Ben decided to catch a small charter boat around the island to where he expected to find Quinn. A decision he felt glad of, as he enjoyed and breathed deep the cool sea breeze which carried the cries of gulls to his ears. He was tired from the flight from Australia, and was content to sit in the warm sun and listen to the low moan of the boats motor. It almost, but not entirely drowned out the sound of the small waves as they pummelled the crafts bow.
The laughter and small talk of the deckhands broke into his rest at times, as they made fun while they carried out their onboard duties. It seemed to Ben that life here was probably uneventful. Definitely very slow, but as he dozed he thought to himself, who needs events and who needs speed?
Once he’d alighted on the old jetty he asked directions and was soon taking a slow soothing walk along an almost deserted beach. The wet sand massaged the soles of his feet and offered an unusual sensation of freedom, while the skin that spent its life in socks, soaked up the warmth of a gentle sun.
After ten minutes or so he looked up to higher ground, where coconut palms waved in a slight ocean breeze. Almost as if their movement was designed to draw his attention to the small bungalow style houses that failed to blend into the green landscape.
There were five of them and he changed course to approach the middle one that the woman on the jetty had directed him to.
He was still some twenty metres from it when he saw a man sitting on its small veranda observing his approach.
Upon seeing the man Ben put down his shoes and pulled off his suit jacket. More to let the man know he was unarmed than to show discomfort at the warmth of the day.
He approached and looked up at the man.
“Hello. I think that you are Mr. Peter Quinn?”
Quinn looked down at the perspiration on the man’s forehead, and a greying lock of hair that seemed to hover over it in the breeze. He made mental notes of the man’s face before he peered inquiringly into his light blue eyes.
It was obvious what the man was; he had authority written all over him.
The question is. What does he want?
“Why do you want to find this Peter Quinn?”
“Firstly, I would like to point out to him that I am not here to harass him. Secondly I have no authority here. Thirdly I have no evidence whatsoever that he has committed any crimes and last of all. I would like to ask him if he might be able to help me with enquiries into other matters.”
“What are the other matters?” Quinn asked.
“It’s about thirty million dollars that seems to have gone missing? It’s about two murders? It’s about a man named Scott who seems to have disappeared? It’s about a yacht explosion? It is also about someone named Garry, whom I suspect may have been the late Garry Sudovich. If so, then it’s also about his possible connection to all these questions.”
“Is your interest in this missing money purely professional or personal gain?” Quinn queried.
“I’ve been a detective for most of my professional life Mr. Quinn. It’s in my blood, but for the last ten years I have run a department where our operations are mainly gathering intelligence. Much of it is gathered electronically, so we don’t get out and into the street to investigate a real life mystery very often. Nothing through the proper channels anyway.” He paused for some seconds then continued, “Sometimes, every now and then, an interesting case comes up through indirect channels.”
“Mr. Quinn, my job is getting paid for doing what I love doing and like anyone else, I like a good mystery, and this one appears to have a certain quality.”
“I’m not really concerned about the money. No doubt it will be an important part of the investigation, but I don’t want it. Unless of course it’s found to be in the hands of someone like Sudovich, then I would have to revise my options. There would be better places for it to be. I’m not on a treasure hunt. I want to know what the connection is between the man who is apparently dead by way of boat explosion and a double murder near a town named Bourke.”
Quinn drew a breath.
“Tell me about these murders at Bourke?”
Ben had noticed a slight change in Quinn.
“The two murdered people in Bourke were a Sarah Richardson and a man named Ray Davis. The person who owned the boat which was blown up, and who has not been seen since was a man named Simon West.
“When were these murders?”
“Nearly a month ago,” Ben answered.
“When did the boat blow up?”
“Last Tuesday.”
“Have you any idea as to who was responsible?”
“The only description was of a man with a badly scarred face. It’s certain he committed the two murders, but we’re in a grey area as to whether he was directly responsible for the boat explosion. My gut feeling puts him on top of my suspect list.”
