Scorpio's Lot (76 page)

If Charlie were to carry out his
business in this vicinity, they would need to rely on voices close at hand. The
trees effectively created a windbreak from the coastal breeze and the giant
gums generated a loud whistling sound. To hear any potential discussion over this
racket would be a near impossible feat. Nature’s presence tonight would
certainly assist any forthcoming drug rendezvous.

The fourth and final group of
Parnell and Martino had been directed to the car park in Williams Street,
adjacent to the showground’s main entrance and site of the recent carnival
activities. A low mist had gathered across the nearby oval, producing an eerie
effect on an otherwise clear night. Similarly, this site was equally as cold
and made more difficult by the lack of activity and patience required to uphold
the surveillance. Their only moment of interruption was a party of three
boisterous revellers who had wandered down from the Esplanade to take a leak
away from the Pitt Street passersby. Parnell was beginning to wonder how much
longer Forbes would keep everyone stationed at their respective posts.

‘Nothing to report’ became the
repetitious response via two-way. Despite the negative feedback Forbes decided
to persevere with the situation. He wasn’t going to surrender this easily after
an hour’s observation. In his attempt to strengthen surveillance posts three
and four, he instructed Gallagher to join Parnell and Martino at the car park.
The sergeant in turn was redirected to accompany Forbes and Marsh at the
Botanical Gardens. As to be expected, there was no unwillingness coming from
the beach site pair.

On his arrival Carpenter openly
expressed his gratitude, maintaining he would have turned to ice if left there
much longer. Ignoring his subordinate’s remark, Forbes directed the sergeant to
patrol the park and report any sighting no matter how insignificant. Forbes
recalled Hassan telling them that Charlie’s preferred haunts were supposedly
these gardens and the Williams Street car park.

After another half-hour, Forbes
was beginning to accept this would not be their night. Perhaps Charlie had been
forewarned, or maybe he had seen the constabulary lying in wait. If true, he
knew that his retreat would be equally difficult to detect amidst all this
vegetation. After contacting Doyle and Burke, who could only offer negative
response, Forbes decided they would close up shop in twenty minutes. A further
night of surveillance loomed as the likely outcome.

~ * ~

Back
at the car park, Gallagher had joined Parnell and Martino and the threesome
were observing some unusual behaviour from behind the camouflage of a high
japonica hedge. Two men had walked the length of Williams Street and come to a
halt beside the showground’s entrance. They had a brief conversation, appearing
anxious, and then started the repetitive cycle of stepping around the entrance
gates looking like a couple of expectant fathers. One looked at his watch and a
few muttered words followed.

The police lay low in
expectation, gaining the impression that a rendezvous had run slightly over
schedule. Was this to become the long-awaited arrival of the infamous Charlie?
The two men continued their nervous ritual, smoking and pacing the length of
the entrance. From a distance it was difficult to distinguish any facial or
familiar features. Martino could only surmise they were locals having knowledge
of the general drug haunts, if indeed this was to become the unfolding
scenario.

Suddenly the figure of a man
wearing a full-length coat and tilted hat appeared through a low mist that had
gathered on the oval. Walking slowly, he seemed cautious of his surroundings.
He stopped to survey the two men ahead of him, in addition to a careful
observation of the immediate vicinity. Satisfied there was no undue threat, the
man recommenced his walk toward the intended rendezvous. Parnell knew his
superior had to be informed. In a low voice he asked for backup in anticipation
of what was about to follow.

The burly six-footer reached his
objective. Their little get-together had all the hallmarks of illegal trade. An
exchange commenced amidst the checking of contents and cash. With both parties
seemingly satisfied that the deal was acceptable, a brief discussion followed
their transaction.

The police swooped for the
intended arrests.

‘Stop and put your hands above
your head!’ shouted Parnell, emerging from the hedge with his two backup
companions.

The three men froze.

‘What the hell!’ Charlie raged. ‘You
bastards have set me up!’

The drug dealer screamed
obscenities at the approaching constabulary. He had suddenly found himself in a
precarious position that warranted some quick thinking. He observed the two-way
and realised more cops had been alerted. He drew a gun, taking one of the two
men as hostage. Retreating towards the oval, his one way of escape was to reach
the obscure safety of the blanketing mist. Closely holding his captive, he
fired a shot at the advancing police. The bullet narrowly missed Martino’s left
shoulder, but it had the effect of slowing down the men in blue. Charlie cursed
on seeing further cops arrive at the oval, but his perseverance in pressing
forward had paid off. He had reached the fringe of the fog.

Now surrounded by a blanketing
mist, Charlie decided to release his prisoner to improve the possibility of
escape. To lessen the threat he pistol-whipped his captive, causing the man to
stumble with concussion. Charlie then leaned down and with his long bladed
parang in position, stabbed the man’s arm with one quick downward thrust. Such
was the force, the knife protruded through the limb and embedded itself into
the ground beneath. The concussed man was now pinned and secured to the oval
surface. Charlie would leave him to the mercy of the police. Mobility would
hasten Charlie’s retreat, providing his sense of direction was focused on
abandoning the fog at the far end. Succeed and his passageway would be a path
to freedom.

