Once his head had cleared a little, Kingston picked up the phone. “Mr. Glasgow?”
“Ah, Mr. Tarrytown. I was just thinking about you.”
“I hope that’s a good thing. Look, I have an idea. It’s certainly not a novel idea, but with Uncle Ginger gone, I have no need to stay. I have a business. I can sell the business for a tidy profit or I can milk the parent company for a lump of cash.”
“We need to discuss this further. Take no such action and allow me to tell you why. The company you so aptly described as “parent” has one reason for being and that is to make money. If it allows an affiliate agency to rob it, then they pave the way for anarchy. If you milk them for a lump of cash they will be willing to spend 10 times that lump of cash to find and prosecute you. There will be no shallow, unmarked grave. It will be a full-blown media circus whereby your picture is broadcast all over the world. It will be ‘look at this fool who thought he could pull one off on the Helping Hands.’ Even if they never catch you, your face will be published and you will be worthless to me and a pariah for anyone in my line of work.” Gordon had rattled the speech off as if it were a long practiced soliloquy on Broadway. He needed a deep breath when he was done.
“Well the truth is that the money was going for a good cause. I need a partner if I am to begin an endeavor the scope of which I have in mind. Partners of that caliber cost a lump of cash. I am willing to pay that lump of cash for the services of such a professional contractor.” Terry’s speech patterns were improving some. His written style had been first and his spoken language skills had followed.
“That we must speak of later. We may find it to be unnecessary. I will join you in the morning. Get some sleep.”
With the morning came the grinning Gordon MacMaster with a bag of breakfast, some coffee and a collection of guns in the back of the Land Rover. After breakfast they sat smoking and talking.
“Are you absolutely sure you wish to pursue a life that will leave you with no home and no family? You’ll have no friends for long and may need to eliminate them when you leave. Are you sure you care for that? And I want to know why.” Gordon got deadly serious very suddenly, throwing a wet blanket over the camaraderie of the morning.
Terry caught the sudden change of attitude and adjusted his manner accordingly. “Mr. Glasgow, I have no more family since Uncle Ginger died… was killed. I have no friends and never really have. While some people will be happy spending every day on the farm with the sheep shit and the cackling chickens, I want more. I want to see the world and experience life.”
“Become a truck driver. You’ll see the world that way.”
“I have driven a truck, remember, I saw nothing but the miles of blacktop before me. I never saw the country, just the road.”
“True. Well then, what did you have in mind?”
“I can commission my solicitor to sell my business. The profit from said sale would be sufficient to retain your services for a few days, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will work on that. I have some other small resources I will need to access. That will only take a day or two. I will get a forward from the solicitor, enough to pay you a retainer. Then we can get to work.”
“You still haven't told me the details.”
“It’s a matter of self preservation now and I can’t perform the surveillance I could before. They know my face now and yours as well. I played the game as far as I could go and now I need to end it.”
“Obviously, but have you given thought as to how deep you need to go? There may be men you have never met who would take it personally if you decommissioned their superiors. On the other hand, they may thank you for it as they cut you down. How well do you trust the bikies? If you put this Evan McCormick into power, how long will he let you live? Are there enough of them to storm the castle, so to speak? I’m only asking these questions because I wish to leave the country upright and breathing.” Gordon watched Terry very closely. He had a nagging fear that Terry had lost something when Ginger had died, something inside. It could be caution, it could be the will to survive, but he had seen men who had lost this preserving instinct before. Raving berserkers seldom lived long.
“I’m thinking the best way to take out men like these is to turn their own force against them. It works so nicely when properly done, but we don’t have time. Yes, we did have some small desertions over the past couple of years but nothing on the magnitude of a full-scale revolution. Now there is no time for the subtlety and subterfuge that would require. We will need to hit them from afar in a way that they do not expect or see coming. We need to block them off from support and eliminate them quickly, together before they know they are under attack.”
That was the sort of answer Gordon MacMaster wanted to hear from his young associate. Too many men would be leading with their chin at this point and get their bells rung in the first round, so to speak. Terry had not only retained his spark but was keeping his head.
Any criminal underworld is a many-headed hydra and even when the heads are turned against each other, two will eventually sprout for every one that dies. It can be made to hide, it can be made to temporarily shrink, but it cannot be killed. The best that can be hoped for is a temporary lull in activities while a restructuring and regrouping is accomplished. Gordon was pleased to find that Terry had come to terms with that and had no illusions about being some medieval Galahad assaulting the towers of injustice. Terry assured his senior that had lost those illusions when he became part of what he assaulted. Later that day, MacMaster went out and got Terry a nondescript Toyota with tinted windows to assist in their endeavors.
~~~
Chapter Sixteen: No Cover
“Oy, I see you’re back.”
