Author: Tony Costello

I still miss my old friend Murphy. I can’t believe that it is almost eight years since I last saw my old mate. He’s gone out of my life… gone somewhere else, maybe he’s needed somewhere else, but I miss my old friend of nearly thirty years, I grew-up with him, we went to the same school, did everything together. We had so much fun together but no more, he’s gone now, out of my life but he is not forgotten.

I remember so well the fateful events in Kalgoorlie beginning when I saw Bob Clark at the Two-Up School in Broad Arrow. I had never expected to see him there, I knew he was not a gambler so why was he here I wanted to know. He hadn’t mentioned a country trip when I talked to him the previous week and I had divulged my plans to visit Kalgoorlie over the New Year holiday. I was to research my book Kalgoorlie Gold and I hoped to gain valuable info from the local gold miners who spent their lives in search of the precious metal in the Goldfields.

Broad Arrow, Kalgoorlie, Western Australia Jan 1 2006

“Are you following me around Bob, or are you here on some secret business with Ginger?” I asked as I sidled up beside him. He showed little surprise at my sudden appearance, he just mumbled.

“Let’s take a walk to my car, we need a beer.”

“Cheers Bob and a Happy New Year.” I said as he handed me a cold can. “So what’s the story, I would never expect to see you in this place, you haven’t taken up gambling have you?”

“I didn’t expect to be here either and I’m not so sure I should be.” he replied in hushed tones even though we were alone in his car. “I not sure it’s such a good idea, it might go all wrong”

He’s not making much sense I thought but I was determined to find out what was causing him so much anxiety.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything, it was all hush-hush and not supposed to be in this place. The WACA or Subiaco Oval would have been better venue but they ruled out using anywhere in Perth. I’m up here because of Ginger’s invention. You coming here suggested this might be an alternative site, that’s why we are here in this miserable place.”

I had to agree with Bob it was a miserable place, it being a gambling joint in the middle of the bush, a rough concrete floor in the shape of a ring enclosed with rusting galvanised iron, the sky peeping through holes in the roof. A few rough wooden benches served as seating for the many punters who regularly won or lost thousands of dollars on the turn of two pennies. This was the great Australian gambling game of Two-Up

Before the advent of casinos this was the only legalised Two-Up school in Western Australia. Gamblers from overseas as well as locally were lured to the place. It is also something of a tourist curiosity; a place to spend a little time or money, there is nothing else there except the spinning coins.

“I’m here because of Ginger’s invention.” Bob continued. “If it works, if it’s a success, it could be our saviour, it’s the best idea he has come up with yet, and I do hope it works. They’re all here, watching.”

“Who’s here watching?” I asked. “Who’s here and what are they watching?”

“The police, the army, ASIO, maybe the Americans, there’s a lot of suits in there, they are here to watch the testing of The Anti Terrorist Arrester.”

“What’s that, what does it do?” I wanted to know.

“It works on the suction method, like a giant vacuum cleaner. It can lock on to and grab an object falling from the sky, such as a bomb or a missile and gently lower it safely to the ground.”

“That sounds exciting Bob, I hope it works.” I remembered previous inventions Ginger had worked on, some had not been what could be called successful, but he was not one to give up easily and the odds would say he must get one right eventually but Bob was worried about this one, he was not happy at all.

“So it’s happening to-day here at the Two-Up School, the big test, that’s why we are here.
Four suction beams are set-up outside the gambling ring, disguised as portable toilets, powerful batteries ready to be switched on when the aircraft arrives, hopefully everything will be fine.”

“I hope so too, Bob. Your mate Ginger is a real trier.”

“Yes he is, isn’t he, by the way are you up here on your own or has Murphy tagged along?”

“Ah you know it’s difficult to get away from those two characters. He’s here somewhere, but I haven’t seen him for a couple of days, he’s been taking flying lessons I think?”

Flying lessons! Oh No, it couldn’t be, not Ginger and Murphy. Oh God No!

“We’ll soon know.” Bob said as he checked his watch “It’s almost midday, it’s time. I think it best we stay in the car, just in case something should go wrong.”

He doesn’t seem too confident I thought, then I heard the sound of a low flying light aircraft approaching the Two-Up ring, then the almost silent hum of the suction beams as they were switched on by Ginger from inside the control room that was hidden in the rear of a school bus. All was now in readiness for the big test.

The little plane circled the site a couple of times, the pilot was recognisable as my old mate Murphy, dressed in his green flying suit. A few quick passes to show-off his flying skills then he climbed and swooped in a sneak dive-bomb attack. Ginger on full alert grabbed the bomb and dropped it exactly where he wanted it, beside Bob’s new car. It was a ten-litre can of striped paint, previously borrowed from his shed.

The punters inside of the gambling ring were blissfully unaware of the unusual activities outside. Anyhow watching the two spinning pennies was much more important than the antics of some crazies trying to catch paint bombs.

“That was impressive; Bob, Ginger seems to have got it spot on right at last.”

“Yes it was, but it’s a long way from being over, he’s got to do it at least five times before it can be called a success, and you can bet the next bomb will be bigger and heavier.”