Forbes spread his men across the
oval and commenced a straight-line assault. Entering the fog, visibility was
dramatically cut to ten metres, enhancing the confusion that lay ahead. Charlie
fired again to deliberately unnerve the police.

Fear had suddenly become an
unavoidable issue. Forbes and his team refused to relinquish their duty. No
visual presence could be detected between his men, and an eerie silence
accompanied their onward assault. Was the man to their immediate side friend or
foe? Like passing ships in the night amidst this pea soup, thought Alan Forbes.

Suddenly Parnell’s voice could be
heard above the ice-trodden grass. ‘Over here! Found someone wounded!’

Forbes immediately responded
equally as loud. ‘Don’t leave your line, men. Continue forward. I’ll check this
out.’

In what could only be described
as having comical inclinations, Forbes went searching for Parnell in a series
of repetitive circles. It was as if the man were trying to exit a mirror maze.
Puffing and grunting, he was now generating more vapour than the fog. Finally
locating his subordinate’s position, he lent down to take a closer look at the
man’s condition.

‘He’s alive. Copped a nasty swipe
across the head, though,’ he diagnosed and then added, ‘Is that a bloody knife
stuck in his arm? Better call for an ambulance once we’ve captured this Charlie
fellow.’

‘What did you do with his mate?’
asked Parnell, who, with Gallagher and Martino, had progressed further onto the
oval when the backup team arrived.

‘We handcuffed him to the
entrance gate for safekeeping.’

‘I wonder where this blighter’s
got to. If he’s found his way out of the fog he could be anywhere by now,’
declared Parnell.

‘Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of’,
said Forbes. ‘Keep pressing forward until we clear this bloody mist. We’ll
attend to this man shortly.’

The pursuit continued in single
file across the oval. No further gunfire was to be heard, which begged the
question as to whether the hunted desperado had actually fled. The fog at the
end of the oval had finally cleared, enabling Forbes and his men to congregate
for a further briefing. The rear end of the show grounds provided little or no
opportunity for refuge. No buildings stood in the immediate vicinity other than
a locked toilet block in one corner. Tin fencing embraced the boundary line and
a gate left wide open completed the nearby surrounds. It was obvious where
Charlie had given them the slip.

Furious at their failed attempt,
Forbes conceded that Charlie would live to fight another day. Unimpressed with
the handling of the search, both Gallagher and Parnell insisted the men should
have circled the fog and lay in wait for his eventual reappearance.

‘Yes, isn’t hindsight a wonderful
thing!’ stated Forbes sharply.

This pathetic comment to justify
an otherwise monumental cock-up did not sit well with his subordinates.

~ * ~

here
in the hell did I leave my glasses?’

‘Try looking in the usual place,’
responded Emily.

‘You mean the office?’

‘Of course! What time do you plan
returning from the city?’

‘Around six if Arthur and Hamish
hurry up and arrive soon.’ I looked at my watch, which signaled seven am.

The day’s itinerary would
encompass a visit to the Lands Department and include two of the city’s major
press houses. There was an optimistic feeling that further evidence would come
to hand, given the wealth of records these establishments kept on file.

According to Arthur these
facilities were far superior to those of the
Advertiser,
in addition to
providing computer access to speed up research. As if on cue, both Arthur and
Hamish arrived at precisely the same time. Both men looked like a couple of
fools dressed in their apparent archive attire. Hamish wore a dark green
tracksuit that looked three sizes too large and was complemented by a scarf
that appeared longer than that worn by Doctor Who. Arthur sported a Sherlock
Holmes lookalike outfit that had all the hallmarks of something worn a century
ago.

‘You both look bloody ridiculous,’
I said, ‘We’re not candidates for some fancy dress audition.’

‘I’ve got to look and feel the
part, Tom. It helps stimulate the brain,’ confessed Arthur.

‘Brain deficient, if you ask me.’

‘And I’ve got to feel comfortable
and allow my body to breathe,’ Hamish added.

‘You can’t be serious. Don’t be
surprised, Arthur, if someone hands you a pipe looking like that.’ I shook my
head at these two clowns.

All was in readiness for
departure as Hamish volunteered to take the honours and drive us to the city.
We said our goodbyes to Emily, who was making a conscious effort not to laugh
at the sight of these jokers.

The trip to the city took a
little over an hour. Hamish was fortunate to score a metered car park five
minutes from Perkins Press, a major publishing house responsible for two daily
newspapers and countless periodicals. At 123 Stewart Street a large and
imposing building stood before us. We were perhaps a step closer to solving the
Pedley mystery. We approached the ground floor reception, currently attended by
a rather serious and preoccupied middle-aged man.