South Pacific Affair

By Drew Lindsay

The discovery of a body in a creek not far from Sydney and a royal necklace stolen from the collection of the King of Tonga eventually leads Ben Hood into an assignment where he encounters dangerous people, beautiful women and an exotic coral island in the Kingdom of Tonga. Ben faces the challenge of remaining alive and keeping his client safe with his usual flair for breaking rules and tackling dangerous people head on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Lindsay
• Release date: Aug 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310507519

Drew Lindsay

Drew Lindsay is a dynamic Australian Novelist and Writer. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia and the world. His background includes working as a Policeman and detective, then managing his own private investigation business as well as working in Fraud Investigation Management positions within the insurance industry.Drew is a PADI Divemaster and holds a private pilot's license. He has a great love of entertaining others with his vivid imagination. His novels allow the reader to escape into worlds of romance, excitement, humour and fast paced adventure. Drew lives in northern New South Wales with his wife.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Clyde Engineering Company had occupied a huge tract of land bordering on Duck Creek and Parramatta Road just west of Sydney for many years following World War Two. Initially the company designed and hand built locomotive engines which pulled anything from sugarcane in Queensland to train travellers throughout Australia who could not afford to fly in the days before cheap air fare wars began.

The Fitting and Machining workshop within the premises of the Clyde Engineering Company employed Design Engineers, Fitters and Turners, Welders, Toolmakers, Electrical Engineers and a variety of men who simply knew how to build powerful diesel electric engines and other components including bogies and steel train wheels. These were incorporated into the locomotives being assembled in another part of the factory. These locomotives were capable of dragging enormous weights along the tens of thousands of kilometres of train tracks throughout Australia.

The Clyde Engineering Company eventually sold off most of its operation to overseas investors. Australia Post now occupies the site. Huge trucks stacked with mail and parcels come and go. All of them, in the main, reach their intended destination on time with their loads intact.

Simon Dimple wasn’t the ideal employee of Australia Post. He reluctantly worked at the Clyde depot. He was a bit cranky from the day he started with the Clyde branch of Australia Post because he should have been a supervisor, however the powers that be had placed him beneath a woman of remarkably shapely and ample proportions named Janice King. Janice knew someone in a very senior position within Australia Post and had in fact shared her bed with this someone and it wasn’t for the purpose of sleeping. Now she was the supervisor and Simon wasn’t.

Two teenage girls from the nearby suburb of Granville, wandered along a track which ran past the rear boundary of the Australia Post depot and down to a heavily timbered area on the banks of Duck Creek. Both girls had been drinking and their laughter was somewhat loud. Simon had been sitting alone behind one of the huge red trucks parked at the rear of the main building and he saw the girls walk past. He knew how to get through the rear wire fence as he had sneaked away from work through that fence many times and gone down to sit by the creek. Impulse made him follow the girls. The vague thought of getting lucky ran through his mind but was quickly put aside. Even just to chat with them and find out why they were laughing might be a nice distraction.

Frogs croaked in the deep green water. The croaking ceased as the girls approached. The tallest of the pair picked up a discarded beer bottle and threw it into the water. It bobbed around and floated away with the gentle current. The creek was almost choked in places with bulrushes and weed. Rubbish of every imaginable kind was also choking the creek. It wasn’t a pretty sight. A decent deluge of rain and subsequent flooding was desperately needed to clear out some of this crap but it hadn’t rained heavily in months.

The shorter girl with long blond hair was about to sit on a fallen log when she heard Simon approaching. She touched her partner on the arm and they both turned.

‘I work at the postal depot,’ said Simon. ‘I often come down here in my lunch break.’

‘The tall girl faced him defiantly. She had short red hair and several silver rings in her nose and ears. ‘We didn’t invite you so piss off.’

‘You don’t own the creek,’ said Simon, smarting from the immediate display of aggression. ‘I just heard you laughing.’

The tall girl picked up another discarded beer bottle. ‘My friend and I are having a day off school and a bit of a party. You’re not invited.’

The girl with the long blond hair had taken a seat on the log and was looking into the water. Her head was spinning and she knew her friend could handle the creep. She saw a pure white hand…wrinkled and white. The hand was just beneath the surface of the water but it seemed to be reaching up towards her. The girl rose from the fallen tree trunk and walked to the edge of the creek. She could now see running shoes and two legs and another hand and arm slightly lower in the water. This hand was clenched into a fist.

‘Lois.’

