Scorpio's Lot (21 page)

With the departure of Kurt
Muller, Forbes decided to phone Graeme Bailey of the narcotics division at city
headquarters. Forbes and Bailey had been in the force exactly the same length
of time, having graduated together at the academy back in ‘71. Although from
separate divisions, they both had worked their way up through the ranks and
occasionally drew from each other’s knowledge when required.

‘Graeme, you old scoundrel. It’s
Alan Forbes calling from Pedley.’

Bailey chuckled. ‘Well, well, if
it isn’t my old partner in crime. Homicide’s sent you out to do the country
runs now?’

Forbes informed his colleague
briefly of the Pedley murders and their link with the drug underworld. Bailey
listened intently to the case progress, or lack of it, in addition to the
malicious attacks and plight of Brigit O’Neill.

‘Graeme, I’ve come to the point
where I need your help. Have you ever heard the word “Piedpiper” spoken of in
drug circles?’

‘Certainly.’ Bailey told Forbes
what he knew. The regional head and Piedpiper were one and the same. This
person reported to a city-based leader known only as ‘the Keeper’. They had
never been able to make inroads on this Scorpio operation, let alone discover
the identities of the pair.

‘But why the name Piedpiper?’
enquired Forbes.

‘Hearsay has it that the
Piedpiper was so-named because of the syndicate’s ability to lure the
vulnerable. In some way it’s a bit like the trail of followers in the children’s
story.’

‘And the Keeper?’

‘This one’s their supreme leader.
I can only speculate that the name implies that he keeps control of the entire
organisation, which includes drug distribution, finance, logistics,
elimination, recruitment and so on.’

‘Do you have any idea how large
this organisation is?’

‘Probably in the country’s top
three,’ claimed Bailey. ‘They have strong representation in all states and have
developed a very powerful network and logistics operation over the years. We
have it on record that most of the heroin they import comes from Afghanistan.
Most likely it comes into the country in containers and it’s off-loaded into
three or four major shipping ports throughout the country. It’s rumored this
southern region contributes to the interstate trade and boasts one of the
largest annual revenues in the country, but we’re baffled as to where such a
vast amount of drugs can be stored and distributed. We’ve conducted raids in
the past but to no avail. Although it’s only speculation, our sources say the
Pedley region’s only managed by a handful of people, possibly five or six and
their lackeys, despite the reputed size of their operation.’

‘I’m aware of Pedley’s drug
history and the failed attempts to arrest those responsible,’ Forbes said. ‘I
took this case on anticipating there was a drug connection with the initial
murders.’

‘Understandably.’

‘Graeme, this information is
extremely valuable and it all stems from the one key word that Ruth Evans tried
so desperately to complete.’ Forbes quickly described Ruth Evans’ attempt to
leave a message.

‘A word of warning, Alan. This
organisation has a history of violence and they’ll go to extraordinary lengths
to protect their investment. There’ve been a number of gangland-related murders
over the years, most of them committed within the city perimeters, but now it
seems there are no boundaries to their bloodshed. Remember, I’m at your
disposal should you require further backup, which I believe you’re going to
need. Keep me posted on your progress. Hopefully this will become the
investigation that exposes their syndicate once and for all.’

Forbes hung up and pondered over
this unexpected breakthrough.

~ * ~

We
had arrived at Hamish’s homestead. The entrance to the property still had the
same familiar pine log arch bearing the inscription: THE GRANGE. We drove under
its timbered spans and along an elevated gravel road that wound its way through
a plantation of maple trees and two strategically placed dams that were filled
to the brim. On the immediate hill stood a cabin of modest size, complete with
a full-length verandah facing east. Smoke billowed from the living room
chimney. As the car came to a halt we were greeted by Cain and Abel, who stood
barking on either side of the vehicle.

‘Stay!’ a voice yelled and Hamish
stepped down from the verandah.

‘Hamish, me old mate,’ I called
out, shutting the car door behind me. ‘How’s it going?’

‘All the worst for seeing you,’
replied a laughing Hamish, vigorously shaking my hand. His tight grip was one
to be very wary of. If you only succeeded in meeting his strong hand halfway
your fingers would suffer an excruciating pain that would nearly bring tears to
your eyes. He was a strongly built man with a mass of ginger hair and a
perpetual grin that seemed both alluring and comical.

‘Free!’ ordered Hamish, releasing
the Dobermans from their last command.

‘Hamish O’Connor, meet my niece
Brigit O’Neill.’

‘A pleasure, welcome to my humble
abode.’

‘It’s beautiful and exactly how
Tom described the views from the cabin. Is all this land yours, Hamish?’ asked
Brigit.

‘Not quite. The border is to the
second dam if looking east and halfway up the hill beyond the creek to the
south. The north and west sides are heavy timbered and there’s a boundary fence
that runs half a kilometre in from the house.’

Cain and Abel, who seemed to have
accepted our presence, were resting by my feet. Leaning down, I gave them both
a pat and received a faint whimpering sound of acceptance. They were handsome
and proud dogs with alert ears and dark, dancing eyes. Compactly built, they
looked as though they had been poured into their shiny black-and-rust coats.
Though powerful and muscular, they also had an elegance and nobility. Hamish
had been a lifelong devotee of this magnificent Rolls Royce of dogs. He had
looked after them well.

