by Ray Smithies
Again pandemonium erupted on deck. The sound of terrified screams and wailing was now at fever pitch. Burke and Martino still lay unconscious on the deck chairs, oblivious to the unfolding drama.
‘Would ya shut the fuck up, the lot of ya!’ roared Charlie.
Finally, at what Morgan considered to be an acceptable level of aggravating noise, he continued. ‘Now, I want the one who calls herself Brigit O’Neill to step forward.’
Brigit clutched my hand as she rose and stepped forward. I couldn’t help but think that no nineteen year old should have to suffer this sort of torment. As she walked forward, the sound of crying had recommenced from some of the women. This was sheer madness and somehow I had to put a stop to it. I stood up and yelled out to the one who had called for Brigit.
‘You can’t do this, you bloody cowards. For Christ’s sake, she’s only a kid, you bastards.’
‘And what do you plan on doing about it?’ came Morgan’s sarcastic response.
‘Take me instead,’ I offered.
‘Make that two of us,’ volunteered the man wearing the bandanna.
I was stunned that a complete stranger would risk his own life. Not surprisingly, it had an equally astonishing impact upon Morgan, who seemed to be caught out with this unexpected act of heroism. The other man and I walked toward the captive Brigit as the group to our rear remained in their seated positions.
‘That’s far enough. Not one step further or I’ll shoot!’ Morgan threatened.
I thought the wiser of my actions and decided to stop, but the guy to my left continued toward Brigit.
‘Stop right there,’ screamed Morgan, showing emotion for the first time.
‘You bastards hide behind your masks to abduct a kid. What sort of low scum are you two!’ roared back the stranger. ‘Give me the girl now!’
He had progressed a further two steps and was almost at arm’s reach when a switchblade thrown by Charlie caught the stranger’s thigh. Clutching his left leg, the man felt the force of multiple stabs delivered by a parang sheath knife into the back. He fell to his knees in excruciating pain, blood running freely beneath him. Uncontrollable screams erupted from the group behind. The stranger now squirmed in unrelenting pain as he shook and wormed his way around the decking. His whole body had become completely disoriented. In a gigantic muscle spasm, his arms and legs shook and propelled in a dozen directions. The man’s nervous system resembled a massive panic attack. The disturbing scene had not excluded the children from full view, made worse by the continuous excruciating screams and incredible outpour of blood upon the starboard deck.
‘Put him out of his misery,’ called Morgan, obviously unmoved.
Reaching for something that resembled a baton, Charlie leaned over and with one downward thrust delivered a severe blow to the man’s head.
‘You bastards, don’t you have an ounce of decency!’ I shouted.
‘Get back with the others or you’ll be next,’ growled Charlie.
Reluctantly I returned to the semi-circle and took up my lotus position, vowing that while I remain alive the return of Brigit would be my top priority. I took one last look at Brigit’s sad face before she disappeared to portside. She was now in the hands of the enemy with an unknown fate ahead. I felt sick at the sight of this thug taking her away from view. In my depressed and emotional state I screamed out for the entire world to hear.
‘I will find you, Brigit. Don’t give up hope!’
~ * ~
Morgan and Brigit descended a companion ladder, Morgan choosing to step down first. On the stern deck he bound Brigit’s good arm behind her back and then with one hand secured to her coat sleeve they commenced their walk toward the vacant cars. Looking toward the coastline, Morgan could see the distant outline of Pedley township. Probably some twenty minutes or so away, he thought. Approaching the 4WD, he fumbled amongst the set of keys that Charlie had given him earlier. The steel blue one would open the rear door, he recalled.
With Brigit seated in the rear of the Land Cruiser and her arm still bound, Morgan retrieved a small bottle of chloroform from the glove box and partially soaked a handkerchief. Opening the rear side door, he swiftly turned around and pounced upon an unsuspecting Brigit, covering her face with a wave of anesthetic fumes. He maintained his hold for a few seconds and the effect was almost instantaneous. Brigit collapsed and lay sprawled over the rear floor of the 4WD.
With the O’Neill girl now in safekeeping Morgan decided to rejoin his accomplice at the wheelhouse. It had been sometime since his last rendezvous at the bridge, and besides, it was necessary to check on Mick and inform him of the procedure once they docked at Pedley When he entered the wheelhouse all appeared under control. Their appointed crewman continued to direct the Molly Bloom while the two men bound and gagged upon the floor had become agitated in seeing the man’s return. Irritated by their unrest, Morgan let fly with his baton, landing a solid blow upon each skull. Retrieving a gun from his underarm holster, Morgan then attached a silencer to the barrel, resulting in a terrified look from the remaining crewman.
Taking Mick to one side he muttered a few words in his ear, ordering him to knock the seaman unconscious as soon as the boat berthed. He was now in a position to rejoin Charlie at starboard to pass on some last-minute instructions to the captive passengers.
