Strike Me Dead

by Bob Goodwin

  ‘Definitely. Yes,’ said James.

  ‘Of these, there were only five that seemed to be a good fit. The others had injuries that were relatively minor and you would have thought they would have well and truly recovered after a year or so. Some of the people were way too young and several the accidents, although water-related, were a long way from the coast. And a few of course were women, which may not exclude them totally but most likely it does, so I took them out too.’

  ‘You are legendary. This is great!’ He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder.

  ‘Over a period of time, I have successfully narrowed it down to a short list of five names,’ continued Rae. ‘Here they are. Now, number one and two — Alfred Mills and William White both died from their injuries.’ Rae glanced at James who was quite transfixed on the notes. He reached behind himself without taking his eyes off the screen and pulled up the other office chair. ‘I did not eliminate them completely in the event there may have been an accomplice, but let’s focus on the remaining three.’ James shifted his chair a little closer to Raelene. She clicked the mouse and the next page flicked up.

  ‘Now, Thomas Hendricks got seriously hurt by propellers. Very nasty. A bit of a blurb here about the accident. My friend at the Nambour hospital tells me he was laid up there for eight months before being discharged to an address in South Australia.’

  ‘Nice to have friends in the right places,’ added James.

  ‘It helps. What amazed me most though is what people will reveal to you over the phone. I would just say I was doing a research project into marine safety and really, they would tell me everything.’

  ‘Well you do have that friendly, trust-me type of voice.’ He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Ooh! James. That’s very nice, but I have a bit more up my sleeve yet.’ A light flush filled her cheeks. ‘Anyway, I made a few calls to South Australia and tracked down the right Hendricks. He was just up here on holidays. So, that seems to count him out. That takes us to number four, Michael O’Connell.’ She clicked the mouse and revealed the next page. ‘He still lives here on the coast at a retirement village at Caloundra.’ She pointed to the screen. ‘There’s the story about his accident in the Bribie Passage. The thing is, he has only been on the Sunshine Coast for the past fifteen years, before that he lived in Darwin. He doesn’t fit the history we’re looking for. So then, number five. And you are gonna love this...’ She clicked the page over. ‘Morgan Finn was aged 50 when he had an accident at Southport while fishing. A jet ski smashed into his boat and he sustained a severe head injury. In hospital for ages. I rang every Finn on both the Gold and Sunshine Coasts, and after thirty-five calls, not one person I spoke to knew of a Morgan Finn, or so they said. Now, you know Logan from the gym?’ She turned to James. His face had turned serious and he was locked onto the computer screen. ‘James! Stay with me here.’ He shook his head and turned to her.

  ‘Sorry.’ He pushed out a smile. ‘I don’t quite know what to say. I wanted to find someone. And now we have... well I guess I’m just a little stunned to put it mildly.’

  ‘But you are okay, right?’

  ‘I am. I promise you. Shocked and stunned, but okay.’

  ‘Great. Now you do know Logan, right?’

  ‘Yes, not my favourite person in the world.’

  ‘I know he’s a bit of an arse, but he works in real estate and he’s doing a little property hunting for me. He should be emailing...’ Just as the words were leaving her mouth, a chime sounded from the laptop. ‘... me the results.’ She turned to James with a look of uncertainty.

  ‘You have mail!’ announced James.

  ‘This might be it,’ Rae clicked open her inbox. There was one new message. It was from Logan.

  Hi Rae,

  This is all I could find registered under the name Morgan Finn.

  Hope it is helpful.

  Morgan Finn is the registered owner of a property located at 72 Grasslands Rd, Kings Wood. It was previously registered under the names of William and Margaret Finn.

  Cheers

  Logan

  There was silence. The two just stared at the screen trying to comprehend the enormous significance of the email. James stood, pushing his office chair away. After a moment, Raelene did the same. They turned to each other.

  ‘You’ve done it,’ said James.

  ‘‘No, we’ve done it. Together. You started this. Now you’ve got to finish it.’

