****
Detective Inspector Simon Webster closed the door to Chief Inspector Damien Rose’s office behind him, placed his hands in his pockets and slowly, head down, meandered back along the corridor to his own office. He nudged the door to his office open with his foot, crossed the room to his desk and flopped down in an old battered swivel chair. He rested his chin on the palm of his left hand while the other drummed a rhythm on the desk.
The office had the ubiquitous linoleum floor, and one central fluorescent light with a length of cord to operate the light hanging from the ceiling. Office furniture consisted of two desks, both having two drawers on both side, and a standard reading lamp. There were three, four drawer filing cabinets, a hat stand located next to the door and, in one corner of the office, an easel and blackboard. The only window in the office overlooked an adjacent building’s brick façade and was fitted with a pull down blind that never seemed to function in the manner in which it was designed. All in all, the office could have been picked straight out of any Rank production B grade movie of the 1950s.
‘Not one of the better ways to start the day.’ It was more of a statement than a question that came from Detective Sergeant Noel Elliott, a young man aged in his late twenties, a pleasant face with the exception of a flattened nose that had been broken on numerous occasions, the legacy of his younger rugby days. Sergeant Elliott and Inspector Webster were at different ends of the spectrum when it came to physical appearances. Inspector Webster, a couple of years older than Noel, was tall, narrow at the waist and broad across the shoulders, and although he enjoyed the occasional beer, still managed to control his weight with no signs of excess fat. Like a good many people from the Manly Warringah area, he was well tanned with a receding blond hairline, probably bleached as a result of time spent in the surf. He was still an active member of the Collaroy Surf Club and a proud member of their renowned march-past team.
Simon had been born in Singleton where his father ran a barber shop in the centre of town. It had taken Simon some time to work out that his father was, apart from being the town’s barber, also the town’s SP bookie which explained the multitude of phone calls received both at the barber shop and at his home. Simon had moved to Sydney, at the age of thirteen after completing primary school, where he lived with an aunt at Manly. His first job after completing high school at Manly Boys’ High was with the Commercial Banking Company of Sydney. However after a couple of years he had tired of banking and, following several unsuccessful attempts at other clerical positions, had finally came to the conclusion that a career in the Police Force may be the answer to what he was looking for.
Noel, on the other hand, was short and stocky, his height bordering on the minimum for entry into the Force. He had dark brown eyes and black hair, along with the physical appearance of what could be described parochially as a small brick outhouse. Noel was a Sydney boy, born and bred. His parents lived at Balgowlah which was convenient for Noel when he became a student of Balgowlah Boys’ High School. Having passed his Leaving Certificate, Noel became a deck-hand on a Manly ferry while trying to decide on the career to pursue. Although he thoroughly enjoyed working on the ferries, Noel was aware he needed a job offering a career and it wasn’t long before he decided that career might just be in the police force.
Noel had met Susan at a rugby union match while he was playing for Manly’s second grade team against Eastwood at Manly Oval. Despite Susan being an Eastwood supporter, and having a pronounced height advantage over Noel, the two confirmed the love at first sight adage and had embarked on a lifelong partnership.
It was hard not to like Sergeant Elliott and the relationship between the two detectives had developed from the purely professional to be now well entrenched in their social lives. The Websters and the Elliotts got on very well and a close friendship had developed, notwithstanding the tacit acknowledgement of the disparity in ranks between the two detectives. Quite apart from Simon’s and Noel’s friendship, Georgie and Sue had developed a warm relationship and now spent much of their spare time at the beach or browsing through the modern shopping plazas that were now becoming the trend.
****
‘Okay, what’s he done this time?’ Noel asked Simon.
‘God help us, Noel,’ said a dejected Inspector Webster. ‘My application for transfer has been knocked back. Rose says it was Fisher’s decision, but I bet it’s just a case of sheer bastardry on Rose’s part. You can bet Fisher had a look at it after Rose had already rejected it. Crikey, Noel, it’s not as though I haven’t been here long enough and I’ve got this nagging feeling Rosey would love to be rid of me.’
‘I know you two don’t get on. Does this go back to the days at The Rocks?’ enquired Sergeant Elliott.
