by Ray Smithies
‘Marijuana.’
‘Only marijuana? That seems an excessive sum of money for dope.’
‘I swear that’s all. The payout covers two weeks of sales,’ confessed a nervous Jackson.
‘And how do you distribute these drugs?’
‘To clients visiting the Esplanade.’
‘Where do you keep these drugs?’
‘They’re hidden behind the bar or kept in my pocket depending on the size of the deal.’
Turning to the publican, the detective asked, ‘Are you aware of these transactions, Mr Johnson?’
‘No, I’m not!’
Marsh turned back to the security guard. ‘Who is your dealer, Mr Jackson?’
‘A man called Charlie.’
‘Thank you for being truthful. That name is consistent with our investigations.’
‘But Charlie’s deals are not carried out on these premises,’ stated Jackson, feeling the stares coming from the publican behind his desk.
‘Oh, so where are they generally conducted?’
‘At a random location and only after dark.’
‘Who is Henry Lloyd and what’s his role?’
‘Um...’
‘Spit it out, Jackson!’
Cornered and feeling intimidated by Marsh’s continual threats and Johnson’s persistent glare, Jackson wisely chose to cooperate with the law. ‘That’s not his real name.’
‘Then what is?’
‘Um ... Brad Morgan.’
‘You have not answered my question completely, Mr Jackson. His role, please?’ demanded Marsh.
‘He’s another drug dealer.’
‘Then why the two dealers Charlie and Morgan?’
‘Morgan’s a newcomer. He’s only been seen in Pedley over the past two weeks or so, but he seems to be a person with influence and handles the larger sums of money. Charlie’s domain is strictly street deals only.’
‘Do you have any idea who Brad Morgan is?’
‘I’ve already told you he’s a drug dealer,’ reiterated Gavin Jackson.
Ben Johnson interrupted again, unable to keep quiet. ‘For Christ’s sake, he’s already answered this question. How much longer is this going to take?’
‘I’ll decide that. Again, Mr Jackson, do you only know Brad Morgan as a drug dealer?’
‘Yes! I can’t tell you any more about the guy except to say he calls into the Esplanade just before closing time. He never orders a drink or speaks to anyone other than us security guards. I haven’t seen him since the night you called.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Well, he has a very short fuse.’
‘Go on,’ encouraged Marsh.
‘I’ve seen him explode when one of the other guards didn’t reach his quota. He went berserk in front of the patrons, not giving a damn who overheard the reprimand. I mean the whole scene was way over the top, but one notable thing about Morgan is he develops a bad twitch when aggravated.’
‘What sort of twitch?’ Doyle asked.
‘His head tilts to the right side and he starts shaking. It looks bloody weird, as if he’s possessed or something. I don’t think the guy’s the full quid if you ask me.’
‘A word of warning - don’t mix with this one,’ Marsh said.
‘And why is that, detective?’ queried Johnson.
‘Because the guy’s a psychopathic killer.’
The publican scoffed at the absurd comment. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I’ve never been more serious,’ Marsh declared. ‘We’ve had three positive sightings to confirm Morgan was the person responsible for the massacre aboard the Molly Bloom. This man has a history of using various torture methods on his victims before execution. He has reputedly used whips, nails and suffocation techniques drawn from his vast array of arsenal. This fiend obviously gets his kicks from watching others suffer.’
Both Johnson and Jackson sat motionless. The mere thought of a crazed killer in their midst left both men dumbstruck. The face upon the security guard had turned a distinct shade of white. Johnson continued to stare into oblivion as if in a trance.
‘You can now appreciate the seriousness of our visit,’ said Marsh.
‘Yes,’ replied Johnson, regaining his faculties.
‘Would you please ask Angelo Caresso and George Trevaskis to come to the office,’ requested Marsh.
The suddenly contrite and obliging Johnson immediately rose from his chair to carry out the detective’s wishes.
Gavin Jackson continued to sit quietly in his chair, visibly disturbed at having and unknowingly conducted a deal with a serial killer. The arrival of the two further security guards was equally immense and intimidating in stature. The Italian and Greek colossuses were larger than Jackson and Marsh could only surmise that both men were on a daily course of anabolic steroids. Standing to offer their chairs to the new arrivals, Marsh and Doyle continued with their interviews.
‘Please be seated,’ Marsh said.
He quickly briefed the guards on what had been discussed prior to their arrival. Both humiliation and shock were reflected on the two distraught faces. Like Jackson, their ignorance in allowing this violent person to participate in a business arrangement was a bit hard to accept.
