

  “They’re dead…murdered…both of ’em…”

  Chapter 21

  No fixed address.

  “They’re dead…murdered…both of ’em…”

  The emergency operator had been on the job for fifteen months, and this was by far the most dramatic call she’d taken. Usually it was someone reporting one of the Big 5: a car accident, a house fire, a break-in, a suspected heart attack, or a stroke. Or if it were kids, a prank call. But murder? That was a first. In her excitement she almost forgot Rule # 1: Get the contact details.

  “Can I have your name and address, please sir?”

  The caller’s bawling was now mixed with rage, and it sounded like he’d been drinking heavily. Distraught, angry and pissed…the triple whammy.

  “That black sonofabitch! He said…(snivelling)…he said he was gunna kill us all…(an anguished cry)…an’ now…now he’s gone an’ fucken killed ’em both!”

  “Killed who, sir!? And can I please have your name and ad…”

  “Aghhh! I tol’ ya. He kilt them. Them! My bes’ friends…bes’ mates ever… fucken loved ’em I did…”

  As the operator tried desperately to get his deets – at least a name – the man’s sobbing slowly subsided and he became more subdued. When he eventually came back on the line, he was so quiet you could hardly make out what he was muttering, it could even have been to himself.

  “Duzzen matter, nuffen fucken matters, not now anyway…”

  “It does matter, sir. It matters a lot. We can help you. All we need is your name and address. Please tell us where you are and we’ll get you all the help you need...”

  Silence. The caller had hung up.

  Superintendent Thurlow kept the phone on speaker and brought it back to his ear. Strumming his fingers on the table, he waited for what seemed like a long time for Operations to reconnect. “Hello? Hello? C’mon, Ray…You there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that call was from…?”

  “George Somerville, sir. Out in the north west.”

  “And have you...?”

  “Contacted the Londonderry Police Station? Yes sir, a NSW police squad car is already on its way, top priority, code red. A Highway Patrol car out of Penrith is backing up too. Our guys have been despatched as well. We’ll give you a call the minute Somerville’s in custody.”

  “Good work, Ray. Thank you,” Brian said, ending the call and placing the phone in the top pocket of his suit.

  He looked around at his four excited colleagues, everyone literally on the edge of their seats. “Well, that call sure woke us up, didn’t it?”

&nbs
p; “Ken oath it did!” said Weiss. “Somerville didn’t say much, but what he said spoke volumes. His best mates have been murdered? He must mean Caldwell and Van Heerden. I did the profile on him myself. Like most of these Home Base losers, he doesn’t have any friends outside of the group. And thanks to our tracking devices, we know that Caldwell and Van Heerden are the only ones to have visited him at home recently. Must be them. Who else?”

  Thurlow let that sink in. “It sure sounds like it, Eric, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions…especially in this case. We’ll find out soon enough, but the thing that really leapt out was…”