Scorpio's Lot (26 page)

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Marsh, Alan Forbes’ subordinate, decided that evening to further investigate
the local drug scene in the hope that his second attempt would uncover
something more productive. He felt that with youth on his side and the absence
of his intimidating superior he had a better chance of making some headway. He
chose the Berkley Fun Parlour as his target, primarily for its attraction for
the younger brigade and their obsession with indoor games. Entering the
premises, he thought he had chosen wisely for the place was the height of
activity with the locals playing their arcade machines.

The detective chose to wander
casually through this maze of activity, observing the players as he strolled
around. Could he recognise at least one person from previous discussions? He
finally spotted a familiar face in the corner playing a Formula 1 Grand Prix
circuit race. Marsh happened to recall the lad’s name as he made his approach.
The youth appeared to be alone tonight, which would make conversation a tad
easier. To avoid breaking the lad’s concentration Marsh stood beside him,
observing the concluding laps and hearing some choice words as he finished a
close second.

‘Hello, Danny. Bad luck, you almost
caught him in the last turn.’

‘Yeah. Story of my life, comin’
second all the time.’

‘Try accelerating out of corners
next time, that might be the edge you need.’

‘It’s only a game,’ Danny replied
nonchalantly.

Danny Murdock was nineteen.
Although typically cautious and streetwise, he was reasonably cooperative, with
a likeable personality and a level head. An only child, his parents had
separated when he was three. He had been raised by his mother, who had
struggled financially through the years to provide the best for her son. Now
locally employed, with sufficient income to support his drug habit, he took
Marsh into his confidence as a result of the policeman turning a blind eye to
his addiction.

‘So how’s things, Danny?’

‘Me mum still worries about me
and I’ve been busy at work this week with all the overtime.’

‘Hey, you’re no exception. All
mothers worry about their kids. Good to hear you’re employed, Danny. Do you
work locally?’

‘Yep, at Broadbent around the
corner.’

‘Can’t say I know it. And what do
you do there?’

‘I work in the warehouse sortin’
out all the grocery lines and I do a bit of forklift driving.’

‘Good for you.’

‘Tell me, are ya any closer to
solvin’ the Jake Reynolds case?’ enquired Danny.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I knew Jake through runnin’. He
invited me once to test me speed because I had a bit of a reputation for winnin’
the annual school event. We might’ve been from different backgrounds but he was
a good guy and treated everyone equally. I had a lot of time for him and it was
sad to hear how he died.’

‘Yes, I daresay it’s affected the
local community and unfortunately we have a second murder to deal with now.’

‘Yeah, I heard about that. Some
old woman at the caravan park. I’m startin’ to think that place is jinxed.’

‘It’s my job to find the guilty
party but it won’t be easy with a drug syndicate involved. It’s difficult to
infiltrate their operations.’

Marsh sensed that Danny had
suddenly become a little uneasy with his presence. He kept looking in the far
corner, where two young men were watching their every move with some interest.

‘Are those two guys worrying you
for some reason?’ asked Marsh.

‘I work with the one on the left
and he’s probably wonderin’ what I’m doin’ talkin’ to a cop. His name is Travis
Ferguson but everyone calls him Ferret.’

How appropriate, thought Marsh,
looking at this lean, beady-eyed person of around twenty-four, wearing a frown
as if carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

‘What can you tell me about the
other man?’ he asked, studying a second person who was of Middle Eastern
appearance and around the same age.

‘I only know him as Hassan, but
some people refer to him as the Artful Dodger because of his cunnin’ ways. They’re
two people you don’t mess with, especially Ferret who has some powerful
connections. They tolerate me ‘cause I don’t ask too many questions, and
besides, workin’ with Ferret has its advantages.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he’s good for supply with
no questions asked, and bein’ fellow employees at Broadbent he tends to look
after me on the street if you get me drift. But you didn’t hear this from me,
okay?’

As the two men approached, the
detective was hoping his presence had not put Danny in an awkward position with
his peers.

‘Hello, Danny. Going to introduce
us to your friend?’ said Ferret.

‘Detective Paul Marsh, meet
Ferret and Hassan.’

‘Ah, a cop. I might’ve guessed.
So what brings you to our seaside hamlet?’ Ferret asked with an antagonising
overtone.

‘I’m investigating the murders of
Jake Reynolds and Ruth Evans.’

‘And what progress have you made,
detective? Any arrests yet?’

‘Not so far. Were only conducting
our preliminaries at this stage. We believe the local drug syndicate is
responsible for what’s happened.’

‘That’s common knowledge amongst the
locals. One in four people down here support the habit, so there’ll be a lot of
interviewing to be done, detective,’ declared Ferret, clearly expressing his
dislike for the law.

‘Be reasonable, Ferret,’ said
Danny. ‘He’s only doin’ his job. Give the detective some credit since he’s
turned a blind eye to all the wheelin’ and dealin’ going on. You only have to
look around this place to see what I mean.’