“Well fingers crossed then, what’s next I wonder?”

We didn’t have long to wait. Even as we spoke we could hear the drone from the engine of the little plane as it took off from the salt lake a few kilometres away. Soon it was directly over the two-up school. The payload was much bigger and heavier as Bob had predicted it would be. It looked like a bag of cement as it plummeted from a great height towards the target of unsuspecting gamblers.

Once again Ginger was on top of the situation, the suction beams locked-on and it was but a simple matter to lower the parcel-bomb onto a nearby utility. Well it was almost as easy as that, if the bag hadn’t burst when it hit the blackboy, bringing loud moans from the observers hiding in the bush. However the suction beams had worked well. It was two out of two.

“It’s looking good, Bob.” I was beginning to feel confident in the Ginger and Murphy team. Maybe they could be great? Murphy could handle the light plane well and he was up there with the best at target practice. Bob still in anxious mood wouldn’t commit, only to mumble, “We’ll see!”

The next two attempts went very well, in fact almost perfect. The sawn-off telegraph pole with the sharpened end resembling a rocket was the easiest to capture and it stood like a totem pole between the cars in the middle of the bush car park. No cars were damaged in this attempt. The ball bearings proved to be more difficult, because there were hundreds of them falling in all directions but the beams quickly sucked them in and spat them out the other end.

Once again they had shown they were capable of success and had done what was demanded of them without a hitch. It was a perfect score…So far.

“Better now, Bob?” I asked. Although he looked more at ease he was still being cautious.

“There’s one more to go.” He said, without smiling.

“Is everything Okay over there Ginger?” he shouted.

“Yes everything is A.OK. The last test is coming up.” Ginger sounded confident but I could see that Bob was still not happy.

“He’s going to grab the plane next.” Bob said. “Let’s hope Murphy is in good mood, it’s going to require a lot of nerve and skill.”

“Grab the plane! You’re not serious?” I was shocked to hear such news.

“Well that’s the plan, it should be quite simple and if they can get this one right it should be the clincher.” Bob explained the strategy. “Murphy will fly slowly along a pre-determined flight path and when given the signal from Ginger he will shut-down his engine, the beams have been programmed to follow those co-ordinates and the plane will then be totally in Ginger’s control. The target this time is that burnt-out utility about two hundred metres west of the gambling ring. At least that’s the plan.”

The little plane came into view once again on its final trials run; it was coming in very fast and heading straight for the Two-Up ring, not for the agreed target. Something black and ominous was strapped to its undercarriage. The plane continued on its approach. Murphy had completely ignored instructions; he seemed determined to do something foolish.

“Something’s wrong, Bob.”

“I thought something like this might happen, I had a bad feeling about the whole thing.” Bob groaned. “What’s gone wrong, Ginger?”

Poor Ginger was in a panic, the controls were locked in and he couldn’t free them. Murphy wasn’t answering, he was out of control and what was that gadget hanging from the under-carriage? That was not supposed to be there!

The plane was now in a steep climb, way out of range of the control beams, it appeared to stall for an instant, then with engine screaming it went into a nosedive down, down, aiming for the Two-Up School. What the hell was Murphy up to?

At last the watchers and the gamblers realised that something was wrong, a mass exodus ensued with persons racing for cars or charging into the bush, away from the soon to be demolished gambling ring.

Murphy in the flying bomb seemed intent on mass destruction. Ginger in the control room was fighting a losing battle with a computer that frustrated his every move. In desperation he hit the escape key one last time and with a mighty roar the Arrester Machine was activated, but it started to blow…not suck.

The suction beams had become four uncontrollable blowers generating a wind velocity in the form of a mini tornado. The iron gambling ring was picked-up and sent skyward into the path of the suicide dive-bomber. A massive explosion signalled the end to the final test of the Anti Terrorist Arrester.

* * * * *

The Aftermath

The explosion fortunately was absorbed by the metal structure so there was no loss of life at ground level and apart from minor scratches mostly attributed to the mad scramble through the bush, most got off scot-free. Many cars however were damaged in the fall-out and the gambling ring was blown into thousands of small pieces, scattered in a wide radius. The little plane and its pilot were part of that scenario.

In a short time the experts at the scene had mobilised and a full-scale alert was initiated. We were quickly rounded up for medical assessment and our safety. That’s what they told us, in other words we were to be detained under the new Anti Terrorist Laws, which was detention without charge for twenty-eight days.

I saw Ginger in handcuffs being bundled into a paddy wagon. Bob and I were separated and taken to different locations in Kalgoorlie. Then the questioning began. What had gone wrong, why had Murphy turned feral? Why did he become a suicide bomber, what were his motives? Did I know if he was in the pay of some foreign power? The questioning went on for hours and hours, all I could do was to tell the truth, but it seemed we were all under suspicion and I was one of the prime suspects.

They had a whole lot of questions that needed to be answered before I would be released onto society again, but I couldn’t give them answers, because I knew nothing of the test or that Murphy would be involved in it until I met Bob that morning at the Two-Up site. There was no way that I was responsible for what had occurred. That’s what I told them, over and over again, but to no avail, the grilling went on for hours for day’s maybe. I was locked away in solitary somewhere, I knew not where. I soon lost track of time, I didn’t know if I was still in Kalgoorlie or even in Australia.