‘Yes,’ replied Webster. ‘We were in a situation together when he was a sergeant and I was fresh out of the Depot. It’s all so stupid, but Rose has always worked on the assumption violence will win you any argument and get you all the convictions you want. I didn’t see it that way and I let him know which was not a career enhancing move. And Rosey didn’t appear half as tough as his reputation made out. If the truth be known, he made a bit of a gig of himself. I’ve never told anyone about it, so keep it under your hat. Trouble is, Rosey knows I have this knowledge and he’s scared I’ll use it someday.’
‘And will you?’
‘Who knows? Let’s just say I have no plans to, at the moment. I can understand why he has a set against me as he has this fear I will reveal all. The thing I can’t understand is his animosity towards you. I can’t remember you having done anything to upset him, or have you?’
Sergeant Elliott shook his head. ‘No, not a thing. Maybe his malice is fuelled by his belief you’ve already told me about The Rocks incident. Mind you, it seems Rosey and I have come to a mutual understanding; we both hate each other’s guts.’
‘Well, I somehow think you’re not Robinson Crusoe on that score. Oh yes. I knew there was something else I meant to tell you,’ said Inspector Webster taking a deep breath. ‘They’ve gone and binned our report on illegal gambling. When I say “they”, I mean Rosey and Fisher. Lack of evidence, apparently. Stuffed if I know how much more evidence they need, but the whole thing’s been a complete bloody waste of time. With six months of investigating down the gurgler, you could say I’m one pissed off detective. Look, I’m sorry, Noel, I’m just fed up at the moment.’
‘Hey, you’ve no reason to be sorry. The last thing you need do is to let Rosey know he’s getting to you,’ replied Noel as he folded a piece of paper into an aeroplane.
‘Noel, you know me better than anyone else at Day Street. Am I stupid, or am I missing something? I’m not a bad judge of character and I can’t help thinking all is not as it should be with our illustrious Chief Inspector. The way I see it, Rosey has a two way problem; he’s a very unpleasant person and he fails to set the example professionally. You’d think he would get one right, either obnoxious and a good cop, or a good bloke and a poor cop.’
‘Well, don’t think for one minute you’re the first person to have come to that conclusion,’ replied Noel, as he watched his delta wing aircraft fail dismally. ‘He’s not well liked here in Day Street as he never appears to do any investigating. Whenever there is a successful investigation, Rosey jumps in and takes all the credit without acknowledging the work of his subordinates who have done all the work. I’ve seen him start a few investigations but he always seems to get himself into such a hell of a mess he passes it on to someone else. The queer thing is, Fisher seems to regard Rosey as the greatest thing since sliced bread.’
‘Strange isn’t it?’ mused Simon ‘I somehow think we joined the Force at a time of change between two philosophies of policing; the old way where the police would haul away the drunks, put ’em in jail or let ’em out on a two bob bond. Even the public used to hold some police officers in reverence based solely on their reputation, like that bloke who played league for Newtown. It seems few people have any respect fo
r authority these days. And now we have all these do gooders running around saying people like Jack the Ripper just need a little love and understanding. Apart from that, the Force is getting more technical and sophisticated to the extent where brain power is replacing brawn power, at least it will when all the old coppers die out. Hell, sometimes I think I made a bad choice by joining the Force.’
Noel sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Look, boss, I came through the Depot after you and there are things there they can’t teach you, only stuff you can learn on the streets. One thing you’ve taught me is that there are illegal activities going on that you should ignore as they really mean bugger all in the overall scheme of things. Unfortunately that philosophy is in total contrast to Rosey’s way of thinking. Let’s face it; we’re not being employed as detectives and chasing the bad guys anymore as our duties seem to have been downgraded to traffic warden status.’
‘Yes, we’re fighting a losing battle, thanks to Rosey and Fisher. Want to change sides?’
‘What, you mean join the bad guys?’ said Noel, as he screwed up a piece of paper for another shot into the garbage bin. ‘If this keeps up, who can tell? I know you’re joking this time, but if you should ask me again I think I would have to give the matter some serious thought. Come to think of it, it would be a chance to see what life is like on the other side; you know, jump ship and join the bad guys. It would be a change and we wouldn’t have to put up with Rosey. By the way, talking of Rosey, boss, just where does he disappear to on a Wednesday afternoon? He never lets anyone know where he's going, he just goes.’