‘The creep won’t go away,’ said Lois.

‘There’s someone in the water.’

Lois turned. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘There’s a body in the creek and it’s pointing at me.’

‘Sit down Poppy. You’ve had too much to drink.’

‘I don’t think so. You better come and have a look.’

‘I’m not turning my back on the creep.’

‘Perhaps he should take a look,’ said Poppy.

‘Why not?’ asked Simon, taking a step forward.

Lois held up the bottle in her right hand. ‘You come anywhere near us and I’ll smash your head mate.’

Simon stood still. Lois took careful steps backwards until she was level with her friend. She turned and glanced into the water. Simon didn’t move. ‘Oh shit!’ said Lois.

‘What is it?’ asked Simon.

‘A dead body,’ said Poppy.

‘I should take a look,’ said Simon.

‘Help yourself,’ said Lois, walking away from the creek bank. She kept the bottle firmly in her hand.

Simon walked past the fallen log to the creek bank. He had assumed the girls were playing a trick on him but it was no trick. The right hand of the body was pointing directly at him, white and wrinkled. He could now see the outline of the body and realised that a green plastic bag was tied over its head. Simon had never seen a dead body before. He began to feel quite ill and a few seconds later he stepped back from the edge of the creek, dropped to his knees in the mud and vomited.

‘We’re going to call the cops,’ said Lois. ‘Come on Poppy.’

Poppy stumbled along the track after her companion as they hurried back to the main road. Simon got unsteadily to his feet. He didn’t want to look at the body again but something forced him to do it. The pointing hand moved in the passing current. Simon speculated that the person in the water was still alive but there was no way he was going into that creek. He turned and fled back to the postal depot.

Many of the well heeled residents of Potts Point, an inner suburb of Sydney, would prefer that they weren’t located geographically adjacent to the suburb of Kings Cross. Kings Cross had become the seedy red light area of Sydney, the home of organised crime, prostitution and drug dealing on a major scale. It had once been a place of culture with theatres and grand dining establishments. The influx of troops from the nearby Garden Island Naval base following World War Two opened up cheap nightclubs and booze halls mixed with the usual associated criminal element. Thus the downward spiral began.

All of this was a world away from a woman who many thousands claimed was one of the most beautiful women in the world. Her name is Sophia Hunter and she lives with her relatively older but extremely wealthy husband in an opulent Billyard Avenue mansion overlooking Elizabeth Bay, Sydney Harbour. Her home is only a 10 minute walk from the centre of Kings Cross but she had never ventured into that den of iniquity. If she wanted iniquity, she could afford to pay for it in her own home in a style which had long left Kings Cross.

Sophia was 32 years old, born and raised for all her teenage life in Israel by a Jewish father and an English mother. Her father was involved in government things and her mother was a very successful clothing designer. Her father died in a car bomb incident when she was 19. She was never told why someone had felt it necessary to blow up her father. She suspected it had something to do with government things. Following the death of her father, she and her mother had suddenly relocated to the mansion in Potts Point, Sydney. Her mother continued to design exclusive and expensive clothing which successfully sold worldwide. Sophia was head hunted by a Lebanese photographer who was introduced to her by her mother. This rather odd and very private man took photographs of Sophia and sold them to magazines and product clients which made them both extremely wealthy. They weren’t pornographic photos although many women over the age of 50 felt they were disgusting. She also competed with her mother in the clothing industry as she was a skilful designer. Actually it wasn’t really a competition as her creations were nothing at all like her mother’s fashion line.

Sophia was five feet ten inches tall with a body that never failed to attract any man who was not homosexual, and even then, the borderlines would glance at her and admire. She had never dyed her brunette hair and it was always styled a variety of ways from ringlets which cascaded over her shoulders, to a single pony tail at the back, to an elegant swept up style which highlighted her long slender neck. She had soft white skin with a tiny sprinkling of light freckles over her nose. Her eyes were a mixture of hazel and deep grey and anyone looking at her face was immediately drawn to her amazing eyes.

The detective sitting opposite her was also mesmerised by her eyes. He clasped his hands together and sat back in the thick leather chair. ‘We need you to accompany us to the Glebe morgue for identification,’ he said.

‘An identification of what?’ said Sophia in her usual deep sultry voice.

‘A body.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘I’m sorry to have to bring this news Mrs. Hunter, but we believe your husband is now deceased.’

‘My husband is in Tonga on business,’ said Sophia.’

‘When did you last hear from him?’ the detective asked.