After what seemed an eternity I was given a document to sign, I was told it was the Official Secrets Act and I was made aware of the consequences if I were to divulge anything I had seen or heard regarding the incident at Broadarrow. After signing, I would be free to go about my business, just keep your mouth shut and you might live to be a ripe old age, I was warned. “Remember we know all about you. There is nowhere to hide.”

I signed the document gladly, hoping to get out of that place as soon as possible but first I would be made aware of the official slant to the unfortunate accident.

An underground gas explosion caused by a minor earth shift possibly the result of excessive mining in the district demolished the Two-Up School. James Francis Patrick Murphy was killed when the single-engine plane he was flying was unfortunately directly overhead when the explosion occurred.

Two days later I found myself back in Kalgoorlie cop station where I was to be prepared for release back into society, a final lecture on the protocol demanded and the dangers of relating anything of what happened at Broadarrow. My previously confiscated personal property was returned to me including my car, which was in a sparkling clean condition. The experts had probably pulled the thing apart, fortunately nothing was found to link me to any subversive activity otherwise I wouldn’t be walking free for a long time. I was an innocent man caught up in circumstances not of my making yet they had locked me away for ten days without apology and put my life in a position of eternal fear.

“Go back to Perth, Mr O’Sullivan and forget what happened here.” The old policeman told me. “You don’t want the spooks on your back for the rest of your life; they will be watching your every move, so be careful, just go home and forget it, I’m sorry about your friend, Murphy. He has named you as next of kin so you must formally identify the body, it’s just a formality, and it’s something you must do so we can cremate the remains. The state of W.A will take care of the details; all you have to do is to sign the papers.

Reluctantly I agreed to do my duty for my old friend, no matter what dreadful tomfoolery he had got involved in and he had paid the ultimate price for his foolhardiness, we had been friends for a long time I really didn’t hate him for causing the troubles I was now faced with.

In the morgue I saw a nondescript shape covered with a sheet, Murphy was but a small collection of incinerated bones. “Just sign the paper, the old cop prompted, the cremation is in two days time maybe you would like to stick around for that, and then you must put it all behind you and forget it ever happened.”

On Friday Jan 14th at 3pm a large crowd gathered at the crematorium chapel to pay last respects to the good man who had lost his life in that terrible accident. After a brief ceremony conducted by Fr Burke PP of Kalgoorlie the remains of James Francis Patrick Murphy were committed to his final resting place in the Garden Of Remembrance. I commissioned a plaque with words I thought apt for the occasion, it will read. Rise To Great Heights and Go Out With A Bang.

I noticed some teary-eyed female mourners at the service that day, Murphy had been a likable fellow and was never short of company, he made friends easily.

I didn’t see Bob or Ginger there, I reckoned they must be still in custody; I said a final prayer for the immortal soul of my departed good friend and left for Perth next morning at dawn.

Back in Perth and hoping to resume normal duties was not easy, how could I forget or pretend the events I had been part of did not occur. I had gone to the goldfields to research my book “Kalgoorlie Gold” but alas that had not happened. I had basically made no progress on that project, and would need to return at some later stage, but I had become involved in a series of intriguing events that I am compelled to wipe from my memory.

That was not easy to cope with, I couldn’t accept that something as serious as what had occurred could be covered-up by the authorities and erased from the minds of witnesses using threats of imprisonment and perhaps death to achieve their aims. I didn’t believe it to be the norm in the free world. But I was wrong. The truth was hidden in a conspiracy of lies in the name of National Security.

I tried to get back into my former life, to resurrect my writing career but the creative juices were not responding, my head told me to get on with the job but in reality I was still locked in solitary somewhere scared and threatened. Although free now to move around as I pleased, the threat was ever present.

“They will be watching your every move.” the old Kalgoorlie cop had warned me, I think he was right; I had that feeling of not being entirely alone.

I missed the presence of Murphy, there was never a dull moment with him around, and he always had something out of the ordinary or unusual on the agenda. I often ended up as his fall guy but I had never known him to actually do anything illegal but he was capable of being pigheaded and silly sometimes.

I couldn’t accept he was gone out of my life forever, he had named me his next of kin so I busied myself in putting his affairs in order, the next few weeks were filled with all the legal arrangements required by law, and I became the heir to his modest fortune.

Bob or Ginger had not shown up in their usual places, I rang several times but there was no response except for an answering machine that clicked in an unusual manner, I imagined there was someone listening, so I didn’t leave a message. I called round to Bob’s unit only to find a For Sale sign out the front, a neighbour told me they had gone overseas just after Xmas and had no plans to return to Australia. Ginger had been offered a well-paid position in the America, working for the Defence Department.

That was certainly a revelation, what was going on I wondered?

After hearing that piece of information I began to wonder if there weren’t more slants to the happening at Broadarrow than we were expected to believe, there seemed to be a few extra twists to the bow, maybe even a conspiracy or two.

