by Ray Smithies
Burke recognised his target and withdrew the weapon as Hamish walked toward the front door to greet us.
‘Wondered if we’d ever see you guys again. You gave us some anxious moments though. Everything all right?’ he asked.
‘We had a narrow escape out there but we’re basically okay. We just need to get out of these wet clothes,’ I replied.
As I looked around the room I could see Cain and Abel were beginning to stir following their dose of sedatives.
‘By the way, what’s with your shoulder?’ asked Hamish.
‘It’s only a graze. I’ll be fine. Brigit can take a closer look shortly and apply some antiseptic.’
‘Thank goodness. With all that blood I thought you might’ve broken your arm.’
‘And what about you two? Those taser guns gave quite a punch,’ I asked, looking at Burke and Martino.
‘It took around fifteen minutes to regain a full recovery. We’re fine, no side effects,’ replied the sergeant and added, ‘We think those bastards have finally fled.’
‘Hamish, we need to shower,’ I said. ‘Could you manage a change of clothes for both of us?’
‘Not a problem. I still have some female clothes in one of the bedroom drawers from a past romance or two. I’m sure you’ll find something in there, Brigit, and as for you, Tom, maybe farm clothes would suit.’
After we had both showered I took this opportunity to inform Hamish and the two officers about our rendezvous with the imposters. I reiterated the events of the past hour, receiving full and uninterrupted attention from the three men. Martino began to write down some notes. Adding our encounter with the cow behind the cabin brought a lighthearted moment and laugh to an otherwise solemn and serious story.
‘We’re of the opinion these thugs have left the property,’ stated Burke. ‘Knowing we have Hamish’s guns and that the Dobermans will soon be on their feet is probably enough to scare them off. They may come back but I have my doubts.’
‘Yes, that makes sense,’ I agreed.
‘Tom, I need to run something by you and Brigit,’ Burke said. ‘When Forbes discovered Ruth Evans’ body he noticed some letters she had written in her own blood. We’ve since learnt this message was intended to read Piedpiper, which happens to be the code name for the drug syndicate’s southern regional head. Have either of you heard this name before?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I also saw Ruth’s body and the crude writing on the floor but couldn’t make head nor tail of what it meant at the time. Brigit and I discussed it on the way to the farm but came up with no answers. Good to hear that mystery’s been solved.’
‘I haven’t either,’ Brigit said. ‘Were there any more hassles after we left the farm tonight?’
‘The sarge and I were tied up for a bit, but other than that there wasn’t,’ said Martino.
‘I don’t think either of you guys are up to driving back to Pedley tonight,’ I stated, looking at their fatigued bodies.
‘Couldn’t, even if we tried,’ Martino said. ‘As a result of this storm tonight all roads leading into Pedley are cut, according to the latest weather and flood report. Hamish has kindly offered to put us up for the night, so we’ll assess the situation in the morning and then make a decision. Also, it’s impossible to contact base due to those men destroying the two-way.’
‘Our mobiles are gone and Hamish’s landline is cut,’ added Burke. ‘Apparently the floods are widespread on the far side of Ashworth.’
‘Can’t even offer you my mobile,’ I said. ‘I think I lost the damn thing in the forest.’
‘Sergeant, don’t underestimate this syndicate,’ declared Brigit. ‘How can you be sure those men aren’t still lurking around somewhere? These persistent people won’t accept defeat, and they won’t go away that easily.’
‘That may be so but they’re not stupid, meaning if they carried out a further attack it would only be done if they hold the advantage. At the moment they’ve forfeited that dominance,’ Burke said.
‘Are you saying we’re safe for the time being, Darren?’ I asked with some doubt.
‘Of course I can’t give you my total assurance, but think about it, Tom. They had their chance and blew it. We now control the situation, with five adults who have access to ammunition and two Dobermans about to shake off a dose of sedatives. Their artillery consists of two people with most likely limited weaponry. Hardly a fair comparison, don’t you think?’
‘Okay, you’ve made your point,’ I acknowledged.
I looked across at Cain and Abel, who appeared to be over the effects of the sedative and were now on their feet circling the living room. Cain gave a deep short growl as he walked past Darren and Chris. This was new scent and he seemed confused by their presence.
‘Stay!’ ordered Hamish, to reassure Burke and Martino. But it wasn’t necessary. He knew the dogs would never attack inside unless provoked or instructed to do so.
‘Okay, Hamish, so we’ll all stay the night and somehow return to Pedley tomorrow. It’s not safe for Brigit to remain here with her cover now blown,’ I claimed.
‘That’s fine by me, Tom. Pity it had to come to this because I was looking forward to the company.’
‘Our return tomorrow is mandatory, with Detective Sergeant Forbes in mind,’ said Burke.