Billy’s voice was not unexpected, Terry had seen him pull in, but it still sent shivers down his spine. He stood stock still with his hands at his sides. His revolvers were in their holsters under his arms as usual and he had them covered with a vest that did little to conceal their presence.
Billy continued, “What’s with the Japanese car? Where’s the Monaro?”
“It sucked a valve into the head. I wrung it out a bit too high on a back road, lost the retainer and dropped the valve into the piston. I couldn’t get parts for it right away. A valve I can get, but a new piston’s not so easy. Computer says there isn’t one in the bloody country and I need to wait for a shipment from America. You know what they would have charged me to ship it on a plane?”
Terry was standing in front of the charred remains of his deceased uncle’s farmhouse calmly discussing the price of air freight. That might have struck some men as being unusual, but Billy had known him a long time.
“So, you coming down to the morgue to identify the body?”
“Aye. I suppose there’s no getting around it?”
At that minute, James pulled in the driveway in his personal car and Terry knew that there was only two choices. He could go with them or he could decommission both of them. He had known both of them most of his life and did not like the idea of shooting them for more than that reason. It was terribly bad policy to shoot the police and they had no doubt radioed in their location. He was wanted for questioning at this point but not for capital murder. If he had thought for a second that he would be identified and cornered on the farm, he wouldn’t have come here, especially during the day. The location was remote enough that he thought he could slip in and out again.
“The chickens have not been fed in two days and the sheep are still in the pasture. I can smell the barn from here, so I need to get out a shovel and take care of that as well. Can you give me some time before you haul me in?”
“Jerry Junior will be coming by when he is done with his own chores. He sends his condolences, by the way. We cannot let you go. We are under orders to retain you for questioning and to get you to identify your uncle’s body.”
“Oh, aye. Is it him? I mean you’ve known him your whole life, you could have identified him.”
<
br /> “Terry, the rules are that the next of kin must do that and… well, I couldn’t bear to look at him and, you know, the morgue is in Orange so it’s well out of our way.”
James had remained silent since exiting his car, but inserted himself into the conversation with “it might be best if you handed over those revolvers.”
There was no doubt that this had been coming. They all knew the rules and the only reason the constables had come on so soft is that they had known Terry a long time. For his part, Terry was uncomfortable with letting anyone take his guns; he was also uncomfortable with getting in the back of the highway cruiser. James headed toward Molong while Billy drove Terry toward Orange. Terry had not been given enough time to access the underground bunker and retrieve the cash hidden there. That had been his primary objective, not to overlook the fact that he would have filled the trunk of his new car with ammunition.
“Superintendent? We have him sir, Terry Kingston turned up at the family farm and was taken into custody by the constables from Molong. He is currently at the station in Orange. He identified his uncle’s body.”
“His uncle’s body? What’s that all about?”
“His uncle died when his farmhouse burned. The fire department couldn’t do anything for the house.”
“Could it have been Terry? He’s probably the beneficiary of the insurance policy.”
“The neighbors say he was around a while back, but that he hasn’t been on the farm for a couple of weeks. I don’t think the officers from Molong consider this much of a possibility either. He is all they’ve got, though. We had questions last time we went to Orange and there’s a boat load more now.”
“All right, Sergeant. You and I will be going out immediately. It’s going to be a long day.”
“I could have him transported here.”
“No, Sergeant, I have a feeling the real story is out there. Have Linda Pierce brought in for questioning as well. Do not let the two of them talk, keep them separate. We’ve finally buttoned down a long running mystery. The problem will be to get the story out of them since we have no real evidence. We need to convince them we do and go from there.”
“Do you want Linda brought here?”
“No. There. Orange. Have a car ready for when I get there. I’ll call C.I. Slaughter and get a substitute sent in for you. You are driving me.” Barlow hung up the phone. It was indeed going to be a long day as the sun was already going down.
“Hello, Terry. It’s been a very long time.”
“Aye. Last time I saw you, it was Inspector Barlow.”
“And I thought I had gone as far as I could. I expected to retire, as an inspector.”
“It seems fortune has smiled on us both.”
“How so?”
“Well, you have become Superintendent and I have the fortune to know the superintendent personally. I must say we meet under remarkably similar circumstances as before. Are you sure you’re not really the angel of death scouting for more souls?”
“No, I leave the souls to the priests. I only need the bodies.”
“Well, I’ve identified Uncle Ginger for you, but that required no visit from the top. You have something on your mind that needs to be let out.”
“Indeed I do. I need you to tell me about your secretary, Linda Pierce.” The Superintendent’s manner was grave. He was not greeting an old friend; he was investigating murders.
“Linda? My secretary? Her name is Pettigrew.”
“Yes, Linda. What is your relationship with her?”
“She’s a good secretary. I met her, I don’t know… uh, a few months ago. We hit it off. I dated her a few times. She’s older than me. I had some fun with her, but we were never meant to be together for long. When Gretta wanted to retire I thought Linda would be a good replacement. She’s been working out well.”