What was the outcome to that fateful afternoon apart from proving the Anti Terrorist Arrester really was a success? That had been demonstrated on four separate occasions when Murphy had flown the light plane unerringly to the nominated target. Why then did the final fifth test run become a disaster resulting in destruction and the death of my friend? There was more to that incident than a rogue pilot going off the rails and there was something else too…why did Ginger’s computer malfunction at that critical moment. Was the “test” a demonstration of something far more sinister and were Ginger and Murphy mere pawns in a game played for high stakes?

Although there was nothing I could do without attracting attention and landing myself in gaol or worse, I was determined to clear Murphy’s name at least to my own satisfaction. I spent many hours going through his personal effects looking for a sign that might link him to any illegal or criminal organization. I found nothing incriminating in the several suitcases that stored his personal papers and letters and his bank balance was as I would have expected it to be, modest but in the black. If he had received payment for his crazy activity it wasn’t in his bank, I found nothing to link Murphy to anything more sinister than he being a man determined to have a good time out of life. So what had caused him to act in such a reckless manner and was he just the fall guy?

I was convinced that Murphy’s death was not of his making, he was no terrorist he was not a criminal, there had to be something else, something that had gone wrong resulting in the tragedy but whatever it was I was in no position to learn. How could I hope to clear his name with the fear of reprisal uppermost in my mind, I reckoned the answers lay in the goldfields and I had a legitimate reason in going back there and poking around. I still needed to do research for my book otherwise it would never be finished, I should say never get started, I had neglected my writing over the past year and a half, the Kalgoorlie Gold title was the only positive move I had made in that project.

I decided to return to Kalgoorlie as soon as possible, but I would make some arrangements to safeguard my hide. I would tell anyone who would listen of my plans and how long I would be there and when I should be expected to return hoping I might avoid some nasty accidents along the way. I may be paranoid and over-cautious but I always believed preparation being paramount to any successful operation.

As Bob and Ginger had not returned to Perth and the unit in Spearwood had long been sold, I imagined that would be the last I would see or hear of them. I could only hope they would do well in the United States if that was where they now call home. I think they may have done very well according to the article I read recently in The New Scientist Magazine.

The Americans are testing a new anti-terrorist defensive weapon, a series of powerful suction beams that will be able to lock on to flying or falling objects and deposit them safely onto the ground. That sounds familiar.

My road-trip to the goldfields was completed without incident and on arrival I booked a room for a week in Paddy’s Ale House in Hannan Street. My first task was to revisit the site of the Two-Up site where it had all happened, the memory of that day so fresh in my mind it might have been only yesterday although nearly eighteen months had elapsed.

I found all trace of the disaster had been wiped clear, the bulldozers had done their job of levelling and filling the site and the bush had regenerated with shrubs and wildflowers in abundance. Man, machine and nature had combined in a great cover-up. Bush Two-Up at Broadarrow is now just a memory but I found there is a modernised version of the game called Fun-Time Two-Up operating at Sheffields Bar & Grill Burt Street Boulder where you can relive the excitement of the toss of the pennies and learn the rules of the historic game.

I next visited Kalgoorlie Cemetery to say a prayer at the final resting place of my friend Murphy. I was relieved to see the commemorative plaque was in place as I had instructed, also the Garden Of Remembrance was maintained in beautiful condition. I reckoned Murphy would have nothing to complain about sleeping in such pleasant surroundings.

The End, for now.

“I will prove that you, Joseph Gregory Hardin did on the twenty-second day of November 2012, wilfully kill George Arthur Wilson. That you used your powerful Holden Utility to force the car driven by Mr Wilson off the road at Hawkins Bend and so caused his untimely end.

“I will also prove that you did before many witnesses in The George Hotel saloon bar threaten to kill Mr Wilson just two days previously and that you were heard to shout, “I will kill you, you bastard!” There are many patrons who will testify you deliberately bumped into him and spilt a jug of beer down his shirt-front and when he demanded an apology you gave him a two-finger sign and told him to get stuffed. You did kill Mr Wilson! I will prove that you did.”

I shuddered as the prosecutor glared in my direction. What was I doing in this courtroom, I had done nothing wrong, I hadn’t killed anyone, I had never done anybody harm. I have had a few disagreements with several guys since I arrived in town but that’s all they were, just arguments after a few beers mostly but I don’t get involved with anything more serious. I have never done anyone harm but the police wouldn’t listen to me, they had an open and shut case, they said. They have witnesses to say that I caused the trouble in the George Hotel that night, but they have only one side of the story and they want to pin the killing on me. Someone did kill George Wilson and I won’t say I’m sorry, but it certainly wasn’t me.

“I will prove that you used your powerful Holden Utility as a weapon, that you forced the smaller vehicle off the road at Hawkins Bend where it smashed into the trees and burst into flames so causing Mr Wilson to lose his life.” the prosecutor continued.” You have a reputation of being a hothead and you have had several encounters with the police especially in regards to your driving…you like to speed don’t you Mr Hardin and you drink to excess sometimes, up until now you have been lucky. This time you have gone too far…you killed George Arthur Wilson…I’m going to put you away for a very long time.