  James took a step towards Rae and took her in his arms. He squeezed her tightly, before pulling her away and staring into her eyes. Their faces moved closer.

  ‘You are so special to me, Rae. I really do love you.’ He kissed her on the lips. Rae reciprocated for a moment then pulled back. They held each other’s shoulders.

  ‘Are we doing the right thing?’ she breathed. James’s big brown eyes were wide open. He gazed at her.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Fuck!’ She pushed her mouth back against his.

  The two kissed softly and gently, with a little hesitancy at first. Then their contact became more intense and their mouths opened. After a few seconds, James pulled back.

  ‘I need to get hold of Hunter. I have to go to Kings Wood.’ Rae decorated him with a series of quick kisses over his lips and cheeks.

  ‘You go and chase him down.’ She kept kissing him.

  He bent down then scooped her up in his arms. ‘But I’m prepared to sacrifice fifteen minutes?’ James carried her to the bedroom.

  Chapter 41

  Morning Prayers

  It was 7.15 and the 7.00 am service at Southport St Peters church was well underway. A priest stood alone in the shade of the solitary tree in the front garden. He checked his watch and looked east up Nerang Street. At this time on a Sunday morning, the normally busy road was relatively quiet with just a few vehicles motoring about slowly. About 300 metres down the road, a lone runner turned the corner. He appeared to be moving at a solid pace. The priest slid his hand into the black cloth bag draped over his shoulder and felt around. He nodded to himself, satisfied that everything was in order. The runner was about thirty seconds away.

  The man in black moved forward a few paces and stood at the brick gateway to the church grounds. The runner gave a quick glance at his watch then increased his pace. The priest opened his prayer book and while looking down but keeping an eye to his left, he took one large step into the path of Graham Lawson. The heavy collision was inevitable and both men went down hard. Lawson partly deflected off the priest and automatically put out both hands, which struck the pavement at the same time as both his knees. The priest lay on his side groaning and holding his back.

  ‘Oh, fuck me!’ shouted Lawson from the ground. ‘What the fuck were you thinking? Jesus!’ He pushed himself to a sitting position, grimaced with discomfort and looked at his palms. He plucked off a couple of small stones from his wounds then did the same with the gravel rashes on his knees. ‘I was on a fucking PB ’n all. Fuck!’ He stood, rubbing his hands down the sides of his blue running shorts and smearing them with blood. The priest lay moaning on the footpath.

  ‘Help me get up. It’s my back. I think I have some serious damage,’ he groaned. Lawson moved over to him.

  ‘Are you blind? Didn’t you see me? You’ve fucked up my time completely, you moron.’

  ‘Please, I was reading my morning prayers. Help me up, my son then be on your way.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Lawson bent down and helped the priest to his feet. ‘Look at my hands and knees. Shit. Morning fucking prayers. Well they did you no good, did they?’

  The priest dropped an arm around Lawson’s neck and leant on him for support.

  ‘Please, just help me to my car. I’ll be okay from there.’

  ‘Where’s your damn car?’

  ‘Just there, across the road.’

  They limped their way across the road to where many of the assembly had parked. They
moved between a Kombi van and a four- wheel drive. The priest removed his arm from Lawson’s neck and slipped it quickly into his cloth bag. In a second, he wrapped the arm back around and pushed a chloroform-soaked piece of combine over Lawson’s mouth and nose. There was a brief struggle; but Lawson was still sucking in deep breaths from his run and subsequent collision, and within a few seconds, the drug did its job and his body fell limp.

  The priest managed to hold him partly upright as he opened the sliding door of the Kombi. He let him fall into the doorway then lifted his bottom half in. He secured the combine near his mouth with tape over his cheek. Not too tight to asphyxiate him, but not so loose as to allow him to wake before the two- hour trip was over. He covered him with a green canvas tarp and slid the door shut.

  Chapter 42

  Anybody Home?

  The Honda Accord was parked only ten metres up the gravel driveway; and Jason Hunter and his young colleague, Lisa, were walking the rest of the way to the old, weather-beaten house. They took care with their footing as they negotiated the corrugations and deep crevices along their path.