“I see. Tell me about her husband.”
“She’s not married. I’ve been to her house. I’ve met her family. She lives on a farm with her parents.” Terry knew he had made a mistake in having any connection with Linda after they had set up her ex-husband, and he knew he needed to play it cool and ignorant now.
The superintendent bored in with questions about where he had been on this date and that date. Who had he been with, who had he spoken to, what he had done. Terry could do nothing but feign ignorance. He never knew where he had been or what he had done on those dates. It was much too long ago to remember.
Frustrated, Barlow left the interrogation room to talk to Linda but he found that she was not there. She had not been at work today nor had she come home. Her father had told the investigator that had been sent to pick her up, that she had left with a bikie gang and he did not know when she would be back. He didn’t remember what the name on the jackets was. He said he couldn’t read it properly. The investigator knew the Valkieries had gone through town two days earlier. That was the only gang that had been seen.
Sergeant Black and one of the locals were left in the room with Terry. They continued to grill him about his whereabouts on certain dates and he continued to tell them he could not remember. To give them anything would be suicide. He also came to the realization that he should have had a fabricated log book for his activities for every day of the last few years. Something like the truck drivers are expected to keep, only for everyday business activities. What he did have was his signature on a number of dated documents at the insurance agency. He would not pull them out unless pushed into a tight corner and they were of questionable value since they were dated in one handwriting and signed in another. He often signed documents days or weeks after they had been drafted, depending on his schedule.
“I think you should tell me what this is all about. I’m getting a little tired of all these questions I can’t answer, and I have no idea what they pertain to. In fact, I would like very much to consult my solicitor.” Terry had not spoken to his lawyer for quite some time but Mr. Streng had always been in the background at the agency. The attorney seldom took criminal cases any more, but in Terry’s case there would be no question.
“You are entitled to a solicitor when we actually charge you with a crime,” Sergeant Black retorted. “Until now we have been having a quiet conversation, there has been no charges filed against you.”
“A quiet conversation in a sound-proof room where I am not allowed to smoke, where I am being filmed, where there is a one-way mirror that I am undoubtedly under observation from.” Adopting a woman’s voice, Terry finished with, “Well, thank you for the tea and crumpets, I must be getting back to my washing.” The high-pitched quavering voice Terry adopted for the last statement made Superintendent Barlow laugh out loud on the far side of the observation mirror.
“He certainly is a cool customer. Especially considering that he just identified the charred remains of his dead uncle. His last remaining relative. This is the sort of man to plan the set up of Lee Pierce. He’s also correct. We have nothing to hold him on. I had hoped he would slip and let something out, but I don’t think that will happen.” Barlow rose from his chair and went back through the door into the room. “Mr. Kingston, are you aware that your secretary is consorting with outlaw motorcycle gangs and is probably planning to rob your agency blind?”
“That’s why we have an accountant and a solicitor to keep an eye on each other. A system of checks and balances.”
“And who keeps their eye on you?”
“Nobody needs to. I do nothing wrong. I may have one too many from time to time and I do like to boff the ladies, but there’s nothing wrong in that, is there?”
“You should be more careful with whom you consort. You might find yourself in dire straights otherwise.”
“I’ll take that under consideration. Now, if there’s nothing more, it has been an incredibly long day and I would like very much to get a shower and go to bed.”
Billy drove back to Molong in silence. He was not privy to the questions asked in Orange, but he assumed they were regarding Terry’s whereabout
s for the last couple of days. He assumed it was about the fire. His shift had been over for hours and he was more than ready to go home to his wife. He and Terry parted on friendly terms with no love lost.
The young Kingston stood, facing the blackened remains, waiting for something. He didn’t know what it was he was waiting for. He more felt than heard the old generator kick on underground. If he had not known it was there, or if the wind had been blowing, he would not have felt or recognized the tremor. The barns had escaped the flames, though it completely destroyed the house. There was no power to the lights in the barn and there was no flashlight in the Toyota, so Terry fired it up and turned on the headlights. Inside the barn, the concrete block was exposed. That seemed odd, but the hoist was not attached to the lifting ring. He ran the cable out and hoisted the block. Of course, Terry had a key for the security door.
“That took balls, if you’ll pardon the expression, Constable.”
“Of course, Sergeant Black.” Senior Constable First Class O’Reilly emphasized the word ‘sergeant’ in response to being called Constable. She was considered a first class officer and she did indeed have what it takes to enter difficult situations.
“A lot of men would think twice about walking into the Valkieries’ clubhouse in or out of uniform.”
“I was there looking for someone in particular who was not a club member. If she were a club member, I would not have gone there. Anyway, I took Tank with me. I didn’t get anywhere as it was. They gave me nothing. I didn’t see anyone fitting the description and I had to ignore a lot of what I did see. That’s a sordid bunch, there.”
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