‘Yeah, and we have to apply in triplicate to get time off for a coffee. There’s a lot of speculation around Day Street as to what he gets up to; golf, a girl friend, a Swedish massage. Who knows? Who gives a stuff anyway?’ grumbled a dejected Webster.
‘Look, how about I bring Sue over next Saturday for a couple of beers?’ Noel suggested. ‘Georgie and Sue are going shopping on the Saturday morning at the Warringah Mall so they will probably want to relax with a glass or two of wine.’
‘Great idea. All we have to do is survive until then,’ replied Simon.’
The conversation between the two detectives was rudely interrupted by Sergeant Elliott’s phone which he answered with ponderous alacrity. A few moments later, Sergeant Elliott replaced the receiver and turned to Inspector Webster. ‘Boss, is this for real? Rosey wants us to go to an antiVietnam demonstration. I thought that was Special Branch’s domain?’
‘It is, but with LBJ coming to town Special Branch is beside themselves running around in ever diminishing circles. You’ve only to look at what we’ve been doing lately; a punch-up at the Ironworkers Building is hardly a case for the CIB, and yet we’re told to get along there and sort it out. The timing of our workload being downgraded and our report being trashed is just too much of a coincidence. I wouldn’t mind betting there’s something more to this than meets the eye.’ Inspector Webster pushed his chair back from the table, folded his arms and gazed at the ceiling, deep in thought. After a few moments, he turned to Noel and said, ‘Just suppose there’s a higher level investigation going on and our poking around might compromise that investigation. Or, heaven forbid, there may even be some corruption in the Force.’
Inspector Webster acknowledged that there probably were instances of impropriety, indiscretion and possible corruption perpetrated by members of the Force, there was always enough talk of such activity, and you could expect some degree of corruption in any organization as large as the Police Force. But there seemed little in the way of action to either confirm or deny such activity existed. All in all, as far as corruption and illegal goings on were concerned, Detective Inspector Webster hadn’t come across it, - yet.
‘Yes, that might be true. But do you think the hierarchy would let Rosey near an important investigation? God forbid, everyone knows Rosey isn’t the full quid, and that includes Fisher, notwithstanding his blatant support for Rosey, which is odd to say the least,’ replied Sergeant Elliott. ‘There’s something funny going on there, but whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Strange, isn’t it? It’s not often you come across two people you are expected to work closely with and yet find both of them so difficult to get along with. Rosey isn’t the brightest cop on the planet, and as for Fisher, there’s something about him that makes my skin crawl.’
Inspector Webster shrugged, clasped his hands behind his head and stretched back in his chair. ‘You know I should reprimand you for speaking out this way about your senior officers, but I won’t because I totally agree with you on both counts. I feel really sorry for Fisher’s wife, I think her name’s Agnes. Fisher is nothing more than a sleaze, okay, a superintendent sleaze, but a sleaze all the same. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women and chases after anyone in a skirt. Apart from that, he gives me the impression he’s nothing more than a “yes” man who endorses anything Rose puts up to him, sort of like Rosey drives Fisher instead of the other way around.’
‘Ah, what the hell. Only the good die young. By the way, you haven’t forgotten I won’t be able to give you a lift home tonight? I’m meeting Sue for a coffee then off to a five o'clock session of Robin and the Seven Hoods at the Liberty- you know- Cranky Frankie and the Rat Pack stuff,’ Sergeant Elliott said apologetically.
‘Hell, that’s just who I’d like to see running rampant in the city right now, Robin bloody Hood with Rose on his trail. And no, I haven’t forgotten. I’ve got to pick up some dry cleaning at Wynyard and the bus trip will give me time to think about things.’ Actually Inspector Webster had a few thoughts running through his mind, not the least the acrimony that existed between Chief Inspector Rose and himself. Simon believed he had stood by his word given to Chief Inspector Rose that he would not divulge the details of The Rocks incident, convinced the meager details given to Sergeant Elliott did not constitute a breach of his word. God, what a mess, thought Simon.