‘Let me be blunt, gentlemen. The purpose of this visit is to forewarn you of this ruthless assassin. It is imperative that should this individual be seen again, you are to immediately contact the Pedley Police Station and report his sighting. Having intervened myself the other night, I think it’s highly unlikely Brad Morgan will show his face again in this establishment. Unfortunately, due to my ignorance that same evening, I too allowed the killer to walk free. I assure you it won’t happen a second time. With regards to the drug matter, I don’t ask but demand that all supplies be forfeited to the station by seven this evening. Should you fail to carry out my order, I will come down heavily on each individual, and this establishment. Don’t play games with me. To repeat my earlier warning, I will arrange both heavy penalties and random audits if my request is not adhered to. Effective immediately, drugs do not exist on these premises. Abide by these instructions and I will put in a good word for a lighter fine. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes,’ responded the chorus of attendees.
~ * ~
During Marsh’s heated and unyielding lecture, Doyle had excused himself to inspect the premises. Convinced that the storage and trafficking of drugs flourished within, and probably in greater abundance than the establishment would freely admit, the detective was determined to uncover any damning evidence.
By nature John Doyle was vindictive, contemptuous and had an ego to complement his arrogance. Compromise and tolerance seldom prevailed, for his mentality dictated that people were perceived as guilty before proven otherwise. Today opportunity beckoned. If Doyle could uncover some unscrupulous venture then the accolades would invariably follow. Subsequently the hunt had begun.
Unaware of the police presence, Piochsa continued to clean and rearrange the endless trail of glasses and bottles in the main bar. Her list of chores invariably had to be completed prior to the influx of patrons that frequented the saloon at opening time. She went about her business of transferring the schooner and shot variety to a nearby ledge beneath the bar and then noticed the conspicuous-looking parcel lying to one side of the existing glassware. If she had not squatted down to assess the shelf space available, there was every chance the package would have gone undetected.
Piochsa picked up the neatly bound foil bundle, wondering if someone had mistakenly left it behind. It looked totally out of place on a ledge whose sole purpose was to store clean glasses. Holding the ominous package, she deliberated on whether or not to open it. She fondled and rotated the silver foil, speculating on its contents. Suddenly her contemplation was interrupted by a forceful voice.
‘I’ll take that package,’ said Doyle.
Piochsa literally jumped with shock. Two wet glasses fell on the bar floor. She looked up to see a grey
-suited man standing beside her.
‘What do we have here?’ Doyle said, displaying his badge.
‘Have no idea, officer. I found it on the ledge beneath the bar.’
‘Hardly fish and chips wrapped in this.’ Doyle removed the foil. Under the final layer a self-seal plastic bag appeared, filled to the brim with marijuana.
‘There’s enough here to feed the habit for a dozen people over a month. Okay, what’s going on?’
‘Like I said, I discovered the package under the bar!’
‘Your name, please?’
‘Piochsa Szabo.’
‘Well, Ms Szabo, it would appear you have some explaining to do.’
‘That’s bloody ridiculous.’ Piochsa was annoyed with the policeman’s insinuation.
‘On the contrary, we have a serious situation here. Upon my return I’ll be reporting this incident to my superiors. I daresay you’ll be contacted for further questioning.’
~ * ~
T
uesday morning had commenced like any other day except for one noticeable difference. At six o’clock, amidst a gathering fog and bitter icy frost, a small group of intoxicated party revellers from last night’s masquerade ball were trying to navigate their path back home. It was still reasonably dark and the sun wouldn’t herald the new day’s arrival until around an hour’s time.
Two men and a woman dressed in party attire were so drunk they literally had to lean on each other to maintain an upright stance. The attempted walk home was a staggered undertaking to say the least. A movement in the distance caught the eye of one of the men. Gazing in an easterly direction at a hill overlooking Pedley, his blurred vision picked up the obscure outline of something resembling totem poles in the moon’s reflection.
‘Thought I saw something move on that hill,’ he claimed.
‘It’s your bloody imagination,’ called his female companion.
‘Well then ... what the hell is that thing up there?’ slurred the first man.
‘Where? Oh that, they’re called trees,’ said the second man.
‘No, they’re not... they’re the contraptions the fireworks took off... from tonight.’ The woman was unable to stand steady and view the hill amidst the descending fog.
‘I reckon lighthouses,’ decided the first.
‘Still say they’re trees,’ repeated the second.
The trio of drunks pressed on, unable to agree on a conclusion.
Some forty minutes or so later the distinctive noises of a garbage truck on its routine collection heralded the first familiar sound of an awakening day. The approaching dawn was about to release its display of low-level sunrays on an icy landscape. The weather conditions indicated a favourable day would follow, once Jack Frost thawed out and the skies had cleared.
Decreed by local government to operate in pairs, the garbo duo of Nick and Tommo were collecting an excessive amount of rubbish following the carnival’s discarded decorations and endless trail of litterbugs. This particular morning was bitterly cold and made more difficult with the inconvenience of their stop-start repetition. Red-raw earlobes and chilblain fingers seemed to intensify with every progressive turn into a further roadway. From the other side of the street a young boy on his pushbike, complete with a paper horse, was delivering the morning news. With vapoured breath and crimson face, he epitomised the very mood of daybreak.