Quinn looked Ben in the eye and almost to himself breathed.
“That sounds like N.C.O.”
“Who?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know his real name. I’ve never met him either, just heard about him, nothing good.”
Quinn looked out at the sea for a moment before making his decision. He was surprised at the shock he’d received when he’d heard of Sarah, Ray and Simon.
He’d not really known them at all.
“What is your name?”
“Ben Preston.”
Quinn reached out and they shook hands.
“My name is Peter Quinn. You’d best come on up Ben. You look like you could do with a drink?”
“Yeah, I spend a lot of my time air conditioned these days.”
Quinn pointed to a set of steps, and as Ben stepped up to the table Quinn emerged from a doorway holding a long neck of beer. It was in a holder and Quinn held in his other hand a frosted glass which Ben could see had just come from the fridge.
Quinn motioned with the beer bottle.
“It’s a New Zealand brew they call swamp water.” Then with the bottle again, “Take a seat, relax, enjoy the view.”
They sat looking out to sea.
“You knew the people out at Bourke didn’t you?” Ben began.
“Yes. I met them briefly.” Quinn paused, and without shifting his gaze from some distant spot on the horizon asked, “How did they die?”
Ben’s mind’s eye viewed the police photographs whose bloody details seemed to spring out in raw clear colour.
“They died hard, and as savage as I have seen in over thirty years of service. It would seem their killer was not a lover of women, so the one named Sarah suffered before her end. The autopsy report stated that her attacker carried out his knife work in a rather frenzied manner.” Ben had spoken quietly of the matter and then lapsed into silence. For some time he too gazed out, as if in search of the fine line that indistinctly divided the ocean from the sky.
Both men’s thought patterns were interrupted by the opening of the sliding glass door. Ben looked around to see a beautiful young woman who seemed to glide on bare feet from the doorway.
Her face was calm, but a troubled look in her eyes gave Ben an immediate cause for concern as he wondered at its reason. He watched as she moved to Quinn’s side where she rested one hand gently on his shoulder. After a brief, seemingly nervous like glance at Ben she looked down at her man’s face.
Quinn looked up at her and smiled.
“I am glad to see you. Your sense of timing was perfect. My mind and my friend Ben’s mind were in a dark place and your presence released us like a ray of sunshine.” She smiled uncertainly before Quinn saved her by beginning an introduction. Ben stood in acknowledgement and smiled his best smile as he extended his hand. The troubled look still dwelt in her eyes.
“You are a friend, Ben?” She asked lightly
Ben looked her in the eye.
“Yes. I am a friend Justine,” he offered. She gazed into his eyes steadily for some seconds as if reading a sign. Suddenly the troubled look lifted from her eyes, and was replaced with the light of
a genuine smile which strove to take Bens breath away. He realized then the reason for the troubled eyes. She’d feared his presence as a potential threat to her domestic bliss.
She once again stood by Quinn’s side, now with both of her hands resting on the shoulders of the reason in her life.
“Will you be staying long, Ben?” Justine asked. Ben felt the need to reinforce her security.
He’d noticed fishing rods against the wall at the far end of the veranda and clutched at them for support.
“I have to be back in Sydney on Monday. I’m only on a short weekend trip to research possible fishing potential. My retirement comes due from my job in the public service in three months’ time.”
“Oh. You’ve come to the right place for fishing. Peter spends much of his spare time on the water. In fact, we are eating this morning’s catch for dinner tonight. There’s plenty if you would like to stay and eat with us? We do not have many guests.”
Ben looked to Quinn,
“You’re more than welcome Ben.”
“In that case I would love to. Thank you.”
“Good. That’s settled then. Now if you’ll excuse me I have things to attend to, so I’ll let you two get back to your men’s stuff.” She laughed with content as she turned away and disappeared into the cool darkness behind the glass sliding door.
Quinn drank from his glass and after licking his lips he turned to face Ben.