  It was 9 o’clock on Sunday morning and this would be the third property they had checked on so far today. It was one of only six acreage properties in Grasslands Road.

  ‘This driveway hasn’t been graded for years.’ Jason kicked away a loose rock. ‘Why is that?’ he asked, more to himself than anyone else, but Lisa who had been thinking along the same lines was quick to reply.

  ‘Maybe the place has little use,’ she said. ‘Or maybe the owner has an off-road vehicle and is not too fussed about the driveway, or maybe he doesn’t even drive at all.’ She looked down at the dirt. There were tyre marks here and there. ‘Scratch that last remark; someone’s been driving here. Big tread marks. Probably four-wheel drive.’

  The two made their way alongside the retaining wall and to a small set of stone steps near the garage.

  ‘It’s not just the driveway needing attention,’ said Jason. ‘These lily pillys need a good cut back too.’ He pushed some branches out of the way as they moved up the steps and to the front door. He knocked loudly and a few of the remaining flakes of paint lost their grip on the old wood. They waited. After a moment, he turned and looked up the hillside at the rocky outcrops and the extensive overgrowth of lantana. He turned his head to one side.

  ‘I’ll walk around...’ Lisa was cut off with a raise of the hand and a sharp shush. They stood quietly. Listening.

  ‘Hmmm, now I can’t hear it,’ said the detective. ‘You hear anything?’

  ‘No, just the breeze through the trees. What did you hear?’

  ‘Sort of metal-on-metal tapping sound. But I can’t hear it now.’ He looked up the hillside again. Four crows flew up from behind the lantana and moved away across the treetops. ‘Yes, you walk around to the right. I’ll go the other way and meet you at the back. Check the windows. It doesn’t look like anyone is home but keep an eye out. If we stumble across the person we are looking for, I dare say the reception could be a tad awkward.’

  ‘You know I can take care of myself, right?’ Lisa smiled.

  ‘Oh yes, I know that only too well; but if we find someone, I would very much like to have a chat with them rather than call an ambulance.’

  Lisa gave him a wink and a nod then set off around the house.

  A minute later, they met around the back, alongside a neatly stacked pile of chopped wood, which sat against the back wall. There were many exposed stumps of recently felled eucalypts and a little way from the house, a huge pile of branches and green leaves. A wooden ladder stood against the side of the house.

  ‘Someone has been busy,’ remarked Jason. ‘You see anything inside?’

  ‘Not much in there really. Old furniture, a fireplace and a few fireplace tools. A real absence of clutter. You’d have to think no one lives here on a permanent basis. Strangely, there is a rusty looking upright trolley in the lounge corner. It’s the sort you might use for moving a fridge or packing boxes and the like.’

  ‘Hmmm...’ nodded Jason.

  Lisa walked over to a tree stump and brushed it with her hand. ‘A lot of work has gone on here with all this wood. You would think most of this has been done over the last two or three weeks. Big job for one person unless they were pretty fit,’ said Lisa.

  ‘Yes, perhaps they thought there was a fire risk to the home. Not that it’s especially worth saving.’

  ‘Could have been worried about trees falling,’ she added. Jason picked up a piece of chopped wood then examined the stacked pile.

  ‘I don’t see any rot. You would think these trees had many years in them yet. And they’ve been doing work up there on the roof. There’s a new mounting up there.’ He pointed to a shiny patch of metal on the peak of the roof. ‘Maybe it’s for a TV aerial, who knows. Anyway,’ he added, putting the piece of wood back, ‘...no one is here so let’s move on. We’ll mark 72 Grasslands down for a return visit.’

  Chapter 43 — 17th Dec 2012

  Beggars Belief

  Morgan Finn used a spoon with a padded handle to feed himself his lunch. It was roast chicken with roast potato and gravy. The larger components had been cut into smaller pieces. It wasn’t so much the chewing that was the problem but more getting the food to his mouth via an uncooperative, spasming and unsteady arm. Claymore ate with him. He was quite prepared to feed his father if necessary, but Morgan was fiercely determined to manage for himself, wherever possible. Whether it be feeding, bathing, dressing or walking. Except for shopping and driving, he accepted few limitations.

