Scorpio's Lot (4 page)

The Kellett residence was a
large, rambling house, probably built back in the fifties when double-brick
dwellings were the order of the day. It was a two-storey structure that was
obviously built this way to maximise the splendid views over Sapphire Bay. Her
small property was positioned on the high side, adjacent to Harrison’s Caravan
Park. A tallish woman of around sixty years with a thickset build and
inquisitive eyes opened the front door. She greeted Burke with a warm smile.

‘Mrs Kellett?’

‘Miss
Kellett, officer, and it’s about
time you arrived. Please come through.’

Martha Kellett, a retired
headmistress, was held in high esteem by the local community for her tireless
work in assisting the under-privileged of Pedley. She had been a successful
teacher in her working days and was still acutely intelligent, for she had
invested well over time and now lived comfortably in her retired years.

‘I’m Sergeant Burke from the
Pedley Police Station. I would’ve been here earlier if not for my preliminary
investigations -’

‘Yes, I know who you are,’ Martha
interrupted.

She showed him through to the
lounge room, which boasted a large bay window providing splendid views over the
harbour and distant ocean. The two sat down facing each other. It was the
sergeant who broke the silence.

‘Miss Kellett, I’m told you
witnessed the incident this morning and alerted the police. Is this correct?’

‘Yes, a very unfortunate
incident,’ replied Martha gravely.

‘Please describe what you saw
carefully.’

‘Well, I happened to be standing
by this window looking down at the fishing boats when suddenly I heard screams
coming from the cliff’s edge beside the caravan park.’ Martha stood up and
pointed. ‘Looking across, I could see the ground give way beneath two people
who then disappeared out of sight. It was all over in a matter of seconds. I
couldn’t quite make out who they were, except that one was female and the other
male. It was at this point I phoned the police. Then I went over to the caravan
park to see if they had survived the collapse. By the time I arrived, a number
of onlookers had gathered and it was then I learnt that Jake Reynolds and
Brigit O’Neill had fallen. I spoke to Emily Harrison for a short moment, stayed
for a bit and then returned home,’ Martha concluded, looking somewhat distressed.

‘Would you know what time the
incident happened?’

‘It was precisely seven
twenty-five because I immediately turned to the lounge clock after the
accident.’

‘Unfortunately, matters have
turned for the worst. Young Jake has died and Brigit lies unconscious in
hospital. Sadly, this was no accident, for we are now treating it as a murder
investigation given the evidence that has since come to hand. My superiors will
now send two city detectives to handle the case.’

Martha Kellett slumped back into
her chair and appeared to be in a state of shock. She then covered her face and
let out a distressed cry. It was the sergeant’s cue to leave.

‘Thank you for your cooperation,
Miss Kellett. You may be contacted again soon. It has been a difficult morning
for all.’ Burke arose from his chair and started to walk toward the door.

‘Just a moment, I’ll be all
right. It’s the initial shock of learning that Jake was murdered. I’ll see you
out. There’s a matter in the garden I need to attend to anyway.’

Burke had commenced saying his
parting pleasantries from the front verandah when suddenly a figure from around
the side of the house appeared. He had a dark-olive complexion, short-cropped,
greying hair, and was muscular and fit looking. He was probably in his mid-fifties
and of southern Italian decent.

‘Oh Sam, there you are, I was
about to come looking for you. I need your help to plant some orchids in the
glasshouse. This is Sergeant Burke from the local police station who’s here
investigating the terrible incident this morning. Sergeant, please meet Sam
Vaccaro, who is my resident gardener come handy man,’ said Martha.

The two men exchanged greetings.

‘Mr Vaccaro, did you happen to
see the incident this morning?’ Burke said.

‘No, officer, I was asleep at the
time.’

‘I must be on my way now, thank
you both for your time.’

~ * ~

Just
prior to twelve o’clock Darren Burke arrived at the town mortuary, which was
situated at the rear of Pedley Base Hospital, and was immediately ushered into
a side room where Jake’s father sat waiting. The sergeant could see how this
tragedy had affected Phillip Reynolds, for his bloodshot eyes kept staring at a
blank wall. With his body trembling slightly, he looked a thorough mess. No
sooner had Burke arrived that an orderly entered the room.

‘Would you both please follow me,’
the man instructed.

They were led into a further
waiting room of similar size, but without the decor and pleasant surrounds of
its counterpart. This was empty except for two chrome metal chairs placed to
one side.

Burke turned to Phillip Reynolds.
‘If you’re not up to this, it can be postponed until tomorrow if you prefer.’

‘No, I need to get this over with
now,’ replied Reynolds forcefully.

‘All right, I’ll proceed first
with the doctor and then return.’

Doctor Williams, who was in
charge of the mortuary, appeared and introduced himself, then gestured for
Burke to accompany him through. In a dimly lit second room Burke observed the
body of Jake Reynolds lying on a highly polished steel table.