“Thanks for the public service story. It put her mind at ease. She worries for me when strangers appear.”
“It was mostly true. I will retire from the public service in three months and when that time comes I will most certainly be spending plenty of time on the water fishing. In fact, I’ve been viewing brochures on the new range of Bayliners. There’s enough room on one for me to live on and big enough to drive over here to go fishing.”
“Sounds as if your public service offers a handsome retirement fund?”
Ben was sipping his beer as the question caught him off guard and his involuntary laugh caused him to choke. To the extent he had to quickly put down his glass and retrieve his handkerchief.
He wiped his lips and the small splash points on his shirt front as he looked back at Quinn.
“I’m afraid that’s a misconception. The fact is, if I may speak personally? My wife passed away a short while ago, and the house we’d had in Sydney suddenly became too big for me. Fortunately for me, my decision to sell happened to coincide with a small housing boom.”
“Were you married long?” Quinn queried.
“Just over forty years to Marie and just over thirty years to the service, although sometimes it felt as though the service was more of a mistress.”
The two men were silent in their thoughts for some moments.
“Speaking of misconceptions? There must be some associated with the word mercenary?” Ben asked.
Quinn looked Ben in the eye briefly as his fingers massaged his clean shaven chin.
“There are and there aren’t. It depends on the individual soldier. Some are just born killers who’ll join any war to satisfy their need, while the rest of us mainly involve ourselves in basic security for people who can afford it. It’s probably similar to your service. If one of your people goes off the rails and performs a criminal act, then the public and the media will tar you all. The media will beat up a story and the public will believe what it reads in the newspapers.” He shifted his gaze, and looked Ben in the eye, “I should add that my example criminal act was not meant as an insult to you or yours. It exists in all professions, from the highest to the lowest. That’s why the world needs your profession to find out who was behind the act, and my profession to make sure that the act doesn’t occur in the first place.”
Quinn sipped his beer and gazed out over the small white tipped waves for some moments until he turned his face again towards Ben.
“It wasn’t your question that stirred me Ben. It was the reminder of the stigma attached to my profession. Much the same as when those hippies labelled us as baby killers when we came home from Vietnam.”
He changed the direction of the conversation.
“You know that Simon’s mate Ray was over there? In Vietnam. I travelled all the way out to Bourke on Sudovich’s behalf and I come across Ray, who I’ve never met before. He must have been within a hundred yards of where I was stationed during a major offensive by the Viet Cong.”
Ben chose his moment.
“Was he in on the theft of the thirty million with Simon West from the beginning?”
“I don’t think theft is the right word Ben.” Quinn advised before he drank from his glass, “How about I start the story from the beginning, as Ray told it to me?”
Quinn looked toward the top of one of the palm trees; it waved in the sea breeze as if it might orchestrate the stories opening lines.
“It appeared to Ray that Sudovich was in cahoots with an African Government official who was skimming his Nation’s treasury. Sudovich’s part in it was to make available false documents that the African official would guide through the right departments. Initially the Government official would provide Sudovich with a sample letter. It detailed the correct government contract numbers, and was to be copied exactly before being delivered back by normal mail. The letter from the Government official to Sudovich must have got mixed up in the mail and delivered to Simon by mistake. So Simon decided to make up his own documents based on the sample letter and impersonate Sudovich.”
“The temptation must have been great.” Ben thought aloud.
“Yes. Very great, but not for the reasons you probably believe.”
“I have a feeling you are going to prove my reasoning incorrect.”
“I think I’ll let you make up your own mind on that issue.” Quinn suggested before he continued the story, “Ray and Sarah didn’t know anything about what Simon was up to, until one night someone by the name of Scott turned up. He bounced something heavy on their skulls and tied them up. Apparently Simon wasn’t there at the time. When he did turn up Scott tried the same thing on him, but he slipped on the swimming pools concrete surround and died in the pool’s water. I think you’ll find him buried on the property somewhere, but you’ll have to dig deep because Ray mentioned a back hoe when he captured me.”