~ * ~
P
aul Marsh, Alan Forbes’ subordinate, decided that evening to further investigate the local drug scene in the hope that his second attempt would uncover something more productive. He felt that with youth on his side and the absence of his intimidating superior he had a better chance of making some headway. He chose the Berkley Fun Parlour as his target, primarily for its attraction for the younger brigade and their obsession with indoor games. Entering the premises, he thought he had chosen wisely for the place was the height of activity with the locals playing their arcade machines.
The detective chose to wander casually through this maze of activity, observing the players as he strolled around. Could he recognise at least one person from previous discussions? He finally spotted a familiar face in the corner playing a Formula 1 Grand Prix circuit race. Marsh happened to recall the lad’s name as he made his approach. The youth appeared to be alone tonight, which would make conversation a tad easier. To avoid breaking the lad’s concentration Marsh stood beside him, observing the concluding laps and hearing some choice words as he finished a close second.
‘Hello, Danny. Bad luck, you almost caught him in the last turn.’
‘Yeah. Story of my life, comin’ second all the time.’
‘Try accelerating out of corners next time, that might be the edge you need.’
‘It’s only a game,’ Danny replied nonchalantly.
Danny Murdock was nineteen. Although typically cautious and streetwise, he was reasonably cooperative, with a likeable personality and a level head. An only child, his parents had separated when he was three. He had been raised by his mother, who had struggled financially through the years to provide the best for her son. Now locally employed, with sufficient income to support his drug habit, he took Marsh into his confidence as a result of the policeman turning a blind eye to his addiction.
‘So how’s things, Danny?’
‘Me mum still worries about me and I’ve been busy at work this week with all the overtime.’
‘Hey, you’re no exception. All mothers worry about their kids. Good to hear you’re employed, Danny. Do you work locally?’
‘Yep, at Broadbent around the corner.’
‘Can’t say I know it. And what do you do there?’
‘I work in the warehouse sortin’ out all the grocery lines and I do a bit of forklift driving.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Tell me, are ya any closer to solvin’ the Jake Reynolds case?’ enquired Danny.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I knew Jake through runnin’. He invited me once to test me speed because I had a bit of a reputation for winnin’ the annual school event. W
e might’ve been from different backgrounds but he was a good guy and treated everyone equally. I had a lot of time for him and it was sad to hear how he died.’
‘Yes, I daresay it’s affected the local community and unfortunately we have a second murder to deal with now.’
‘Yeah, I heard about that. Some old woman at the caravan park. I’m startin’ to think that place is jinxed.’
‘It’s my job to find the guilty party but it won’t be easy with a drug syndicate involved. It’s difficult to infiltrate their operations.’
Marsh sensed that Danny had suddenly become a little uneasy with his presence. He kept looking in the far corner, where two young men were watching their every move with some interest.
‘Are those two guys worrying you for some reason?’ asked Marsh.
‘I work with the one on the left and he’s probably wonderin’ what I’m doin’ talkin’ to a cop. His name is Travis Ferguson but everyone calls him Ferret.’
How appropriate, thought Marsh, looking at this lean, beady-eyed person of around twenty-four, wearing a frown as if carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
‘What can you tell me about the other man?’ he asked, studying a second person who was of Middle Eastern appearance and around the same age.
‘I only know him as Hassan, but some people refer to him as the Artful Dodger because of his cunnin’ ways. They’re two people you don’t mess with, especially Ferret who has some powerful connections. They tolerate me ‘cause I don’t ask too many questions, and besides, workin’ with Ferret has its advantages.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, he’s good for supply with no questions asked, and bein’ fellow employees at Broadbent he tends to look after me on the street if you get me drift. But you didn’t hear this from me, okay?’
As the two men approached, the detective was hoping his presence had not put Danny in an awkward position with his peers.
‘Hello, Danny. Going to introduce us to your friend?’ said Ferret.
‘Detective Paul Marsh, meet Ferret and Hassan.’
‘Ah, a cop. I might’ve guessed. So what brings you to our seaside hamlet?’ Ferret asked with an antagonising overtone.
‘I’m investigating the murders of Jake Reynolds and Ruth Evans.’
‘And what progress have you made, detective? Any arrests yet?’
‘Not so far. Were only conducting our preliminaries at this stage. We believe the local drug syndicate is responsible for what’s happened.’
‘That’s common knowledge amongst the locals. One in four people down here support the habit, so there’ll be a lot of interviewing to be done, detective,’ declared Ferret, clearly expressing his dislike for the law.
‘Be reasonable, Ferret,’ said Danny. ‘He’s only doin’ his job. Give the detective some credit since he’s turned a blind eye to all the wheelin’ and dealin’ going on. You only have to look around this place to see what I mean.’
‘That’s right, I’m not here to prosecute the small guy, it’s the big fish I’m looking for. Tell me, do you know anything about this local syndicate?’ Marsh was grateful for Danny’s support.