‘Two days ago.’

‘By phone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was it an international call Mrs. Hunter?’

‘I don’t know. How do you tell these days?’

‘Did he sound…anxious?’

‘No.’

‘Why was he in Tonga?’

‘He imports and exports things,’ said Sophia. ‘He was there on business. I don’t know details.’

The detective glanced at his female partner and then back to Sophia. ‘Would you mind phoning your husband now?’

‘Of course, said Sophia, rising from her lounge chair and walking to a sideboard. She picked up a mobile phone and hit a speed dial number. She was diverted to her husband’s voice mail. Sophia didn’t leave a message. She put the phone in her clutch purse and turned to face the detectives. ‘Why do you think this body you have is my husband?’

‘Fingerprint match,’ said the senior male detective.

‘My husband has never been arrested and charged with anything in his life,’ said Sophia.

‘I’m afraid he’s not told you everything,’ said the male detective.

‘You’re making a big mistake,’ said Sophia. She had held her usual calm and casual composure until now but things inside her head were starting to unravel.

‘Would you like to call a companion to accompany you?’ asked the male detective.

‘No. I’ll go with you. I’m sure this is all a bit of silly nonsense.’

****

CHAPTER TWO

The Glebe morgue has never been an attractive building. The morgue and associated Coroners Court was not designed to be an outstanding architectural success. The rear section of the huge building handled dead bodies…thousands each year. They were racked up on stainless steel shelves often three high in the ice cold open storage facility. Those destined for a longer stay because of more intensive forensic investigations, were placed in much colder accommodation. The records and processing offices and courts were designed for judicial purposes. It was never intended to be a happy place and it wasn’t. Some of the more flirtatious or adventurous staff working at the morgue were occasionally caught with smiles on their faces. Those smiles had nothing whatsoever to do with their job or the building in which they worked.

Detective Sergeant Fred Hannam led Sophia into a small viewing area and invited her to sit on a green vinyl bench. The room was softly lit. The main action was to happen outside the viewing window which was now curtained. ‘This is not going to be easy,’ said Hannam.

‘Do you think for a minute that I felt it would be easy?’ asked Sophia.

‘No. I was just…’

‘Let’s get it over with,’ said Sophia.

‘The body has been in the water for some days. There are parts of the face missing.’

‘Is he naked?’

‘No.’

‘I want to see him naked. If it’s my husband, I’ll know immediately.’

Detective Hannam left the room. There were sounds of movement on the other side of the viewing window. Detective Hannam walked back into the room accompanied with a young female detective. ‘You must be positive Mrs. Hunter.’

‘For God’s sake…get him out here.’

The curtain was opened and bright light illuminated the body. Sophia sucked in a deep breath and put her hands to her face. She stared at the body for a long time. ‘You arsehole,’ she said softly. ‘Got yourself in well over your head this time eh?’

‘Is that your husband?’ asked Hannam.

‘What’s left of him,’ said Sophia. ‘The tattoo on his left shoulder is unique. The scar over his left breast is unique. Even with bits of his face rotted away, I can still recognise him.’ She turned to face the detective. ‘Someone burnt parts of his penis and testicles.’

‘So it would appear,’ said Hannam.

‘Torture?’

‘I assume so. The autopsy will be done tomorrow. The burns probably didn’t kill him and there are no other signs of recent physical injury. His lungs are full of water. He may have just drowned.’

‘Where was he found?’ asked Sophia.

‘In a muddy creek behind a postal depot at Clyde.’

‘Are you kidding? What would my husband be doing there when he was supposed to be in Nuku’Alofa?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Hannam. ‘I don’t know where that is?’

‘The capital city of Tongatapu in the South Pacific.’

‘Tonga?’

Sophia nodded her head.

‘Perhaps we had better have a chat,’ said Hannam. ‘Perhaps tomorrow. I can understand how much of a shock this is.’

‘Will a chat help you find who murdered him?’ asked Sophia.

‘Do you think someone murdered your husband Mrs. Hunter?’

‘Of course he was murdered,’ said Sophia as she walked out of the viewing room. ‘Tortured and murdered. You’re a damn police detective and you can’t work that out? My husband doesn’t go swimming in muddy creeks in a horrible place like Clyde. He has Elizabeth Bay at his doorstep as well as a bloody heated pool on the deck.’