I Am Innocent! I wanted to shout, but they need to convict someone and they are dead set on finding me guilty. Won’t someone listen to me? I have done no wrong. Sure I shouted that I would kill him but that was only after he had bashed me and called me a stupid bastard. He hit me several times but it seems none of the police witnesses saw him do that. I was no match for him, he being the local tough guy and he often boasted that this was his town because he reckoned everyone was scared of him. I’ve seen him bash lots of guys and take beer and money off them. I know of plenty fellows who could have knocked him off, maybe even the police themselves, but it wasn’t me. But who’s going to help me, they won’t listen to me?”

“Hey! Hardin wake-up, your lawyer Mr Gibson is here…I don’t know how you can sleep with such a serious charge hanging over your head”. Senior Constable Jones sneered. “You must be a cold-blooded bastard.”

“No, I’m not cold-blooded and I’m not guilty of anything. I am innocent!” I retorted. ‘You lot are the bastards trying to pin that crime on me. I have done no wrong!

The lawyer was unsmiling and didn’t look very friendly as he shook my hand and I wondered if he would be sympathetic to my cause. He came straight to the point and asked.

“Mr Hardin. The police have made serious allegations against you, what’s your story… if I am to represent you and try to get you out of this mess I must have the truth. Did you kill George Arthur Wilson last night?”

“No I did not, I‘ve told the cops so many times I didn’t see him or his car last night!”

“Well the police do appear to have a good case against you and when they locate your vehicle they say they will have it all sewn up.”

“Stitched-up is more like it! That’s what they are doing to me.”

“Maybe you got drunk and hit his car unknowingly, that’s a serious crime but not wilful murder…you might get away with five years for that?”

“No I did not.” I insisted. “I didn’t drive my car last night; I had to thumb a lift into town. I had been cadging lifts all the week”

“But the police insist your utility was the vehicle involved?”

“Maybe it was but I wasn’t the driver. I didn’t drive my ute last night”

“Why was that, why didn’t you drive your vehicle?” The lawyer inquired.

“Because it’s in Wrights Garage having a new motor fitted, has been there for more than a week.”

The lawyer nodded his head in agreement he smiled and said

“Let’s get you out of here, Mr Hardin. I don’t think they will object. I have a few words to say on your behalf. Someone has a lot of explaining to do. Let’s go.

The sound of a brick thrown through the bedroom window was enough to spur the old fellow into action, crime was a problem in this area and home invasions were on the increase. He had no intention of becoming just a victim and certainly not a statistic he was not going to be another newspaper headline ‘Great-Grandfather Bashed and Robbed in his Home.’ He was prepared for the invaders, the scum of the earth he liked to call them, miserable dregs of a sick society who thought themselves to be above the law when they took whatever they wanted from the old and defenceless. He was determined not to give up without a struggle; he would protect what was his no matter what the cost.

He hadn’t fought in two wars helping to safeguard the wellbeing of the good citizens of the world to have his final years plagued by this pathetic sub-culture spawned from drug-soaked dropouts from generations past. He remembered well the so-called free spirits and their slogans that signalled the beginning of the end as he knew it, ’Make Love Not War.’ ‘Live for today, take what you want.’ Free love and drugs would have to be paid for later ‘but not by us’… that was their philosophy. But he was not going to be intimidated by the mongrels he would fight to the end as he had always done.

He knew the system had worked well in the past, it was uncomplicated and simple, you worked hard, saved your cash and bought what you could afford and did not expect anything for nothing. Society acknowledged the rights of the owner to protect his own and back then a man’s home was indeed his castle, but alas in the present society the law-abiding citizens had been ignored and had become the forgotten… they had become almost second-class citizens. The rights of the criminals were protected to the detriment of the good people who had worked hard to make the world a better place. Especially affected were the elderly who just wanted to live a peaceful life and to enjoy their last few remaining years safe and secure in their own homes.

He would protect the home he and his dear wife had worked so hard to achieve. It was all he had left since she passed away six months ago, it was his castle and a man must defend his castle against all invaders. He had fathered three sons and was grandfather to a dozen grandchildren and many great-grandchildren but they were too busy buying the newest cars and bigger and better houses to worry much about him, he was on his own as were many of his age group. We are like dinosaurs in a modern world, he thought. ‘He’s way past his use-by date.’ he once heard himself described as being. The times and the values of society change rapidly and the old ways no longer apply.

He knew how to use the half-meter long club he always kept under the bed in anticipation of a situation such as was now presented. He had learnt a few things throughout his long military service. He knew it required but a few strategically placed light blows to render most individuals incapable. The collarbone was a fragile bone and could snap easily so putting the attacker out of action without causing too much damage. That was his target as the head and shoulders of the intruder immerged through the shattered windowpane, unfortunately for the would-be raider, the old fellow ignored the shoulder completely and delivered a savage blow directly to the back of the unprotected skull. The intruder collapsed unconscious, bleeding badly; amongst the broken glass where he lay until the police and ambulance arrived.

The old fellow was questioned at length then he was taken away to the police station where he was charged with unlawful wounding. He was warned that it might well be upgraded to the more serious charge of attempted murder.