“I’ve read the police file on Scott. I doubt that I’ll go looking for him. I doubt that anyone will miss him either.”
“Pretty bad, eh?” Quinn enquired.
“Paedophile.” Ben answered.
“Interesting you should mention that. Ray told me he’d found his niece’s address in Scott’s pocket when they fished him from the swimming pool. She worked at the local roadhouse. ”
“Scott must have worked for Sudovich then, did he?”
“Ray said they’d also found a document on Scott’s body, linking him to Sudovich. That was something that surprised me. I was sure, and still am that Lee sacked Scott some time ago…”
“Lee?” Ben asked suddenly, as he sat up in his chair and leaned forward to receive the answer.
“Yes. Tom Lee.”
“You mean the Tom Lee. Underworld figure and one of Sydney’s drug lords?”
“Yes. That’s him.” Quinn replied before he too leant forward in his chair, by now with a surprised look on his face, “Do you mean your people didn’t know that Tom Lee owned Sudovich lock, stock and barrel?”
Ben wasn’t listening. He appeared to Quinn to be lost in his own world as he stared steadfast out to sea. Some moments later Ben relaxed in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face.
“Do you think it may have been Lee who was looking for the thirty million? Ben asked.
“That’s what I thought in the first instance, and that’s why I felt I had to go to Bourke. I thought Sudovich was working on Lee’s instructions. It wasn’t until I learned of Scott’s involvement that I was almost positive Sudovich was working freelance.”
Quinn paused as if something had oc
curred to him and Ben waited impatiently for him to divulge this new information.
“I’m sure Sudovich was working alone,” Quinn finally offered, “but since he is now dead, then Lee may have by now made himself known as the owner of Sudovich’s assets. If so, then he would have most surely gained access to Sudovich’s office, his books and diaries and such.”
Quinn drained his glass and then left Ben deep in thought as he disappeared into the house, before returning some minutes later with another bottle of swamp water.
“You said you felt you had to go to Bourke?” Ben inquired as his eyes followed Quinn’s to the top of the palm tree and watched its movement in the wind while he waited.
“Ben. I saw a lot of drug use in Vietnam, and a cousin of mine died of an overdose in north Queensland about two years ago. When Lee first approached me for my security services I refused to work for him and told him why. You know what he did?”
He didn’t wait for Ben’s reply and as his hands curled into fists he spoke. “One day I came home to find a facsimile from him that contained the names and addresses of all the members of my family. Since then I’ve been there when he’s called, but he has only ever hired me for legal purposes, like when he’s in need of extra bodyguards. He won’t use me for his drug work because he doesn’t trust me to know too much. It’s a rickety relationship, but I sleep O.K at night, knowing my family in Sydney is safe.”
Ben changed the conversations course.
“Do you know how Sudovich got involved with Lee?”
“The word was that Sudovich lost heavily on the stock market and the banks wouldn’t look at him. Lee it seems was good for the cash to get him out of trouble. Sudovich, the silly bugger, should have known that it would have been safer to ask the devil himself.”
“From what I know of Lee, I feel compelled to agree.” Ben said as he raised his glass. Quinn smiled in return as he raised his own glass.
The sun was lower in the sky now. Ben looked forward to watching the sunset which he was sure would show colour. A thick layer of cloud had grown, and it sat heavy on the horizon a long way out to sea.
“Rain, do you think?” He asked.
Quinn looked closely at the clouds.
“No, I don’t think so. That cloud formation, if it lingers, might make your plane ride tomorrow a bit bumpy though.”
Ben had learned more than he’d expected through his conversation with Quinn. He felt content with the knowledge he’d gained. Although that contentment was confused by the un-provable fact that he was sitting enjoying a beer, and a potential sunset with a man he firmly believed murdered Sudovich.
“What was Sarah Richardson like?” Ben suddenly asked, almost as if he needed shelter from the knowledge,
Quinn remained thoughtful for a moment.