‘Do you take us for bein’ that naive? I have my sources for supply, but no tell, detective,’ said Ferret. ‘As for this syndicate, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree asking us. Even if I did know, do you really believe I’d tell you and not expect to suffer the punishment for being so bloody stupid?’
‘I understand that, but you also need to see the situation from our perspective. Our objective is to expose their organisation and the only way we can succeed is to interview as many people as we can, with the hope someone is prepared to give us a lead. You must also consider we’ve had two deaths to contend with and unless these people are stopped they may have more blood on their hands.’
‘Detective, we’re only the little guy on the street and know nothing about where their headquarters are located, let alone the people that operate it,’ volunteered Hassan, who had been quiet up to this point.
‘Tell me, have you heard of a person called the Piedpiper?’
There was some unexpected deliberation by Ferret and Hassan. Danny seemed oblivious to the name, but Ferret and Hassan looked at each other. It was Ferret who decided to speak up.
‘Well, I guess there’s no harm in tellin’ you what I know because the identity of this person is unknown. We’re talkin’ about the southern regional head of the drug operation, you know. From what I hear this person lives in Pedley and is apparently well known in the community. It’s a well-guarded secret and I’ve often wondered who it might be.’
‘Do you have any ideas?’ prompted the detective.
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I can only think it must be someone in business or government that could have this sort of image, so there would be a number of candidates when you look around the place. I might be wrong in thinkin’ this way but that’s how I see it.’
‘On the contrary, I find your reasoning makes sense,’ encouraged Marsh, somewhat surprised with his sudden display of cooperation. ‘And what about a person called the Keeper? Does this name mean anything?’
‘No, I haven’t heard of that one but I’ll give you some friendly advice, detective. The name Piedpiper is taboo and is not spoken in public except by those in the organisation. My advice to you is to be careful who you speak to. A nosey cop might become another statistic, so watch your step is what I’m trying to say.’
‘You refer to those in the organisation. I was under the impression that neither of you have any knowledge of their inside operation or of the people involved.’
‘In a nutshell, no. We have our sources on the street and word travels in certain circles about some deals not goin’ to plan. We have a code of ethics within the trade that names should never be spoken of,’ declared Ferret.
‘Thanks, guys,’ responded the appreciative detective.
‘You’ve been lucky choosin’ this place because it’s only full of kids who don’t know anything,’ Ferret said. ‘If we’d talked on the street I wouldn’t give you the time of day in case someone was watching. Be careful, they got eyes and ears everywhere. We’ve gotta leave now.’
The small gathering then parted company. As the detective returned to his car, he couldn’t help but think he had learnt more in the last fifteen minutes than the previous week of interviews put together.
~ * ~
It was early Friday morning and two unrelated incidents were about to unfold and have a bewildering affect upon their respective observers.
At 8.30 am Forbes had stirred and decided to start the day by going downtown and treating himself to a bacon and eggs breakfast. A late arrival at the desk would be acceptable today, since the storm would also mean Burke and Martino would be late returning. He accepted that communication was down due to the likelihood of radio and phone towers being taken out by the deluge last night. A briefing with his team had been set down for one o’clock and interviews with the caravan tenants had been concluded last night. Forbes was thankful the morning was his to do whatever he wished with it.
Arriving at La Porta’s Cafe, he pulled up a chair beside a table that was conveniently placed to observe the passersby. The morning weather was favourable, bringing with it an abundance of people going about their business. It could be an interesting pastime observing this human behaviour, thought the detective, as he looked attentively out the cafe window. He watched a group of schoolchildren stuffing their bags with every conceivable sweet, the upright stature of a young woman wheeling a pram, and coming from the opposite direction, two men in a hurry who were obviously late for work.
‘Your breakfast, sir,’ a voice called interrupting his observations.
‘Thank you,’ he replied studying his plate of generous portions, complete with toast and marmalade and a pot of English breakfast tea.
With each mouthful of bacon and eggs the detective continued to observe the passing public. He noticed Martha
Kellett turn a corner, wheeling a shopping trolley often used by older women. He caught a glimpse of Helen O’Neill rushing from her illegally parked car into Simon Walters Pharmacy. Why are people in such a hurry all the time? thought Forbes. It’s madness.
As he poured the remainder of the brewed tea, the waitress directed a man in his mid-forties to the next table. Following his breakfast order of mushrooms and scrambled eggs, the man, who Forbes did not recognise, reached for his mobile, dialed a number and waited.
‘Morning, Stephen, it’s Ben Johnson here. Are you still in Peterswood?... Is the business matter finalised?... Well, I need to know when you’re returning.... Okay, but I must see you at your bank...’ Johnson closed the phone angrily. ‘Bloody line’s gone dead!’
