Scorpio's Lot (8 page)

Following the introductions,
Forbes said, ‘James, we need to ask you some routine questions in relation to
the death of Jake Reynolds. Would you please tell us what you know about Brigit
O’Neill?’

James hesitated. He wondered
where this line of questioning was headed. His distrust of the law was nothing
new and the sudden arrival of these out-of-towners was no exception. His
approach was cautious but direct.

‘Until around five months ago,
Brigit and I had a relationship which lasted just over a year. It had its highs
and lows like most and to a degree we both had our faults. Brigit was selfish
and had a very stubborn and argumentative nature. I was very possessive of her,
but with good reason,’ said James.

‘Can you elaborate?’ enquired
Marsh.

‘Brigit could be easily led at
times and unfortunately she fell in with the wrong group. These bastards
persuaded her to become one of their drug dealers, praying on the innocence of
schoolchildren and the young people in the community. It became easy pickings
and she was getting in too deep. My possessiveness of her was no more than
protection from these pricks because I had concerns for her safety. We often
argued and she accused me of being obsessive and having an arrogant nature. I
still have feelings for her but now she rejects all my advances.’

‘Did you know Jake Reynolds?’
Marsh asked.

‘Certainly. He was an okay sort
of guy, but I held some resentment because of Brigit taking an interest in him.
Don’t get me wrong, I was as surprised as anyone else in hearing about this
tragedy.’

‘Was Jake involved in the drug
scene?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. He wasn’t
the type to get involved because of his commitment to training and the
possibility of being selected for the Games. My guess is Brigit would’ve never
divulged her secret for fear of losing him,’ declared James.

‘And what about yourself?’

‘No, detective, I have neither
the interest nor money to support that habit.’

‘What can you tell us about the
local drug syndicate?’ queried Forbes.

‘Nothing really, but like most
people I’m aware of its existence.’

‘Were you home on Friday night
and early Saturday morning?’ asked Forbes.

‘No, I went to O’Riley’s Inn with
some friends. Later we decided to go on to the Regency Nightclub and I was home
around two and didn’t get out of bed until midday on Saturday.’

‘Very well, that should do for
now,’ said Forbes.

‘Just one more thing - how’s
Brigit doing?’ James asked.

‘We visited her today and she’s
making good progress.’

Round one of the detectives’
enquiries had now concluded. Their interviews had been productive and they had
a clearer understanding about Brigit’s involvement within the drug scene. It
was time to round up the troops and reiterate on what had transpired.

~ * ~

n
a side street off the main drag in Pedley, two men were unloading a consignment
of merchandise and placing the shipment along a wall. The signage from the
front entrance of the warehouse read: BROADBENT, IMPORTERS AND DISTRIBUTORS OF
FINE PRODUCE. With the remaining boxes now stacked against the wall, the
courier driver climbed aboard his van and departed. The roller door was
immediately lowered.

‘Where in the hell is Ferret. He’s
never bloody around when ya need him!’ griped the tall warehouse assistant. His
cigarette remained firm between the lips. No hand came forth during exhaling.

‘Fuck knows, probably gone to
grab a bite somewhere,’ replied his equally annoyed colleague.

‘All this work has gotta be done
by nine, for Christ’s sake!’

The two commenced to segregate
the boxes according to labeling. Wine to the floor, coffee and tea placed upon
some nearby shelving, and various canned products loaded on a timber pallet
ready for delivery to a local supermarket later in the morning. Their boss was
about to arrive and would expect to find this task completed.

Broadbent had been a respected
local identity for some years and there was never a reason for the authorities
to believe otherwise. The supermarket commodities were perceived by the public
to be Broadbent’s sole source of income, but the company was in fact a front
for accumulating and distributing a wide variety of drugs.

It was an extremely well run
business. The company was always careful to project the one image should an
unannounced representative from some hotel, restaurant or supermarket chain pay
a sudden visit. There was a small front office leading directly to the
warehouse, and this, together with loading bays and a small fleet of vans,
completed the premises, or so the public thought.

The syndicate that purchased the
property with the intention of setting up such a deception had done its
homework well. Unbeknown to the vast majority of people living today, a network
of tunnels and chambers still existed beneath Pedley. It was once written that
the cellar system was reminiscent of a downscaled version of the Roman
catacombs. Around two hundred years before, convict labour brought to the mainland
excavated an underground system, which served as a penal colony. The convicts
were housed in these chambers to serve out their remaining years, whilst the
authorities at the time lived in stone houses above the ground. This
underground network, whilst inhumane, was extremely effective for controlling
and keeping the prisoners at bay.

