by Peter Watt
He went to his own office and closed the door. Lifting the telephone receiver he dialled a familiar number and waited.
‘Harry Griffiths gym, Harry speaking,’ the gruff voice answered.
‘Harry, how’s your cash flow?’
‘Major Duffy . . . Sean, how the devil are you? The answer to your question is that I could do with a job. Things are still slow around the gym.’
‘I have a job that is right up your alley,’ Sean said. ‘I need a surveillance job done on Allison. She thinks that she might be being followed each day to work, as well as being watched in her flat by night. You are on the clock as from this afternoon, and money is no object for your time and expenses.’
‘Boss, I would do it for free for you,’ Harry said. The former NSW policeman, Great War soldier and sometime private investigator who also owned a gym had known Sean for many years, and Sean considered Harry one of his best friends.
‘Well, Harry, old cobber, you get paid for your time and my personal gratitude for taking on the job. I know that you’re able to keep an eye on her safety. We’re also well overdue to get together for a cold beer.’
Sean replaced the receiver and stared at the wall. Now he had two problems concerning Sarah Macintosh. He did not think that Allison was being paranoid. Sean knew all too well what Sarah Macintosh was capable of, and that included murder. Based on his years of experience handling homicide defences Sean held suspicions about the death of Sarah’s father. Sometimes justice came outside of the law, and some deserved to die without recourse to the niceties of the legal system.
*
Sarah did not worry that people knew of her meetings with Detective Inspector Preston. After all, he was famous in Sydney circles as the man most feared by hardened criminals. There was also talk he was not the most honest copper in town, but the power he wielded was enough to silence any critic through fear or favour.
Preston was as familiar to the servants at Sarah’s house as he was to the staff at the Macintosh offices in the city. Today he simply went directly to the lavish boardroom she kept for board meetings and receiving important clients. Sarah entered, closing the door behind her.
‘Has my generous allowance to you paid any dividends?’ Sarah asked.
Preston shook off the cold of the wet winter’s day and looked out a window with a view of the city’s harbour. He could see the grey warships of many nations at anchor as little ferries conveying people dodged between them on their way to Circular Quay.
‘It depends,’ Preston answered, his hands in his trenchcoat pockets. ‘I can tell you that Miss Lowe leads a pretty boring life. Not even many trips to the flicks.’
‘I know she lives a boring life,’ Sarah answered, lighting a cigarette and puffing smoke into the warm air of the room. ‘What can you do to liven up her life?’
‘A bit more than what I heard on the streets. It was a pretty pathetic affair to try to blackmail her with dirty pictures,’ Preston said with a grim smile. ‘You employed amateurs. You should have come to me.’
‘You were in my father’s employ at the time,’ Sarah replied. ‘I had to settle for second-best. What can you do to earn the extra money I pay you?’
‘You must really hate that woman,’ Preston said, shaking his head.
‘It’s not of any concern to you what my feelings for her are,’ Sarah retorted. ‘I just want her to be punished for what she has done to me.’
‘Punished?’ Preston said. ‘You know I have the means to do that for you. I am the law in this city, and I can do what I want. The department is too scared to question my methods as I get results that make those in headquarters look good in the morning papers. Do you really want me to punish this woman?’
‘I don’t care if you can arrange for her to go missing,’ Sarah answered, taking a long puff on her cigarette. ‘As a matter of fact, that would be the ideal situation. Perhaps she could have a fatal accident . . .’
‘I have other means of getting what you want,’ Preston said. ‘Missing is a last resort but not one I would dismiss. That situation would require a very big payout.’
‘I’ll trust you to do whatever you have in mind, Inspector Preston,’ Sarah said. ‘But you only get the bonus on a satisfactory result for me.’
Preston reached into his coat for a cigarette. Yes, he had a way of satisfying his client’s request but he would use the law to do so. It would all be above board and should earn him points with his superiors in the force. Allison Lowe was as good as finished.
*
Tom Duffy watched the two horsemen approaching his front gate. With his keen eyesight he could identify the blue uniformed man as the local police sergeant. The other, he did not know.
When they reined in their horses Tom greeted his visitors.
‘G’day Tom,’ the police sergeant said. ‘I’m afraid I come bearing bad news. The man with me is a court bailiff and he has some papers for you about property obtained with unlawful proceeds.’
Tom looked across at the man standing beside the burly police officer. He looked like an office worker with his pale complexion, and Tom guessed he was a young court clerk. ‘I think I know what your mate has for me,’ Tom said, stretching out his hand. ‘I’ll make it easy for him.’
The legal clerk handed Tom the reams of paper with an almost audible sigh of relief. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Duffy,’ he apologised, ‘just doing my job.’
‘That’s okay, son,’ Tom said, barely looking at the papers. ‘A man cannot be punished for doing what he is paid to do.’
‘You have seven days from midnight tonight to vacate Glen View, Tom,’ the sergeant said in an apologetic tone. ‘I’m also just doing my job and there is nothing else I can do.’
Tom shook his head in understanding, turned and walked back to the house. The two visitors mounted their horses and rode away.