  Morgan pushed another spoonful of chicken into his mouth. His arm jerked sharply as he removed the spoon from his lips and specks of gravy together with a couple of small bits of chicken flicked through the air. This was a normal enough pattern of things so neither man paid much attention.

  Ten minutes later, Claymore removed the tablecloth. He wiped areas that had been decorated with particles of food and dropped a wet face washer in front of his father who, as best he could, wiped the residue from around his mouth and chin. The narrow shelving running high around the wall had not escaped the chicken and gravy speckles. Claymore ran a cloth across one edge. There were just three items displayed on the shelf: a picture of Jesus wearing a crown of thorns; a first-place wood-chopping trophy depicting a man holding an axe; and a framed cutting from the local paper. Claymore lifted it down and wiped the glass before taking a moment to once again read the article. It was dated December 1986. The headline read — Local Hero Saves Tourist. The picture showed a couple arm in arm standing next to a lifeguard on a beach. Below the picture were the words — Hero Morgan Finn with his girlfriend Jane Crenshaw at Mooloolaba beach.

  ‘This was a great day for you, Father,’ he smiled. ‘You should have married Jane Crenshaw. I think you would have been a great couple. Then we would have all been together, like a real family.’ He placed the frame back. ‘That would have been nice.’

  Morgan grunted and flicked his head in an indifferent manner.

  ‘You know I miss Mother, even after twenty years.’

  Now he got a long, low growl from his father.

  ‘Where do you think she is now?’

  This time there was silence. Morgan hauled himself up and shuffled off to the lounge, but Claymore was not quite finished.

  ‘I think I know where she is. What’s more, I think you know where she is.’

  Morgan virtually fell back into the recliner. His son sat in the other, flicked out the leg support and relaxed back. It was a comfortable living area. The carpeted lounge was spacious and tastefully furnished. This was a vast improvement from the Gold Coast retirement and rehab village. He waited but his father made no response.

  ‘She’s in Salvation, isn’t she?’ said Claymore bluntly. ‘Or at least the main part of her is in Salvation.’

  Morgan had contorted his frail body. His spasms were marked and his face crimson. Saliva oozed from his mout
h.

  ‘Now, now, don’t go all crazy on me like that. It’s okay, really. If that’s what happened, I accept it. It had to be done. You were guided by God. I completely understand. I just want to know the truth and I make no judgement of you based on that.’ Claymore stood and moved his father’s easel over, next to his chair. Morgan began scrawling. His writing had improved with practice. In big letters, on the top of the page, was the word “SORRY” and underneath that, “BLINDED BY LUST”. His son nodded and tore off the sheet. Morgan continued — “EVIL STALKED ME” — “NOW SHE HAS SALVATION”. He dropped back in his chair exhausted from his efforts. A few tears ran down his face.

  * * *

  It was a lovely warm Mooloolaba evening as Claymore Finn wandered along the busy esplanade. The holidays, combined with the last six days of perfect weather, had ensured that the restaurants, al fresco dining, coffee shops, takeaways and clubs were all generating plenty of business. Around the lit-up area of the beach, park and surf club, there were still many family groups enjoying barbecues and playing games. Clusters of young men and women were collected here and there, planning their evening and checking one another out. There were even younger school leavers still celebrating the end of year twelve and continuing their holidays despite the traditional schoolies activities being completed two weeks earlier.

  On one level, Claymore was pleased to be away from his father who had not let up since the severe storm seven days ago, but at the same time, this was day seven and there was the anticipation; in fact, almost an expectation that a possessed soul would reveal itself.

  This was his fourth reconnaissance trip to the area this week but the first time wearing his priest garb and so far, despite seeing many who needed to be taught some sort of lesson, there had been none who had earned the wrath of God.