CHAPTER 4
After collecting his dry cleaning at Wynyard Station, Inspector Simon Webster made his way up the long escalator to York Street, crossed the road and joined the queue for the 184 bus to Collaroy. Fortunately he was near the front of the queue which meant he would get a seat by a window, thus avoiding the embarrassment of remaining seated by the aisle while some poor lady would no doubt have to stand. Simon, being a gentleman, would normally give up his seat to such ladies, but trying to juggle a brief case and the dry cleaning made standing impractical.
Having eventually seated and settled himself for the journey, Simon remembered the simple task Georgie had asked him to consider before leaving for work that morning. Georgie had proved successful in her literary pursuits and had had her first book published, the first step on the road to fame and fortune, soon to be spoken of in the same breath as Agatha Christie. Naturally, Georgie’s novels were murder mysteries, Simon being her prime source of information on matters such as methods of doing away with victims, crime scene stuff and pathology. Georgie had been employed as a secretary to a solicitor in Phillip Street before deciding, at the ripe old age of thirty one, she was a year or so older than Simon, to get a real job. After much thought and discussion with Simon, she had come to the decision to become a highly successful crime novelist, an occupation she could quite happily carry out from their comfortable Collaroy bungalow.
The 184 bus from York Street made its first set-down at Warringah Road and it wasn’t long before Inspector Webster alighted outside the Eleven Fifteen Coffee Shop opposite the Collaroy Surf Club. As it was six thirty and the middle of August, the lights of Pittwater Road shone brightly as he made his way past the Odeon Theatre to West Bank Lane. The small brick bungalow at number 24 had the verandah light shining and, as he approached the front door, he could hear the tap of the typewriter beating out the epic novel that would rock the literary world. ‘Honey, I’m home,’ called Simon.
‘Thank heavens, I was running out of ideas,’ said Georgie as she appeared from the spare bedroom that she had converte
d to a study. ‘I’ve had a bugger of a day and I still haven’t thought of a way to rid myself of this turbulent victim. Glass of wine?’
‘No, I’ll have a few, thank you, - and fill ’em up, none of this half glass stuff thanks.’ Simon flopped into his favourite lounge chair and picked up the TV guide, slipping off each shoe with the other foot as he settled back comfortably into the chair. ‘And what was your problem today, apart from not being able to come up with a simple murder? I did give your question some thought, but I honestly can’t come up with a murder that looks so much like an accident that the forensic boffins wouldn’t be able to tell.’ The TV guide was discarded unread onto the coffee table.
‘That’s okay,’ said Georgie as she handed Simon his glass and planted a kiss on the top of his head. Georgie was tall, slim with dark short hair and an engaging smile. Simon often reminisced of the days sitting opposite Georgie on the Manly ferry and gazing forlornly, if not extremely rudely, into the dark brown eyes that had absolutely captivated him, and how stupid he had been for not taking the plunge and speaking to her sooner.
‘Dear old Dorothy had an incident this morning’, Georgie said as she settled herself on the sofa. ‘She screamed so loudly I even felt obliged to go and see what was wrong. Apparently she thought, only thought mind you, that she saw a spider. Instead of thanking me for making sure everything was okay, she abused the hell out of me saying it was my fault the spider had been in her house in the first place. Anyway, now you’ve heard my bit of excitement, how was your day?’
‘Another day like that and I’m on the Valium. Obviously I’m missing the point somewhere but the whole thing seems screwed up. Everyone, well, nearly everyone at the station thinks the Chief Inspector doesn’t come up to scratch as a Chief Inspector. At the same time, the Superintendent, Fisher that is, thinks Rose is the greatest detective since Cadfael joined the monastery. There’s something funny going on and I don’t know what it is.’ Simon shrugged and gulped down the last of his wine before getting up and making for the kitchen. He soon returned, a bottle of moselle in his hand, pausing to top up the two glasses before resuming his seat with a deep breath and a sigh. ‘Personally, I find Rosey as repulsive as a ferret, but that’s casting aspersions on a ferret, I suppose, and maybe ferrets aren’t repulsive; I’ve never met one.’
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