Tom slumped down at the kitchen table, dropping the papers on the floor.
‘What is it, dear?’ Abigail asked, entering the room.
‘We’ve just been given notice that we have to leave Glen View within a week,’ Tom replied in a weary voice. ‘It appears the Macintosh companies are disputing my right to own the property.’
‘What will we do?’ Abigail asked, sitting down at the table with Tom. ‘Where will we go?’
‘I’ll send you to our station out of Townsville,’ Tom said. ‘I’ve not decided yet what I’ll do.’
Abigail reached across the table to take her husband’s hand in her own. ‘You should come with me until this matter is sorted out in the courts,’ she said, fearing Tom was considering doing something rash.
Tom looked up at the .303 Lee Enfield bracketed on the wall. He had little faith in the legal system that leaned towards the rich and powerful. As wealthy as he was, he could not match the might of the Macintosh enterprises.
‘Maybe it’s time I went back to war,’ he said quietly.
This was the land of his Aboriginal ancestors. His Irish blood was also buried on Glen View. He had fought the enemies of the British Empire in two world wars. Maybe it was time to fight for something even more important to him: his land.
*
Wewak fell and David’s company moved on with the battalion to root out any remaining pockets of Japanese resistance.
David sat with his back against a giant tree in the forest whose entwined canopy blocked the remaining sunlight, resting for a moment as his company spread out around him to bivouac for the night. He had overseen each of the platoon defensive positions, and he was tired. An infantryman was a creature who learned to live on little sleep. David had long learned how to take short naps – sleeping in mud, in the bottom of a trench or, as now, with his back to a tree – his rifle in his lap. Beside him the company signaller sat by the field telephone listening for any signals coming in from battalion HQ or platoon commanders.
‘H
ello, old boy,’ Captain Brian Williams said, crouching down beside his company commander. ‘Brought you a coffee from some of those Yankee rations we found back at Aitape.’
David gratefully accepted the battered mug of hot black coffee, taking a sip.
‘Do you think we’re doing any good out here?’ Brian asked, pulling a pipe from his pocket and plugging it with tobacco. ‘All we seem to come across are half-starved Nips who are now on the run. The Yanks are getting all the glory and one could feel that they’ve left us behind to mop the floors of an empty, disused building.’
‘With words like that, Brian, you should be writing novels,’ David said. ‘You know the old saying, ours is not to question why.’
Brian lit his pipe and took a few short puffs to keep it alight. ‘We are losing more of our men to disease than to Jap bullets,’ he said. ‘Once fit men will end up spending years to shake off the effects of every bloody disease known to man – and some, I suspect, they don’t really know about. We are short on officers, and that platoon commander we got sent yesterday fought his war at brigade HQ pushing a pencil. He has never really seen any combat. He’s a nice chap but I worry what will happen if we really hit something big.’
‘No choice in who we get,’ David said. ‘I asked the boss for an officer with a bit of experience, but he said Mr Markham graduated near the top of his class at Duntroon. It appears that his father is a member of parliament and has some pull in Canberra.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Brian exclaimed with a short laugh. ‘None of us went to Duntroon. We were all civvies when the war broke out, and will return to being civvies when it ends. As for that, the boss was an accountant before the war, and has the best bloody tactical mind of any soldier this war has seen. You know that when this war ends, even you will never be promoted beyond your current rank, because you did not graduate Duntroon. And that is despite your truly impressive record of leadership.’
‘We’ll give Mr Markham the benefit of the doubt, and I’ll trust you to keep an eye on his performance,’ David said. ‘If he stuffs up, put Sergeant Hayden Clarke in charge of the platoon.’
Brian nodded. ‘I’d better go and chase up the CSM about the extra grenades we ordered to be brought up,’ he said in his capacity of company second in command. It was not the role most officers desired in an infantry company, but he was also trained to take charge of the company if anything happened to David.
That night was uneventful and the company had time to eat and prepare for the next day. At first light the men moved out, ready to sweep and clear any Japanese soldiers.
As David moved with his small company HQ group, putting two platoons forward and one in reserve, what they saw on the advance confirmed the enemy’s pitiful state. The day before, they had come across a small convoy of bullet- and shrapnel-riddled Japanese trucks rusting in the hot, humid air. Scattered about the trucks were the skeletons of enemy soldiers draped in rags. David remembered the strange smell of the rotting earth – and the incense the Japanese liked to burn. It was obvious the men were killed in a strafing by an Allied fighter bomber, and their comrades did not attempt to retrieve the dead for burial. He could see they were mopping up an enemy already on the brink of destruction from starvation and disease.
For the first five miles of the company advance they struggled through swampy undergrowth interspersed by creeks. Then the track began to rise up a long spur into the mountains where intelligence said the main body of the remaining Japanese army were mostly likely to be dug in.