“I didn’t see much of her, but enough to say that she was a beauty. The fact she travelled the world to take part in hang gliding championships should give you some idea of her fitness. I had the feeling she was not really comfortable with what Simon was doing, but she knew him well enough to trust him.”
“What was he like?”
“I think he was basically a good bloke. Like most of us baby boomers who’ve lived our youth in the best country in the world. During a period when you could play cricket in the street and leave your car and house unlocked. A time when you could walk the streets at night and a major crime syndicate was the local S.P bookie. A time when a copper would give you a kick in the bum and send you home if he caught you playing up. Policemen were much tougher then, as many had played their part in the war, and may have been kicking the bums of Germans and Japanese before they were kicking ours. What do they call it now? Police Service?” Quinn stopped talking for a moment to drink from his glass before he continued in his matter of fact tone, “Before justice was replaced by law. Before the countries youth became dependent on dope and American television. We grew up in paradise, and then suddenly we turn around one day and it’s all gone, replaced by drugs and the crime associated with them. Not to mention a slow invasion by people, who believe we should believe what they believe, because they believe they’re right. I think Simon was a little lost in this new world, and probably also a touch naïve in believing that he’d get away with the thirty million without a scratch. He was a good bloke whose heart was in the right place. One who found himself surrounded by the darkness of today’s world and went out of his way to try to create some light.”
Quinn turned in his chair so that he faced Ben.
“You see Ben. Simon didn’t steal the money for himself. He intercepted a shipment that was in transit between thieves. His intention was to import it into this country, invest it so it would grow, and then export the profits back to the country of its origin. To the people that it truly belongs to. That’s why Sarah and Ray went along with it. They weren’t thieves. They believed in Simon, and Simon believed that he was doing the right thing.”
Ben allowed all he’d heard to sink in.
“By the way, you were right,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve proved my reasoning incorrect, and I apologize for assuming the worst of Simon West.”
“I’m glad you understand Ben, because it allows me to ask a favour of you.”
“If I can,” Ben said.
“If you would, I’d like you to use every means at your disposal to find the money and make sure it’s where Simon intended it to go. So that when you pull up in your fancy boat for me to show you where the best fishing is, you’ll be able to tell me that Simon, Sarah and Ray were successful in their mission, and that they didn’t die in vain.”
“I’ll do what I can,” said Ben.
“That’s good enough for me. Come on. Finish your beer and we’ll go and I’ll cook these fish. Are you hungry?”
“Yes. I am looking forward to it. Do you like cooking Peter?”
“Love it. I was nearly finished my third year apprentice chef when my draft card turned up for Vietnam. Didn’t tell the army though, they would have had me peeling potatoes the whole time. Although looking back on it, I suppose that even those who peeled the spuds played their part in winning the war.”
Ben’s mind shot off in the direction of confusion, and the thought telegraphed to his facial features where it adhered while his uncertainty grasped for a response, “I thought…”
“So do many other people Ben. I see it that we went off to fight the war against communism. To me, Vietnam was a battle in that war, and finally when I saw the fall of the Berlin wall and perestroika I knew that we were winning the war. And now that China has to embrace capitalism to survive. I’d say that our side, the West, won the war. Wouldn’t you?”
Ben was unsure what to say. Or more so, he felt that not having been there, he didn’t have the right to make comment. He tried to remain neutral in his reply.
“I believe that it shouldn’t have happened,” he said.
“I’d like to be able to say that,” Quinn decided, “but I can’t, without the benefit of hindsight of what the world would be like if it hadn’t happened. Better, do you think? I mean you never hear the term ‘Mutual Assured Destruction’ bandied around like it used to be.”
“I don’t know. Even now there’s room for improvement,” Ben suggested.
“Well, you’ve three months in which you can make life a lot better for those who Simon chose to help anyway. That’ll make for a little less room.”
Ben felt himself unable to disagree.