Scorpio's Lot (2 page)

hy
had Fridays repeatedly become a labour of endless chores that had to be
completed before nightfall? Was it coincidental or did the weekend exert its
influence? Today was no exception, for my list of duties appeared endless, on
top of what I would normally call my routine tasks. Today Emily had excelled in
the art of delegation.

Approaching day’s end I had
accomplished all before me and felt rather like a jack-of-all-trades and master
of none. Returning to clean up and join my wife for dinner, I paused for a
moment and stood looking down at the fishing trawlers returning from the day’s
catch. It was late afternoon and the winter chill was intensified by the sudden
presence of a southerly breeze. The cliff’s edge I was standing near provided
spectacular views over Sapphire Bay, so named for its distinctive sea colour,
and to my east stood the low-lying CBD of Pedley township. I could see the
distant container ships en route to the open sea and a sinking sun about to
disappear from view.

I had never grown tired of the
bay scenery, for Pedley offered exceptional vantage points along its
five-kilometre coastline. Life at present was good and nothing could spoil the
tranquility of the moment. The land I stood upon boasted all the credentials to
instill this serene state of mind. Then again, my point of view was probably
biased, for I had purchased this five-acre site complete with a caravan park
some two years earlier to set up our financial security and a desirable
lifestyle. Pedley had undergone a major transformation in recent years, from
its once-renowned retirement image where progress, it seemed, had laid dormant
for eternity. Today the township was a thriving tourist Mecca, with employment
and business opportunities waiting for those who dared to venture outside the
city perimeters.

Suddenly my moment of contemplation
was broken by a distant voice.

‘Tom ... Tom, where are you?’

‘Coming,’ I yelled back to my
wife, picking up some tools I had been using that afternoon.

Standing on the verandah waiting
for my arrival, she was still beckoning as I came into view. My wife Emily was
a tower of strength. Now in her forty-second year, she was both acutely
intelligent and possessed of patience far beyond that of mine. Attractive, with
smart dress sense, she still had the attributes to turn heads with her long-flowing
black hair and slender figure, a result of many years of dedicated aerobics.
Although not by choice, ours had become a childless marriage and adoption had
never been a consideration. But life at the park had its compensations, if only
for the diversity of the resident tenants.

‘Tom, I have an errand for you
before the shops close tonight.’

Fridays, bloody Fridays, I
thought.

Emily explained the need to buy
some washers for the shower block, which couldn’t wait until morning. We would
have dinner on my return. I immediately drove into town and parked the car in
front of the council offices, conveniently located some five doors down from
the plumber’s. Looking up, I could see a banner had been erected above the
council entrance: YOUNG ACHIEVER’S AWARD, JAKE REYNOLDS, SATURDAY 11.00 AM. I
was fond of young Jake, not only for the lad’s likeable personality but also
for the motivation and self-belief he projected. He had already achieved great
heights in long-distance running and had become a perfect young role model in
the community. Such was his talent that there was a possibility he would be
chosen for the next Olympic Games. Better run this past Emily when I return, I
thought.

Entering the plumbing shop, a
familiar face greeted me as he stood waiting to be served. Arthur Simpson was
probably the town’s most senior citizen, a colourful old-timer with a quick
yarn to spin if given half the chance. The locals loved Arthur for his
entertainment value, quick wit and general approach to life.

‘Hello, Tom. I see your good lady
wife has you well trained.’

‘Yes, another last-minute chore
requested by Emily,’ I responded.

‘Will you both be attending Jake’s
award tomorrow?’

‘Most likely, Arthur. I’ve just
this minute seen the banner on the office building.’

‘There’s also a picture of him
winning the state marathon run. He’s a good lad, young Jake. Deserves all the
local support he can get.’

‘We should catch up for a drink
one day soon,’ I suggested.

‘Bloody oath, Tom. Just don’t
make it too long this time.’

Following my purchase of washers
and further small talk with Arthur, I went my separate way.

~ * ~

Later
that evening, and ironically in the vicinity of last night’s parkland murder,
Brigit O’Neill, an attractive and strong-willed nineteen year old, was receiving
her weekly quota of dope with instructions to have the full quantity sold
within five days. The syndicate who had employed her services for the past nine
months was now demanding quicker returns, maintaining that Brigit’s clientele
were easy targets for soft drugs. Her responsibility was to infiltrate the
younger inhabitants of the community, which included senior students from the
local secondary schools. These added pressures were now beginning to have a
detrimental effect on Brigit.

‘What? Five days! You gotta be
kidding!’ she snapped.

‘And why not?’ declared the
dealer. ‘Ya makin’ a lot of deals.’

‘Look, I’m dealing with kids who
aren’t exactly loaded and you’re expecting all this in under a week.’

‘Ya got it easy compared to the
coke and H trade. Ya paid well, so what’s ya problem?’

‘That’s not the point. These kids
don’t earn a wage like your other regulars. It pisses me off that you expect
all this in five days,’ complained Brigit.

‘I can always tell me boss you
want out, so what’ll it be?’ asked the dealer arrogantly.