David knew he must send one of his platoons out another two miles to scout and wait for their report. The platoon dragged a signals line behind them, and in the early afternoon the report came back that the platoon had encountered around a section of Japanese. David calculated that even if his platoon outnumbered the enemy section three to one it was better that he get reinforcements up to his clearing unit. Who knew how many other Japanese were in the area? He ordered out the second of his trusted platoon commanders, keeping the newly joined platoon commander, Lieutenant Markham, in his reserve for company HQ protection. Just on dark the report came back over the field telephone: the second platoon had made contact with what they thought was another enemy section armed with light machine guns. The platoon commander requested direction from company HQ and David said to engage them. What followed was a short but sharp firefight.
David ordered his platoon commander to dig in and wait for him to join them in the morning. The platoon did so and David ordered his remaining men to make their way forward to join the rest of the company. At least they would have around a hundred men to take on whatever lay out on their flank. The going was hard in the rugged terrain and marching at night a dangerous venture, but by first light they reached the location of his second platoon.
David ordered three shots to be fired in the air as the prearranged signal, and was challenged over the field telephone. He had to give his full name for clearance, and when this was done welcomed into the second platoon’s position, where he met the platoon commander.
‘How did last night go?’ David asked his young officer as they squatted amidst the pushed-up logs and shell scrapes in the tangle of tall trees and scrubby bushes.
‘I had the boys run some jungle vines down the slope to follow in the dark and made contact with the Nips,’ he replied, leaning on his rifle. ‘From then on a couple of the lads would follow the vines down and fire off some shots in the direction of where we suspected the little bastards to be. Kept this up all night to deprive the Nips of any sleep.’
‘Good show,’ David grinned. ‘I think it’s about time our arty support showed how good they are.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the platoon commander replied. ‘I’ve worked out a grid reference of where we agree the Nips are holed up.’ He produced his map and pointed to a marked area.
David turned to his signaller, saying, ‘Call up battalion and put in a request for arty support.’
The signaller immediately contacted the battalion HQ in their rear and soon David took over the signaller’s transmitter to calmly give the fire orders that would be relayed to the gunners manning the 25-pounders of the artillery support.
‘Everyone keep your heads down,’ David yelled to those nearest him.
Word quickly spread as the first artillery shell passed overhead to explode deep in the jungle. Satisfied he had accurately called in the first shot David gave the order to fire for effect and soon the explosive rounds fell with their heavy crumping sound, partly muffled by the thick forest. It was still close enough for the men hugging the earth to feel the shock waves beneath their bodies. After a while David called for the artillery to stop and ordered his entire company to advance towards the shelled area. David moved forward with his leading platoon through smashed trees and still smoking craters. He could see three Japanese beating a retreat but they were out of sight before any effective small arms fire could be brought to bear. On the ground were two dead bodies, and blood trails of the wounded leading into the heavy forest further up the hill. One of the enemy had obviously died from gunshot wounds, and the other from shrapnel that had ripped away his chest and head.
‘Looks like you bagged one last night,’ David said to the platoon commander standing beside him.
‘And you got the other one, sir,’ the platoon commander grinned.
David ordered a patrol to sweep the area and sat down to organise a report back to battalion. He had not lost any men on this mission. That was all he cared about as the tropical heavens opened and torrential rain came down to wash away the blood of the battlefield.
Two days to kill two enemies, David thought in his weariness. But he also knew there were many more days and Japanese soldiers before them. He had been lucky this time. Next time, they could find themselves in an ambush.
If there was a next time for him.
SIX
Harry Griffiths raised his glass of beer to Sea
n Duffy and then took a sip. They sat at the bar of their favourite pub amidst a crowd of military uniforms from Australia and the United States. The mood was a lot more festive compared to three years earlier, when the country was thought to be on the point of invasion by an absolutely ruthless enemy. Men pushed and shoved to purchase another round, and beers spilled onto the tiled floor.
‘The men tailing Allison are coppers.’
‘Coppers,’ Sean echoed. ‘What the bloody hell is going on?’
‘Dunno,’ Harry said, ‘but she’s definitely not imagining things. I recognised a couple of Preston’s boys. I got a few good shots on that Hun camera you gave me,’ Harry slid a compact German-made camera into Sean’s hands beneath the level of the bar. ‘Bloody beautiful piece of precision engineering, and sure beats the old box brownie. Where did you get it?’
‘David got it off the body of a German officer in North Africa,’ Sean said, pocketing the camera. ‘He gave it to me as a present when he returned.’
‘And you trusted me with it?’ Harry said with a smile. ‘I could have fetched a pretty penny on the black market.’
‘I’d trust you with my life,’ Sean answered with his own slow smile.
Harry did not comment on that as he knew the feeling was mutual. ‘I don’t suppose the Nips make very good cameras, but if you happen to be writing to him ask young David to keep the next camera he takes off a dead Jap for me. You never know, maybe they learned something from their old allies, the Huns.’
‘So, if you recognised Preston’s boys tracking Allison we can only presume that Preston is behind the operation,’ Sean said. ‘But I doubt he initiated it. It has to be something Sarah Macintosh would have him do for her.’
‘It’s no secret on the streets that Preston has been meeting with her regularly. No doubt to get his kickback for his overtime with the Macintosh companies.’ Harry said. ‘I just wonder what he has on Miss Macintosh.’