The fact that he had kept a weapon on hand and had intended to use it could be considered as a calculated act in using unreasonable force against an unarmed housebreaker.

He smiled at the irony of the situation as he tried to imagine defenders of the castles of old asking their attackers if they were able to swim because there was a moat around the place or if they had protection against the boiling oil pouring down from the battlements.

Sure they could lock him away if they choose; it was probably safer to be in jail these days. He had achieved two objectives in this rash act, one was to highlight the unfairness in the law, and the other was to shake-up the uncaring family member’s who would almost certainly find time to think of the old fellow now. They would all gather round to assist him in his time of need especially as there was property and cash to squabble over when he was gone. He had not made a will so he could visualise the battles to be fought in court as they all claimed a share, he would wait for the cancer to end it all…soon.

He smiled and voiced a prayer ‘Thank-you Lord.’

Many others would follow his example. There would be no stopping the Grey Warriors now as they battled to reclaim the status and protection from the law. They had paid their dues and deserved protection… it was their right.

Aged 84 years and eleven months he was the first of the group to take some positive action.

He was a fighter right to the end.

Nothing much ever happened in Glendale. The little town nestled on the western shore of beautiful Lake Preston where hundreds of holidaymakers spent their annual leave in peaceful solitude, far removed from the frantic rat race of the big city. Tourists and holidaymakers and the dollars they brought with them were the lifeblood of the town. They came back each summer to escape even for two weeks the stresses of the hectic city lifestyle. They came for that perfect holiday, for the fishing, the swimming and the mountain climbing or for just plain relaxation in ideal conditions, in lovely Glendale, where not much ever happened until something evil came amongst them.

When Jenny Boyd disappeared one evening after choir practice even sleepy Glendale takes notice. Nobody ever went missing in that peaceful place, until now. When the sixteen years old student who was also a member of the church choir had not returned home at her usual time her parents were not overly concerned at first but as the time elapsed and she still had not arrived and her concerned parents failed to locate her at any of her friends homes the police were called in. A search of her room gave no indication that she may have decided to run away from home, nothing was taken except the clothes she had walked out in and she had also forgotten to take her phone that evening. A check of her phone showed nothing out of the ordinary just the usual chit-chat between teens. A police action squad quickly initiated a search for the missing teenager

No sign of the girl was found that night and the next day also proved fruitless. State police were requested to assist the local cops and soldiers from nearby Deaken Army Camp were mobilized to comb the countryside and police divers checked Lake Preston. But that also proved unsuccessful. There was no sign of the girl…Jenny Boyd had vanished without a trace. There were no suspicious circumstances and no suspects and there was no reason for her to run away from home.

Detective Inspector Mark Woods and Detective Sergeant Victor King interviewed Jeffrey Thomas the choir-master who was the last person to see her as she left the church hall that evening but he was not able to give the police much help. He told them all he knew…as he locked the hall he saw her turn into Church Lane, the shortcut to the Clarkson Estate just a short distance away. He remembered seeing her before she disappeared from his view down the dimly lit laneway but he had no reason to believe there might be any danger there as it was her usual way home and the shortcut was used by many.

He was uncomfortable being questioned by police but was anxious to help in whatever way he could. He told police he felt responsible for all the members of his choir, they were all young people and he cared for their wellbeing.

Jeffery Thomas is a troubled young man. He has not been sleeping well since the death of his mother six months ago. Jeffrey had been her sole companion and carer as she had been confined to a wheelchair for many years after a stroke. She had depended on him for everything. Her untimely death due to her falling down the basement stairs has caused Jeffery much concern and anxiety. He has blamed himself for leaving her alone asleep in her chair whilst he went to the shops to pick up a few essentials. It was only for ten minutes or so but if he had taken her with him it wouldn’t have happened…it was his fault.

Now he feels responsible for keeping the choir ten minutes later than usual that evening…if they had finished on time, if he wasn’t such a perfectionist, if they were not in rehearsal for the Christmas play…all ifs, but would it have made any difference. Still he did feel some responsibility.

Then there is the recurring dream he has been experiencing every night since his mother passed away, he watches his as she tumbles down the steep steps to her death onto the hard-packed dirt of the basement floor. That dream causes him to wake-up drenched in a lather of sweat and unable to get back to sleep…that’s why he feels somewhat responsible for Jenny Boyd he imagines that something horrible befell the poor girl that evening.

‘Check-out the choirmaster again.’ DI Woods instructed DS King. ‘He was the last to see Jenny Boyd that night and he’s the only lead we’ve got. Get on to it Vic, but carefully we don’t want to upset someone who works for the church. He’s not a suspect …yet.’

Three nights later eighteen years old Angela Sutton a computer science student at the local technical college was waiting for a bus at 9.15 pm outside the school when she was grabbed from behind by a man who tried to drag her into the bushland behind the school. Angela had some self-defence knowledge and she knew what to do when attacked. Screaming loudly and using the defensive moves she had learned she managed to fight him off and he raced off into the bush. Angela was shaken but unhurt and had kept her cool in a situation that could have proved fatal. The only description she could give to the police was that he was tall and strong and fit looking, she had not seen his face and he wore a hoodie which masked his features. She imagined he must be aged 25 to 35 years old judging by the way he moved.