The unmistakable sound of a distant rooster announced that sunrise had arrived. With the crack of dawn the first beams of light emphasised the density of fog that had gathered in Pedley. A flock of robin redbreasts descended on a nature strip, oblivious to the fast-approaching garbage truck. On this occasion the early bird didn’t catch the worm, Nick thought. He reached for a bin and unintentionally scared them away.
The cloud-drifts on this particular morning were hovering in a somewhat shredded effect, with sudden interrupted views making way to a clearing sky and then only to be obscured by further passing mist. The pattern of fog breaks became repetitive as the sun commenced its ascendance. Driving in an easterly direction, Tommo was intrigued by this irregular phenomenon. Suddenly he noticed a row of objects perched high on the nearby hill. It was only a fleeting glance, for the mist had now obscured the view. Were his eyes playing tricks? Between operating the controls and steering the truck, he waited patiently for the next clear sighting. His patience was rewarded when again the mist commenced to separate, but the intensity of the sun’s rays made it difficult to look due east. A further glimpse of some darkened, blurred shape offered him no clue. The cloud once again eclipsed the sighting. His curiosity was now aroused to the point where he decided to stop the truck and take a closer look.
‘What are you doing?’ called Nick from the footpath at this unexpected standstill.
‘Saw something strange perched on top of that hill,’ responded Tommo, signaling in an easterly direction.
‘How can you see that far with all this bloody mist?’
‘The fog will clear again, so have some patience.’
As the two men stood beside their truck and waited, Tommo was becoming a bit anxious in wanting his colleague to share the sighting. Nick dismissed the matter, stating it was a waste of time and that he wanted to get back to work. From around the corner, the reappearance of the paperboy pedaling with determination drew their immediate attention. The boy looked frightened and rode straight past, but he acknowledged the two men by yelling out some confused reference about an incident on the hill. He quickly disappeared from sight.
Frustrated with the ever-stubborn fog and Nick’s persistence in returning to unload the endless trail of bins, Tommo continued to persevere with the matter. He knew something was wrong. The boy’s passing comment had emphasised that.
‘For Christ’s sake, can we get back to work?’ Nick said.
Reluctantly Tommo replied. ‘All right then -’ He stopped abruptly, hearing a woman’s scream in the distance. ‘There, in that direction,’ he declared, facing east toward the hill.
Unexpectedly, as if viewing the parting of the Red Sea, the mist momentarily cleared allowing the two men full vision of the nearby hill. They stared in disbelief at what appeared to be three unidentifiable people erected on vertical stacks. Positioned at the peak of this near treeless hill, their sheer physical presence was very prominent with the absence of timbered surround. To constantly gaze on this awesome spectacle was a near impossible task, given the intensity of the sun’s rays beaming from behind this trio of chastised corpses. From a distance of around half a kilometre it was impossible to gain any worthwhile detail. The effect of the light on the bodies was incandescent.
At precisely seven am the Pedley Police Station received a phone call from a frantic young woman who had just witnessed the hill incident on her daily morning jog. She described in a highly emotional manner a bizarre sighting. Without hesitation the on-duty constable telephoned his superiors.
~ * ~
The persistent sound of the office doorbell prompted me to abandon my breakfast and the morning newspaper. Grudgingly I unlocked and opened the front door to see Hamish standing there with a concerned look. He had just returned from the newsagent to buy the morning edition, he explained. There was a commotion downtown and someone told him a crowd had gathered to view some human sacrifice on a nearby hill. Neglecting the remainder of my breakfast, I immediately jumped into Hamish’s car to accompany him to investigate this unsettling news.
Arriving at the street adjacent to the foot of the hill, I was surprised by the numbers who had gathered. For some, the anguish was clearly too much to bear and they had to turn away from the grotesque sight. I was bewildered by this reaction until I stepped from the car and saw with my own eyes the full impact of the scene on the hill. There was no longer a fog to obscure the view, and I stared upward at three motionless bodies erected on makeshift racks facing west over the township. Unable to identify the people from the base of the hill, I decided on a short but grueling ten-minute climb to reach the peak and
take a closer look. Without hesitation Hamish accompanied me, grunting and puffing as he attempted the steep terrain. His big frame and clumsy style was a distinct handicap on the slippery and thawing frost.
Reaching the hill’s summit I immediately saw Forbes and his team in conference, their backs to us as they discussed some significant aspect of the spectacle.
Before me, in all its shocking reality, was the most barbaric sight I’d ever had the misfortune to witness. Three men had been tied individually, each perched high on a timber trellis secured to an upright pole. The bodies were spreadeagled and both hands and feet were bound to each corner of their respective trellis. To emphasise their humiliation, each man had been stripped of clothing from the waist up, including socks and shoes. The central body was upside down, as if symbolising a greater punishment, while his two companions on either side seem to levitate in an upright position, with heads bowed due to the forces of gravity.