He could see that his accomplice had the situation under control. He would now relieve Charlie of his duty, enabling the 4WD to be positioned for a hasty exit. With his silencer in full view, Morgan commenced his briefing.
‘We will arrive at Pedley in around quarter of an hour. You will remain in your seated positions for ten minutes after the boat has docked. Any person, and I mean any person, who decides to disobey my order will be shot immediately. I have here in my hand a silencer attached to the gun barrel.’
The passengers cringed in anticipation that more trouble was to follow.
‘Let me demonstrate for those who may be ignorant.’
In an unbelievable act of barbaric proportions, the perpetrator took aim at the Jack Russell and pulled the trigger. A short yelp followed and the dog was dead. The chess player with the deformity screamed in horror at the loss of his beloved terrier. Scrambling to his feet he rushed to the dog’s side, shouting the name Sox in his grief. Tears flowed from the man as he knelt beside his lost companion.
‘Sit down!’ roared Morgan.
‘You bastard! There was no need to do that,’ Tom shouted back.
Ignoring Tom’s hostility, Morgan continued. ‘So you see my weapon is very effective. No noise, no distractions, just this quiet little bullet finding its intended target. Do I have any further volunteers from the gallery?’ he asked sarcastically.
The reaction was spontaneous. Terrified that someone would be selected at random, the passengers huddled together with heads bowed toward the deck.
‘Good, now we have an understanding. Oh, just food for thought...should I decide to use this little gem once more you do realise that no one from land will hear of your misfortune. Remember, no movement for ten minutes after we drop anchor.’
As he retreated to join his accomplices in the stern, Brad Morgan deliberately walked past Burke and Martino and let fly with his baton, delivering a further blow to their heads.
~ * ~
The Molly Bloom finally berthed and was greeted by a small crowd either intending to board for the return trip or in wait of a familiar face to disembark. Morgan rushed to meet his two accomplices, who were waiting beside the 4WD. Mick had already taken care of the crewman on the bridge, and upon sighting his approaching compatriot he climbed aboard the Land Cruiser to sit behind the wheel. Morgan chose the rear passenger seat, primarily to keep an eye on Brigit, while Charlie was outside lowering the electrically controlled steel plank. Once in place Charlie climbed aboard and all was in readiness for a hasty retreat.
Mick floored the accelerator over the plank at such a rate the Land Cruiser actually became airborne. The welcoming thud of terra
firma greeted them amidst an astonished crowd of onlookers, who were wondering if this was some sort of pre-voyage entertainment. Down a side street they drove, with the Molly Bloom slowly shrinking in the rear vision mirror. Their objective had been carried out: in the back lay Brigit O’Neill, still unconscious from the effects of the chloroform.
~ * ~
A
s he made his approach toward 8 Covert Road, Neil Carpenter could hear a high level of activity coming from the grocery warehouse. Following Forbes’ instructions to check out the Broadbent premises, including the products for distribution and on-site personnel, Carpenter had dressed in full uniform. Not wanting to give the impression that Broadbent was under surveillance, he would maintain the purpose of his visit was to purchase certain commodities for a forthcoming police function.
Entering the warehouse, the sergeant was suddenly confronted by two forklifts loading goods into their respective delivery vans. Forced to stand and wait beside a sidewall, he briefly glanced around at the interior before him. Broadbent appeared to be undergoing some reorganisation of warehouse space by integrating its receiving, storage, picking and shipping operations. The whole place seemed a buzz of activity, with another storeman handling the bulky seasonal food that had just arrived at the far loading bay. These packages and cartons were immediately received and sorted directly to dedicated outgoing lanes with little handling or order picking required. It was an impressive show of regularity and efficiency.
In addition to the storage racks and overhead mezzanine floor, the building housed a large refrigeration room, and a kitchen and washroom facility at the far end. Intriguingly, there was an internal stone staircase leading to a basement beneath the warehouse. Carpenter could envisage the cellar being used as a coolroom to store wines and other beverages. His concentration was broken by the manager’s voice as the man approached from the front office.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Neville Bradbury, who always claimed he could smell a cop a block away.
‘Yes, I need to buy some products for a forthcoming police function.’
‘But we’re a wholesaler and generally don’t sell direct to the public.’
‘The guys from the station suggested coming here to save a dollar.’
Bradbury’s instinct told him that to deny the police would be inappropriate. ‘Look, seeing it’s for the constabulary we’ll make an exception. What do you wish to purchase?’
‘Just the general run of things like frozen pastry lines, some meat and sweet dishes, and you might as well include plates and cutlery.’
‘How many people do you intend catering for?’
‘Around forty.’
‘Um ... not a big crowd by police standards.’
‘I also need some beer and wine,’ added Carpenter, ignoring the remark and hoping the proprietor would buy his story.
‘We keep a large range of beer in the refrigerated room over in the corner and there’s some wine under the mezzanine floor,’ replied Bradbury.