‘That’s right, I’m not here to
prosecute the small guy, it’s the big fish I’m looking for. Tell me, do you
know anything about this local syndicate?’ Marsh was grateful for Danny’s
support.

‘Do you take us for bein’ that
naive? I have my sources for supply, but no tell, detective,’ said Ferret. ‘As
for this syndicate, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree asking us. Even if I did
know, do you really believe I’d tell you and not expect to suffer the
punishment for being so bloody stupid?’

‘I understand that, but you also
need to see the situation from our perspective. Our objective is to expose
their organisation and the only way we can succeed is to interview as many
people as we can, with the hope someone is prepared to give us a lead. You must
also consider we’ve had two deaths to contend with and unless these people are
stopped they may have more blood on their hands.’

‘Detective, we’re only the little
guy on the street and know nothing about where their headquarters are located,
let alone the people that operate it,’ volunteered Hassan, who had been quiet
up to this point.

‘Tell me, have you heard of a person
called the Piedpiper?’

There was some unexpected
deliberation by Ferret and Hassan. Danny seemed oblivious to the name, but
Ferret and Hassan looked at each other. It was Ferret who decided to speak up.

‘Well, I guess there’s no harm in
tellin’ you what I know because the identity of this person is unknown. We’re
talkin’ about the southern regional head of the drug operation, you know. From
what I hear this person lives in Pedley and is apparently well known in the
community. It’s a well-guarded secret and I’ve often wondered who it might be.’

‘Do you have any ideas?’ prompted
the detective.

‘Your guess is as good as mine. I
can only think it must be someone in business or government that could have
this sort of image, so there would be a number of candidates when you look
around the place. I might be wrong in thinkin’ this way but that’s how I see
it.’

‘On the contrary, I find your
reasoning makes sense,’ encouraged Marsh, somewhat surprised with his sudden
display of cooperation. ‘And what about a person called the Keeper? Does this
name mean anything?’

‘No, I haven’t heard of that one
but I’ll give you some friendly advice, detective. The name Piedpiper is taboo
and is not spoken in public except by those in the organisation. My advice to
you is to be careful who you speak to. A nosey cop might become another
statistic, so watch your step is what I’m trying to say.’

‘You refer to those in the
organisation. I was under the impression that neither of you have any knowledge
of their inside operation or of the people involved.’

‘In a nutshell, no. We have our
sources on the street and word travels in certain circles about some deals not
goin’ to plan. We have a code of ethics within the trade that names should
never be spoken of,’ declared Ferret.

‘Thanks, guys,’ responded the
appreciative detective.

‘You’ve been lucky choosin’ this
place because it’s only full of kids who don’t know anything,’ Ferret said. ‘If
we’d talked on the street I wouldn’t give you the time of day in case someone
was watching. Be careful, they got eyes and ears everywhere. We’ve gotta leave
now.’

The small gathering then parted
company. As the detective returned to his car, he couldn’t help but think he
had learnt more in the last fifteen minutes than the previous week of interviews
put together.

~ * ~

It
was early Friday morning and two unrelated incidents were about to unfold and
have a bewildering affect upon their respective observers.

At 8.30 am Forbes had stirred and
decided to start the day by going downtown and treating himself to a bacon and
eggs breakfast. A late arrival at the desk would be acceptable today, since the
storm would also mean Burke and Martino would be late returning. He accepted
that communication was down due to the likelihood of radio and phone towers
being taken out by the deluge last night. A briefing with his team had been set
down for one o’clock and interviews with the caravan tenants had been concluded
last night. Forbes was thankful the morning was his to do whatever he wished
with it.

Arriving at La Porta’s Cafe, he
pulled up a chair beside a table that was conveniently placed to observe the
passersby. The morning weather was favourable, bringing with it an abundance of
people going about their business. It could be an interesting pastime observing
this human behaviour, thought the detective, as he looked attentively out the
cafe window. He watched a group of schoolchildren stuffing their bags with
every conceivable sweet, the upright stature of a young woman wheeling a pram,
and coming from the opposite direction, two men in a hurry who were obviously
late for work.

‘Your breakfast, sir,’ a voice
called interrupting his observations.

‘Thank you,’ he replied studying
his plate of generous portions, complete with toast and marmalade and a pot of
English breakfast tea.

With each mouthful of bacon and
eggs the detective continued to observe the passing public. He noticed Martha
Kellett turn a corner, wheeling a shopping trolley often used by older women.
He caught a glimpse of Helen O’Neill rushing from her illegally parked car into
Simon Walters Pharmacy. Why are people in such a hurry all the time? thought
Forbes. It’s madness.

As he poured the remainder of the
brewed tea, the waitress directed a man in his mid-forties to the next table. Following
his breakfast order of mushrooms and scrambled eggs, the man, who Forbes did
not recognise, reached for his mobile, dialed a number and waited.

‘Morning, Stephen, it’s Ben
Johnson here. Are you still in Peterswood?... Is the business matter finalised?...
Well, I need to know when you’re returning.... Okay, but I must see you at your
bank...’ Johnson closed the phone angrily. ‘Bloody line’s gone dead!’