The stone buildings were
eventually demolished and no visual evidence remained to support the theory of
the once-concealed subterranean passages. Only three entrances were ever
constructed, all of which led directly from their respective stone premises.
One such entrance lay directly below Broadbent’s premises.

Although this network was still
functional, time had brought with it some degree of deterioration, with access only
known to the privileged few who had sworn an oath of absolute secrecy. It was
ironic that the drug underworld would establish their regional headquarters in
such a cleverly chosen underground location.

An organisation within the drug
world known as Scorpio had purchased the Broadbent site some eight years
earlier. Victor Marlow, known only as ‘the Keeper’ to his employees, was the
brains and finance behind the enterprise. He ran an efficient and highly
profitable business from his city address and had successfully launched three
regional headquarters - one of which was Pedley - to assist with city and
interstate demand. The Pedley success story of recent years was so impressive
it now rivaled its city counterpart for annual revenue, where interstate trade
was now drawing from its abundant stock. It came as no surprise to those in the
hierarchy that Marlow held this regional outlet in such high regard. Due to its
close proximity to the city, he often made the effort to visit the town to
discuss business developments with his regional head and view the underground
operations.

The Pedley conglomerate consisted
of numerous people on the payroll. Broadbent alone comprised a manager and his
four subordinates, whilst the drug operations were delegated to two people
responsible for trafficking, transport, the recruitment of pushers and to carry
out the manual tasks required underground. The syndicate’s overall
responsibility was carried out by a regional head, whose identity was known
only to Victor Marlow, Broadbent’s manager Neville Bradbury and one of the drug
operators.

Only five people within the
organisation had knowledge of and access to the underground network beneath
Pedley: Marlow, the regional head, Bradbury and two drug operators known only
as Charlie and Sol. The world beneath Broadbent was an underground paradise for
supporting the drug habits of those so inclined. The variety alone was like a
smorgasbord of gourmet dishes that would satisfy the most fastidious of
seasoned palates. The pickings, which boasted unconditional quality and
unlimited supply, covered the total spectrum, ranging from cannabis and ecstasy
through to cocaine, amphetamines and heroin.

Neville Bradbury, a methodical
man in his early forties and a loyal employee of the syndicate, arrived at the
warehouse. He was pleased to see that the morning consignment had arrived and
that all the produce was packed the way he had instructed. Travis Ferguson, the
Broadbent employee also known as Ferret, had rejoined his coworkers and would probably
receive his boss’s gratitude, much to the annoyance of others.

‘Thanks, guys,’ Bradbury said. ‘Would
one of you now place that pallet into the van and take it over to Murphy’s
Supermarket as they’re expecting delivery before ten, and then you can call it
quits for the day.’

‘Sure, boss,’ called Ferret, keen
to accrue some brownie points.

Not long after the men had left,
Charlie, one of the drug operators suddenly appeared, looking somewhat
agitated.

‘I gotta talk to ya about
something,’ he said to Bradbury, looking around to ensure the roller door was
secured.

‘Okay, so what’s on your mind,
Charlie?’

‘It’s like this. Reynolds has
been taken care of and so too Mitch in the park, but I’m shit scared about what
the O’Neill girl knows. She’s still in hospital and I’ve heard she’s gonna pull
through. Reynolds overheard some pretty heavy shit that night, but we dunno if
he told the girl. Stupid bitch for interfering and being with him that morning!’

‘Hang on a moment. The cops would’ve
interviewed her by now and we’ve heard nothing from our sources. O’Neill might
be one of your pushers, but she has no knowledge of a connection with
Broadbent, and besides, she knows the consequences for double-crossing.’

‘That’s not me problem. I’ve
gotta look after me own interests ‘cause I’m her contact and the only one she
knows. It’s what she might do that friggin’ worries me. We can’t take any
risks.’

‘Okay, we’ll talk to Sol about it
and then get clearance from the regional head on how this will be handled.’

~ * ~

he
funeral of Jake Reynolds took place on Wednesday morning, attended by a large
outpouring of public sympathy. Representatives from local government and
various sporting bodies, schools and organisations were present to pay their
last respects. The service was longer than most as a result of the many
eulogies delivered from people in Jake’s varied but short life.