‘Not much of a wine selection, from what I can see. Do you have any more?’
‘Yes, there’s a larger range in the cellar.’
‘Could I possibly have a look and select a couple of dozen bottles?’ asked Carpenter, thinking this provided opportunity to check the basement.
‘Certainly. I’ll lead the way,’ said Bradbury, gathering an order form for the intended sale.
At the top of the staircase Carpenter noticed a doorway on a landing some fifteen or so steps down.
Bradbury opened the door and flicked a switch, immediately lighting a further descending path to the cellar below. ‘There’s no handrail so watch your step. They made straight steep staircases back in the old days.’
The cellar that lay before Carpenter was indeed a generous-sized room. Built of bluestone walls with a concrete floor and high ceiling, it housed four large double racks of wine that would serve the local community many times over. The basement gave the impression of having been around for more than a hundred years.
Bradbury continued. ‘I’m not sure what it is you’re looking for, but whites are generally to the left and reds to the right. Unfortunately some are still mixed and they need correcting.’
‘But how do I know where certain wines are kept?’ asked the sergeant.
‘The sides of the racks are labelled, a bit like trying to find a book in a library.’
The officer studied the trade names and regional selections on offer. There appeared to be every conceivable type of wine, from cabernets and clarets through to chablis and chardonnays.
‘I’ll leave you to make your selection and I’ll be back in around ten minutes. There’s a matter upstairs I need to attend to,’ stated Bradbury, turning to depart.
Now alone, Carpenter decided to select two dozen bottles at random, not knowing exactly what it was he had placed to one side. He wasn’t a wine drinker but logic told him to mix red and white so he could use the excuse that all tastes would be catered for. He was here primarily to check and report on the premises and not to engage in some wine selection he knew nothing about.
He had accumulated and placed most of the wine to one side when a sudden noise stopped him in his tracks. A dull thud came from behind the wall. Or did it? Had someone above dropped something heavy upon the warehouse floor, or had the thud come from the other side of the bluestone? There was no repeat sound. Carpenter continued to stare at the wall before him. He began to doubt his judgment, for commonsense told him the thickness alone would surely blanket any noise.
Studying the wall more closely, he could see the mortar between the stones had deteriorated, to the point where some low-lying joints had commenced crumbling away. He assessed that the damage would need to be consistent throughout the depth of the bluestone to enable sound to penetrate through to the cellar. He continued to gaze upon the barrier, wondering if he was mistaken after all. He could only conclude the noise did happen and the only two logical sources were the ceiling or wall.
Upon hearing the return of Neville Bradbury descending the staircase, the policeman immediately focused on the rack behind him.
‘Have you selected your wine yet?’ Bradbury called out from the final step.
‘Just about, only three bottles to go.’
‘Perhaps I could help you. Let’s see what you’ve put aside.’ Bradbury studied the sergeant’s selection. ‘I’ll include a Riesling, Pinot Noir and a Merlot. There, that should do it. If you would please follow me upstairs I’ll raise an order and arrange for delivery.’
Returning to the warehouse, Carpenter was asked to decide upon his food choices while the proprietor commenced the paperwork. Once his selection was completed he passed the list to Bradbury who finalised the order.
‘Thank you for your business and I hope your night is a great success,’ Bradbury said. ‘We’ll have your order dropped off at the station later this afternoon.’
Returning to his car Carpenter was happy with the way things had panned out. He had managed to conduct an inspection of the premises and arrange a purchase without blowing the constabulary’s budget. Now I wonder what they’ll do with all these goods, he thought. Perhaps raffle them off to some worthwhile charity. Although the mysterious noise would continue to haunt the puzzled sergeant, he was nonetheless reasonably satisfied that Broadbent ran a legitimate business.
~ * ~
At precisely 2.45 pm Paul Marsh knocked on the door at 15 Hillview Road and was greeted by one very surprised James Slattery.
‘Why, Detective Marsh, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘May I come in?’ Marsh saw that James’ arm was still wrapped in a dressing. ‘How’s the arm? Any improvement?’
‘Yeah, another two days and I can throw this sling away.’
‘James, I’ll come straight to the point. This morning you were seen by Senior Sergeant Whittaker talking to Kurt Muller. Can you tell me what was in the parcel you handed him?’
‘Bloody hell, all this cross-examin
ation lately is pissing me off. I’m getting the raw end of the deal from you lot. The cops have something against me for some reason. First it was motive, then drugs, then the arm injury, then leaving Pedley and now this. Is there no end to it?’
Marsh was determined to get to the bottom of their untimely rendezvous. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Yes, I was talking to Kurt and yes, I did hand him a parcel.’
‘Good, now we’re getting somewhere. How do you come to know Kurt?’
‘We struck up a conversation at the pub some days back and discovered we have a few things in common, that’s all’
‘Which pub?’
‘The Esplanade.’
‘And what things do you have in common?’