Brigit could see this was getting
nowhere, so she accepted the exchange reluctantly and they parted company. The
night air was too damn cold to be haggling with this imbecile, and besides, the
possibility of scoring clientele during these winter evenings had limitations.
Tonight was better spent indoors. At this time of year business was generally
reliant upon the afternoon patronage that frequented the likely haunts of
trade.

~ * ~

I
awoke the next morning to the persistent sound of the front door bell. Two,
three, four impatient rings as I headed to greet this unwelcome visitor. This
was Saturday, my morning for a lie-in. Damn it, where’s Emily, I thought.
Passing the hall clock, which was striking eight, I opened the front door.
Standing before me was Sergeant Darren Burke from the Pedley Police Station. I
knew Darren through Rotary and the monthly community meets, but could see
immediately that this was no social call.

Grave-faced, he commenced, ‘Tom,
I have some bad news. There’s been an accident.’

I went pale and froze, waiting
for the punchline.

‘Jake Reynolds and Brigit O’Neill
have fallen from the cliffs edge adjoining your property at the northern end,’
continued Burke. ‘The paramedics are here and I have two of my constables in
attendance trying to keep the public at bay.’

‘Brigit! My god, are they all
right?’

‘I’m afraid not. We won’t know
anything further until the paramedics get them to hospital.’ He added, ‘Tom,
isn’t Brigit related to you in someway?’

‘She’s my niece.’

‘I thought there was some
connection. Tom, I need you to accompany me to the cliff right away.’

I started to follow Darren when
Emily entered through the back door in a traumatic state.

‘Tom, I’ve just learnt what’s
happened from Martha. Brigit’s in a bad -’ she cried.

I cut her short. ‘Not now, Em.
Darren wants me to accompany him to the cliff immediately. We’ll talk later.’

‘Emily, was that Martha Kellett
you were just talking to?’ asked Burke.

‘Yes, it was.’

‘I need to talk to her later
since she was the person who alerted the police.’

~ * ~

At
cliff’s edge the situation confronting the paramedics was indeed a challenging
task. They found the bodies of Jake and Brigit half-buried in soil and debris
from the collapse. Carefully but swiftly the men removed the last of the
deposits, then placed and strapped the casualties upon two broad stretchers.
Incredibly, they were both still alive and it was mandatory to reach hospital
quickly and establish the extent of their injuries. Time was of the essence as
they assessed the appropriate return route to the awaiting ambulances.
Believing it to be an impossible task to haul the two stretchers up a
twenty-metre steep embankment, the paramedics chose the longer path of less
demanding terrain to reach their objective.

~ * ~

Approaching
the cliff site in the company of Sergeant Burke, it puzzled me as to how I
slept through all this turmoil. I could see the four paramedics carefully
position Jake and Brigit aboard the ambulances in front of an inquisitive group
of spectators. A passing glance could only detect two motionless bodies lying
strapped and prepared for the five-minute journey. How I longed to intercept
and take a closer look at Brigit. The shrill of sirens commenced their
intrusive effect, prompting the onlookers to move and allow the ambulances to
exit.

Upon sighting our arrival,
Constables Chris Martino and Peter Jennings immediately came over to address
their sergeant. Ushering him to one side, Martino commenced his briefing.

‘The situation is far more
serious than first thought. The paramedics have described Reynolds’ condition
as critical and have him on life support. It’s touch and go if he’ll pull
through. Brigit O’Neill is unconscious and in a serious condition, with
internal bleeding and a fractured arm.’

The young constable appeared
shaken by the ordeal. I knew he had only been in the force for a short time and
had recently been posted to Pedley. This was probably his first traumatic
encounter since graduating from the academy.

He continued. ‘We’ve erected the
boundary line you requested and haven’t allowed any unauthorised person to
pass.’

‘Good, now get rid of this crowd!’
said Burke. ‘They’re a damn nuisance. I need room to inspect the whole site
without this inquisitive lot looking on. In the meantime I’ll try phoning their
next of kin.’

There was no response from Jake’s
father, Phillip.

‘I can only surmise that he’s
been contacted and he’s on his way,’ Burke said to me.

Similarly there was no answer
from the O’Neill’s residence, except for a recorded message stating that Helen,
Brigit’s mother, was interstate and about to return home.

Martino and Jennings continued to
disperse the onlookers.

‘Tom, come over here, I want you
to clarify the boundary lines of your property,’ said Burke.

I proceeded toward the cliff
edge. To my right, the conspicuous partition tape stamped its authority and
ominous warning: POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS. Within its extensive perimeter, a
gap in the safety fence appeared to have been forced open by wire cutters.

Burke continued. ‘In my report I
need to define boundary lines and ownership of property in case there are
grounds for suing based upon negligence.’

‘For goodness sake, there’s a
high wire fence three metres in from the cliff’s edge. It runs all the way down
to the bottom of the hill,’ I protested, then added, ‘We’re talking about my
niece here, Darren.’

‘Tom, you’re not answering my
question.’

‘Legally my property is to the
edge, but as you can see there are danger signs everywhere. I can’t be held
responsible. Surely not.’