Glendale is on edge, one of its young citizens is missing and another has been attacked by some pervert intent on rape and perhaps murder. The once easy-going lifestyle of the peaceful town has been turned upside-down, the population of nearly three thousands have all been questioned without any worthwhile clues.

Everyone wants to help but it seems nobody knows anything…

‘Somebody out there knows, let’s get him.’ Di Woods encouraged his squad to greater efforts.

Joyce Cooke, barmaid at The Ship Hotel never reached home after finishing her evening shift at 11.30 p.m. on Friday night. Her car, with keys in the ignition was found several hours later parked in a side street. There was no sign of a struggle, like Jenny Boyd she too had vanished.

The town is now in a state of shock…the people are scared and terrified, their doors locked and bolted and only the bravest will venture out after dark. Where once was carefree freedom and innocence is now a fortress of terror. Two disappearances in as many weeks have shaken the little town where nothing really bad had ever happened before. The residents cry out for help, but there are no answers to their prayers. The police still have no bodies and no suspects. Only a handful of guests were in The Ship Hotel at closing time on the night Joyce Cooke disappeared and all could account for their movements, most were small groups of holidaymakers and were residents in the hotel.

One local man who did pop in for a beer just before closing time was Jeffery Thomas. He did so every night in the vain hope that a few drinks before bedtime would help him find some peace and hopefully a night free from the night terrors that were causing him so much angst.

Inspector Woods has called a crisis meeting of his officers. After three weeks of exhaustive detective work they are no closer to finding any trace of the missing girls alive or dead. They have no suspects but Jeffery Thomas was connected with at least two of the girls. He was the last to see Jenny Boyd the night she went missing and he was drinking in The Ship Hotel at closing time the night Joyce Cooke disappeared. ‘Have you been keeping an eye on him, Vic.’ he asked DS King.

‘Yes, I have, but like everyone else he just gets on with his business and he has helped in every way and answered all our questions, but he did get jumpy when I asked him about his mothers’ death.’ DS King answered.

‘Oh he did…Did he?’ the inspector

‘I think he feels guilty about something and maybe we should check on her death as well. It’s all we have to go on.’

Three red flags indicating where the disappearances and the attack had occurred were stuck on a large map of the township as DI. Woods pointed out the crucial points to his troops. ‘What we have is The Ship Hotel car park, across the street we have the technical school bus stop and just around the corner is the church…which leads us back to Jeffery Thomas. I think it’s time we had another talk with the choir-master and take a look inside of his house and especially the basement.’

Jeffery Thomas had no problem in talking to the police again but he was reluctant to let them into his house and he was concerned that they considered him a suspect.

‘It’s just routine at this stage.’ DI. Woods assured him. ‘You are the only person to have a connection with at least two of the missing girls and we do need to eliminate you from our enquiries so we must explore every lead, no matter how small. You do understand don’t you, Mr. Thomas, but if you prefer we can have this chat down at the police station.’

‘No! I don’t want to go with you to the cop station but I do want to help you catch whoever is responsible, come in if you must but I don’t know what else you want of me, I have already told you everything I know?’

‘Thank you…will you tell us again what happened the night Jenny Boyd disappeared maybe there is something you remember that you haven’t told us before?’ DI. Woods coaxed.

‘It was about 8.15pm as I was locking the church hall door I saw Jenny turn into Church Lane the shortcut to her home only a short distance away and that was the last time I saw her.’

‘Are you sure it was 8.15…how can you be so certain, maybe it was earlier or much later?’

‘We were rehearsing for the Christmas play and should have finished at 8 o’clock but we were running ten minutes late that night because I wanted to get something important worked out. If we had finished at the usual time she might still be here, I feel responsible and so sad she was a lovely young lady and a fine singer.’

‘What did you do after you had locked the church hall that night?’

I went home and cooked a late meal. I had a can of beer in the fridge, which I drank whilst I watched television for about an hour. I went out for a short walk as usual, had a beer in The Crown Hotel, I left there around 10.15 and I was in bed by 11 pm.’

‘So you were alone all that evening, you didn’t have any visitors?’

‘I was alone, as I‘ve explained to you already, I’m alone every night since my mother died.’

‘You don’t have a girlfriend do you Mr. Thomas?’

‘No I don’t…I’m still trying to get over mother’s death, we were very close, I didn’t have time for girlfriends then, Inspector.’

‘Tell me, Mr. Thomas did you know Angela Sutton?’

‘I didn’t …I don’t know anything about her, only what I have read in the papers.’

‘The night Joyce Cooke went missing you went to the hotel just before closing time, is that right?’ The inspector asked.

‘Yes I did! I haven’t been sleeping very well since my mother’s death and Jenny Boyd’s disappearance has upset me a lot so I now take a walk to the hotel for a couple of beers before retiring …I find it easier to get to sleep after I have done that…that’s why I was there that night and every night since.’ Jeffery explained.

‘Did you talk to Joyce Cooke that night? Did you arrange to meet her outside and did you see her after she had finished her shift…Mr. Thomas?’

