Laughs, Corpses... and a Little Romance Read online

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  Anyway, as we cruised up the harbour I had noticed a lot of activity behind the police boatshed. “Cops must have got their boat going again.” observed Jack. As we passed by we could see men carrying briefcases and what looked like toolboxes from a police car into the boatshed. I went into our office on the wharf. DC Greg Bennett was leaning against the counter, the inevitable cigarette between his fingers. “G'day Greg, how’re you going?” "Good, Ted and you?” I nodded. “We saw some blokes taking boxes and stuff into your boatshed.” “Yeh, it's the lads from the scientific squad. We're going to go over that yacht with a magnifying glass.” I was waiting to hear why he'd come round to visit us. “I thought we’d helped you blokes out enough.. What d’you want now?” “We've got the police launch back in service” said Greg, “but my problem is, the two constables who know how to drive it, one's off on a training course and the other’s off sick. I was wondering if I could borrow one of your lads to steer us over to Whitebait Bay and back.” “Hm, well you could borrow Tim I suppose, but don't forget on Sundays it's penalty pay rates." "Why can't I do it dad?” asked Jack very aggrieved. “Well firstly Tim missed out on our first trip over there, and secondly, if the bloody police launch breaks down again half way across, Tim might have a chance of fixing it, and then I wouldn't have to go to all the trouble of rescuing them.” Tim was very happy with these arrangements, and went off with Greg. Soon we heard the police launch engine fire up and start off down the harbour with Tim standing very proud at the helm. I'll bet he was hoping the whole town was watching.

  As I mentioned before, Annabelle really only needs a crew of two, so Jack and I managed quite easily for the rest of the day. The passengers were all dying to know about the happenings over at Whitebait Bay, so Jack talked non-stop for the next few hours, and I must confess I did a bit too. Well, it's not often you’re at the centre of a bit of hot gossip. Two newspaper reporters came on one trip and pumped us for all we knew. I called Jack into the wheelhouse and warned him to be a bit cautious about what he said to those guys. I didn't want to end up with a libel case from any of the residents of Whitebait Bay, especially Neville Sneider.

  Our town is a bit of a sleepy backwater really, just a ribbon of houses along the riverbank, clinging on to the base of the gorge. It’s only here at all because this is where the railway crosses the river over a long bridge, and the bridge builders set up a base camp here which grew eventually into a town. The town then turned into a railway town, supporting the steam trains that came over the bridge and up the long steep climb into the hills on the way to Sydney. The road to the town is a dead end, it doesn’t go on anywhere else, so we get no through traffic to disturb our slumbers. Anyway, the point is that a murder was the most exciting thing that had happened here in many a long year, so a very excited crowd plus the two reporters were waiting to hear all the latest news. The police launch came back into the harbour several hours later. Jack and I walked round to the police boatshed to meet it, but half the town had beaten us to it. As soon as DC Bennett came out the door the reporters started firing questions at him. “I'm sorry gentlemen, I’m making no statement at this time. Our press liaison officer may have something to say later.”

  Tim came out of the boatshed behind him, looking like the cat that had drunk the cream, grinning all over his face. I grabbed him before he could say anything, and we all went round to the office and shut the door. “So what did the scientific guys find on the yacht Tim?” “They didn't find hardly anything. They said the whole boat had been wiped clean very thoroughly. No fingerprints, no nothin’." "So did they find any documents or letters to say who the couple are?" "No, they practically took the boat apart and didn't find nothin’. They said it was like the couple had never been there. A real expert clean up job by somebody, they said” I could see by the smug smile on his face that there was more to come. “Go on, tell us the rest” “Well, while the cops was checking out the boat they told me to wait in the cockpit and not to move. I was waiting in the cockpit, leaning with one arm on the boom, y’know, with the mainsail furled around it, and I thought I could feel some bulges inside the sail and I couldn't figure out what they were, so I thought I'd hoist the sail up a bit and see what was there, and you'll never guess what! Some plastic bags of white stuff fell out. They'd been rolled up inside the mainsail. The scientific blokes said it was cocaine, worth about two million dollars they reckoned.”

  Jack and I stood there a bit stunned, and then Jack said triumphantly “There you are then, that proves why the girl on the yacht was murdered. They went out in the yacht to meet up with some ship to pick up a drug delivery for Australia, then they decided to double-cross the drug gang and steal the drugs. They changed the name of the boat, and tried to hide over at Neville Sneider's place. The drug gang must have found them and killed the girl and taken the man away. It all fits don’t it?” “Yeh,” said Tim “Greg Bennett has figured that out already. He said I did very well finding the drugs. He said they might make a copper of me yet.” Tim seemed to have grown at least an inch that day. I had a feeling this day might in fact be the highlight of his whole life. “So what did Neville Sneider have to say about all this?" I asked. “Oh he wasn't there” said Tim. “He must have gone off fishing or somethin’. His house was all locked up and his boat was gone. Still they did manage to get his finger prints off the handle of a fishing rod they found in his back yard." "Why did Greg want his finger prints?” “I dunno, he doesn't seem to trust Sneider too much.”

  Just then Greg came in.“Thanks for lending me Tim, Ted. He was a big help. In fact you might say he hit the jackpot. All I've got to do now is to clean up the paperwork and I can pass the whole case over to the drug squad and let them sort it out." "No worries Greg, always pleased to help out the boys in blue.” “Am I glad I don't have to go over to that bay again! All that bouncing around in boats hasn't done my bloody stomach much good.”

  I’d had more than about enough of the whole business as well. I decided I wouldn’t go to the pub that night. I’d been late getting home the night before, and I didn't want to be in the doghouse with my missus two nights in a row, and anyway Bill Evans and his oyster farming mates would be sure to be waiting in the bar to give me some stick over the Queen Britannia affair. Sometimes a tactical retreat is the most sensible option.