Brigit stood on the verandah
admiring the scenery. Most of the land had been cleared on the east side,
providing uninterrupted views to beyond the second dam. At the bottom of the
valley Friesian cows grazed on the lush vegetation and a flock of sheep drank
from the first dam. There was no shortage of feed and water. The winding creek
to the south boasted a row of willow trees along its far bank and there was a
hint of mauve emerging from the lavender planted on the hillside. Coupled with
the blue sky of a winter’s afternoon and the sun streaming down upon green pastures,
it was indeed a picture worthy of postcard status.

The interior of the cabin was
surprisingly spacious. Three small bedrooms and a bathroom come laundry were to
the left off the entrance, while the remainder was entirely living area with a
kitchen located in one corner. An open fire was flickering at one end and there
was the usual array of cabin paraphernalia on display along its pine log walls.
The decor and mood of the place reflected Hamish in every respect, for it
combined a personality of simple but effective character in line with his
bachelorhood and bush-living ways. This was no place for frilly curtains,
flowers and the like.

Brigit spotted a framed picture
of Hamish and a lady friend resting on the mantelpiece. Picking up the photo,
she smiled and said, ‘What a lovely-looking person.’

‘Who, me or the young lassie?’
Hamish responded with a broad grin.

‘Don’t be silly. The young lady,
of course.’

‘She was my fiancée for a short
time.’

‘And does she have a name?’

‘Barbara Haven. When we first met
I came straight to the point and asked her if she was married. When she said no
I told her I’d call her “Misbehaven”.’

‘You’re priceless!’ responded
Brigit grinning back.

Hamish gestured for us to sit by
the fire while he poured some whiskey and ouzo. The dogs immediately took up
their positions on a thick woollen mat that lay in front of the hearth.
Following a few earlier anxious moments, Brigit was now starting to come to
terms with the Dobermans, which prompted a comment from Hamish.

‘You okay with my pets, Brigit?’

‘I think so, but which dog is
which?’

‘Cain is the dog to your right
and Abel in front is the bitch,’ replied Hamish.

‘Oh, I thought they were both
male like in the Bible story.’

‘No but that’s me to a T - I just
had to be different and confuse everybody. In the world of Dobes the males are
known to be territorial and normally they won’t accept other males in any
situation.’

Brigit seemed to be pleased they
were of opposite sex. ‘Maybe the bitch should’ve been called Mabel.’

‘Hamish, did you by any chance
receive a phone call from a Detective Alan Forbes?’ I asked.

‘Yes. He warned me there might be
a drug syndicate here as a result of your visit.’ Hamish handed me my drink.

‘He phoned me as well and said he
would send two policemen to -’

Hamish cut me short. ‘But you’re
jumping to conclusions, Tom.’

I decided this was a good time to
enlighten Hamish on the seriousness of the matter. He listened to me intently
as I recalled the three murders, the chase and the malicious attacks. Still
unmoved, he responded in his typical stubborn Irish way.

‘As I mentioned to you over the
phone, we have the shotguns and dogs to take care of that lot.’

There was no point in continuing
with this discussion, for Hamish had already made up his mind there would be no
immediate threat. I decided to change the subject but Brigit had beaten me to
the mark.

‘Tom tells me you emigrated from
Ireland when you were thirteen years old.’

‘I was actually twelve when the
family came out. My parents still live in the city, as do my two sisters. My
brother now lives interstate so we don’t see as much of each other as we’d
like.’

‘And what part of Ireland did you
come from?’ continued an inquisitive Brigit.

‘We lived in Cork, but my father’s
folk came from Limerick and my mother’s from Killarney, which today has been
made very touristy by the Americans. Probably has something to do with the Ring
of Kerry and the Lakes District being nearby.’

‘I’ve heard of these places. My
dad told me stories about Ireland when I was young.’

‘So when did your O’Neill
ancestors make the voyage?’

‘My grandparents came out in the
fifties from a place called Galway. Have you heard of it?’

‘Yes, indeed. It’s near the
Connemara National Park which, together with the Dingle Peninsula, are my
favourite areas in all of Ireland.’

All this Irish talk was starting
to get the better of me. I thought a change of subject was needed before I
started hearing stories about the Blarney stone, leprechauns and shamrocks.

~ * ~

Trailing
along Somerville Road North were Charlie and his lackey Mick. They had seen Tom
and Brigit arrive at The Grange and had parked their 4WD behind some thick
bushes around fifty metres from the entrance. Their orders were to immediately
notify the Piedpiper.

‘We’re here, boss, and we’ve got
the 4WD well hidden near the entrance,’ said Charlie.

‘Good. Stay there until my
further instructions, which I’ll give tonight. It would be pointless to carry
this out during daylight hours for we may forfeit the element of surprise,’
replied the Piedpiper.

‘We’ve got a problem though.’

‘And what might that be, Charlie?’

‘The owner of this place has got
two Dobermans, which we’ll need to get rid of if we’re gonna get near the O’Neill
girl.’ Charlie was of the opinion that the dogs were now the bigger threat.