‘Yes I did talk to the lady that night, there was nobody else to talk to in there, the place was practically empty and no I didn’t see her after I left the hotel, I went straight home… alone.’

‘But nobody saw you go home, did they Jeffery?’ The DI insisted. ‘Tell us about your mothers’ death, it was an accident wasn’t it? Tell us what happened.’

Jeffery Thomas looked decidedly uncomfortable when asked to describe his mother’s death, his face reddened and he mopped perspiration from his forehead with a white handkerchief and in a voice that was almost a whisper he told of shock in discovering her body at the bottom of the basement steps. ‘I only left her for a short time, fifteen minutes at most, the basement door was unlocked and she must have…look I don’t want to talk about it, it’s too painful and it was my fault for leaving her alone and for not keeping that door locked…It was my fault I shouldn’t have left her.’

The inspector noticed the door to the basement was bolted and padlocked now.

‘What about your father Jeffery, where is he?’

‘He left when I was about twelve years old, he just walked out and never came back…we didn’t miss him because he was a drunk. He was drinking all the time, he was often violent and he bashed us regularly. We were glad to see the back of him and we were better off without him. Jeffery explained with teary eyes.

‘Did you notice how edgy he got when I mentioned his mother’s death and that story about his father sounds a bit iffy …I think there’s a problem there Vic, it’s time to get ourselves a search warrant. We must see what’s in the basement and I wonder why that door is padlocked when he is the only one at home.’

‘Yes! He was in a bit of a panic, I thought he was going to burst into tears he was so emotional. I reckon he is hiding some dark secrets.’ D.S King agreed.

‘Vic go chat to his neighbours maybe they can give us some idea what occurred in that house many years ago, especially regarding the father and why he would leave home and never come back?’

Jeffery Thomas’s nightmare is more vivid than ever… He sees his past, he sees his drunken father and the beatings and abuse he inflicted on mother and son. The kicks and punches and the wanton sexual attacks the youngster had witnessed all too often. Jeffery felt nothing but hatred for the bully as he drove the carving knife deep into his evil heart…the bastard would never abuse them again. They buried him in the basement where he has lain forgotten for more than twenty years until his dear mother had become senile and a danger to them both. She had to go too…before she blabbed to some nosy parker. He had loved his mother dearly, but she had to go. Now the police are asking questions, soon they will be into his house and down in the basement where they will find answers. Jeffery Thomas can see his future unfolding and he knows what must be done. They must not take him alive…he is in control.

‘I got some good info from one of the neighbours’ DS King informed his boss’ Mr Brown has lived next door to the Thomas family for more than 50 years and he can tell what a strange mob they really are. The dad was a hopeless drunk who made life hell for young Jeff and his mother, he was a terrible person and upset not only his family but most of the neighbours as well. He abused everyone when under the influence and people crossed the street just to keep out of his way. When he left home the neighbours did not bother to ask about him they were just glad to see the back of him. Jeffery was domineered his whole life by his near-crazy mother and she controlled everything he did, since her stroke he was her virtual slave. He had a strange upbringing, he is a good singer and musician but never had a chance, but don’t be fooled by his quiet demeanour he has a nasty temper just like his drunken father.’

Next day armed with a search warrant the police seek out Jeffery Thomas but he is not at home the house is locked and his car is in the garage. His neighbours on either side tell police that they have not seen him since the previous day when he had talked to the police, but one neighbour reckons that is not unusual as Jeffery Thomas has a history of going missing, he has done so many times in the past, sometime he’s not seen for many days. The police gain entry and turnover the house but find nothing of an incriminating nature. When they dig-up the hard-packed dirt floor of the basement the skeleton of what appears to be that of a tall well-built male is unearthed from a shallow grave, all indications are that it had been there for a long time, probably for twenty years or more. No recent activity was evident in the basement but where was Jeffery Thomas?

‘He’s gone into hiding, now where would a loner like him hole up?’ D.I Woods asked no-one in particular…anyone got any ideas?’

‘He spends a lot of time in the church; remember he is the choir-master.’ D.S King reminded his boss. ‘Maybe that’s where he’s hiding.’

‘You’re right Vic! Well let’s get over there, come on you lot we can’t do anything else here, forensics will sort this lot out.’

Father Tim Holden the parish priest was helpful to the police in allowing a full-scale search of the church premises including the crypt and it was there they found Jeffery Thomas lying in a pool of his own blood, the carving-knife lodged deep between his ribs into his heart. He was quite dead…the blood-stained note explained everything.

He had stabbed to death his drunken father twenty years ago. And he had caused his mothers death by pushing her down the steps into the basement. He had never meant to harm the girls… he was not to blame.

Something made him do it…the bad dreams …the voices…telling him.

‘He was an evil man.’ Father Holden said as he administered The Last Rites. ‘He’s damned for all time, and I thought he was a fine young man.’

‘He was a weirdo and a maniac.’ Inspector Woods said and he took the easy way out. No doubt we will find the results of his foul deeds down here. Now it’s over…the people can relax again.’

‘Thank God!’ Father Holden replied as he sprinkled holy water to all corners of the crypt.