The young man’s appearance was
considerably better than what he had anticipated. With the exception of a large
gash to the head, the rest of the body looked remarkably unscathed. Burke
thought his clothing had probably minimised the amount of cuts and abrasions.
Since death had only occurred some hours earlier, and with no time to prepare
the body for viewing, he noticed how natural the young man’s facial features
appeared. For Jake looked asleep or at peace with the world, unlike Burke’s own
father’s recent passing, where heavy makeup had been applied and cotton wool
had been stuffed into his cheeks, resulting in a change of appearance.

‘I’ll fetch Phillip Reynolds to
make a positive identification,’ said Burke.

‘Yes, please do. I’ll issue the
death certificate stating the contributory causes,’ responded Doctor Williams.

Following the necessary
signatories and formalities, Burke returned to the police station. He phoned
Helen O’Neill once more, but again heard the same recording. This time he left
a return instruction to contact the Pedley Police Station upon her arrival in
the morning.

~ * ~

 had
volunteered that afternoon to drive downtown and collect a few things for
Emily, who didn’t feel up to any public scrutiny following this morning’s
drama. She anticipated that too many people would be asking their numerous
questions and decided to avoid these inquisitive types.

Sometime later, after completing
the list of errands and having survived the occasional line of questioning, I
returned to my car and started filling the boot with the afternoon shopping.
Suddenly my attention was drawn to an argument half a block away. Now seated
behind the wheel, I recognised the two men in verbal assault, which I couldn’t
help but think was totally out of character.

Stephen Buchanan, a local bank
manager, was a respected citizen with some influence in Pedley. He was an
ex-boxer and not one to cross paths with, for despite his reputation of having
a short temper he never displayed this type of behaviour in the public domain.

Ben Johnson, by contrast, was the
Esplanade Hotel publican, a moody and difficult individual who, oddly enough,
was equally respected and contributed generously to numerous organisations
within the community. Both men were clever and successful in business, but were
also cunning as foxes and not the type to be totally trusted. I always
considered these two acquaintances but never friends. My one contact with both
men was a monthly meeting where community issues were discussed and acted upon.

I noticed Buchanan throw
something to the ground, his hands flying in all directions like a lost tourist
in some non-English-speaking country. Johnson expressed his dislike with strong
verbal retaliation. What on earth was going on here? What would make these two
men act in such a way? Whatever the reason, it didn’t look good and it was best
ignored, I thought.

I turned the ignition key and hit
the accelerator. Ben Johnson had climbed into his car at the same time and,
unexpectedly, he reversed straight into my path, forcing me to slam on the
brakes. I came to a screeching halt, but I had already collected the rear
corner of his bumper bar.

Johnson got out of his car and
came over to inspect the damage, grumbling as he made his approach.

‘Oh, it’s you, Tom. Sorry about this,
my fault entirely. Your damage appears less anyway, so just send me the bill
and I’ll take care of it.’

‘Very well,’ I replied, studying
a damaged grill and headlight in addition to some minor bodywork.

‘See what you made me do!’ fumed
Johnson, directing his comment toward Buchanan standing on the footpath. With
that brief encounter he drove away, still muttering to himself.

‘Stephen, what in the bloody hell
is going on between you two?’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen either of you behave
like this before.’

‘Tom, I’m sorry it had to come to
this. As you heard, Ben will pay for the damage. As for our disagreement, we
just had a misunderstanding over something that got out of hand.’

‘It must’ve been a massive
misunderstanding from what I’ve just witnessed. As far as the car’s concerned,
it’s not so much the money but the bloody inconvenience of getting the damn
thing repaired!’ I remonstrated, thinking misfortune seemed to come our way
when we do a favour for someone.

~ * ~

The
next day I couldn’t help but think that life at the park would never be the
same again. On top of everything, I now had this murder investigation to
contend with. It would only be a matter of time before the city detectives
arrived, reliving the events of yesterday with their countless routine
questions and treating us all with a degree of suspicion.

Perhaps there would be a visit
from the
Pedley Advertiser,
with some bloody reporter exaggerating the
article to give us publicity, but for all the wrong reasons. I could picture
their front-page accusations directed at the park for negligence and
discrediting the good reputation of Pedley. After all, bad news does sell.

I was going about my morning
chores when I was confronted by Kurt Muller who was returning from the beach
with his legs still covered in wet sand. Muller, a park resident, was a
powerfully built man in his late thirties who was strong as an ox. He was often
referred to as a bludger by his fellow tenants. They said he drank constantly,
was unpredictable, irresponsible and generally kept to himself. He had an
intimidating presence, an arrogant tongue and was cunning by nature. Contrary
to his unsavory character, Kurt Muller was no fool.