‘Point taken,’ said Hannam as he followed her. He already knew that Joseph Hunter had been murdered. The green garbage bag tied over his head was a fair indication that the deceased had not just gone swimming in Duck Creek. Apart from that, no one went swimming in Duck Creek. It was a dirty cesspool.

Two days later, Sophia had not answered phone calls or opened the door to her Elizabeth Bay mansion. Ann Flynn had keys and let herself into the house. Ann was Sophia’s number one clothing model and a trusted friend. She was part Aboriginal, 25 years old with a stunning body and a fiery temper. Ann was the only employee Sophia trusted with a set of keys to her house and the code for her alarm. The alarm wasn’t on as Ann walked through the exquisitely tiled entrance hall. Ann brushed back long strands of jet black hair and called to Sophia. There was no response. She moved slowly through the vast lower floor of the house and outside entertainment areas and then walked slowly up the elegant winding stairway to the first floor.

Sophia was lying on her back on a huge king bed in the master bedroom. Her eyes were open and she was conscious. She had vomited, urinated and defecated on the silk sheets. The room reeked of bodily stench. Ann remembered this smell from her childhood. Memories flooded back but she walked to the bed and looked down at her friend. ‘Are you dead?’

Sophia’s hazel eyes moved slowly to look up at the girl standing over her. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘What the hell have you done?’ asked Ann.

Sophia closed her eyes. ‘I had some drinks and pills I think.’

Ann called for an ambulance.

****

CHAPTER THREE

‘What am I to do with you?’ exclaimed Sophia’s mother. Lila Ben Asher paced the hospital room. At 55 years of age she was still a very attractive woman with pure white skin and a body which many 30 year olds would kill to have. ‘You get tangled up with a husband and drugs or something?’

‘Shut up mother. Joseph wasn’t into drugs.’

Lila spoke with a perfect London English accent despite having been married to a Jewish millionaire for many years prior to him being blown up in a nasty incident. She had considered reverting back to her maiden name of Askew, but felt the name too boring and less exotic than Ben Asher. That name also kept her connected firmly with her inherited estate which was more extensive than she had originally realised.

‘He had investments in Tonga so you have told me,’ said Lila. ‘Was he trading in grass skirts or something?’

‘You know absolutely nothing about Tonga so keep quiet.’

‘So who killed him? Did a Tongan mobster travel to Australia and drown him in a dirty creek in Western Sydney? Was he ripping someone off over the price of grass skirts?’

‘I don’t think they have mobsters in Tonga mother.’

‘They have mobsters everywhere. They’re a dime a dozen.’

‘You watch too much American TV.’

‘I love American TV. The UK TV has gone to the dogs.’

‘What about the Antique Road Show?’

‘The only exception,’ Lila snorted. She fished through her grey leather handbag and plucked out a white lace handkerchief, dabbing it gently at her brow. ‘So what is being done about this horrible mess?’

‘The police are trying to find the killer,’ said Sophia.

‘And what in God’s name are you doing in hospital?’

‘I fell into depression,’ said Sophia.

Lila sat back in her chair and dabbed once more at her forehead. ‘My darling…I’ve lived with depression most of my damn life.’

‘Well now it’s my turn,’ said Sophia. She pulled the oxygen tubes out of her nose and pushed them to the side of the bed. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Ann called me. She’s waiting outside.’

‘Then you can leave and ask Ann to come in.’

‘Fine way to treat your mother is all I can say.’

‘I love you too mother.’

Lila pushed her lace handkerchief into the leather bag, got to her feet and left the room without a word.

Ann sat down beside the hospital bed. She looked at Sophia with large brown eyes. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Thanks for saving my arse honey.’

‘You would have picked up the phone eventually,’ said Ann.

‘I don’t think so.’

Ann fidgeted with the handles of her oversize handbag. ‘So what have the police said about Joe?’

‘Nothing.’

‘So someone killed him for nothing?’

‘I need a cigarette.’

‘You gave up 5 years ago,’ said Ann.’

‘Sort of.’

‘I knew. If you don’t smoke, you can always smell someone who smokes.’

Sophia turned her face to the window. ‘I hate it here. I need to get out.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Ann.

‘Find out why my husband was killed.’ She looked at Ann. ‘The cops don’t have a clue. They think it has something to do with his regular visits to Tonga, but they can’t find anything.’

‘Do we need outside assistance?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Sophia.

‘Private Investigation?’

‘They’re all crook. I wouldn’t trust a private investigator as far as I could spit him.’

Ann sat back and crossed her long, slender legs. ‘Do you remember Milba Berry?’

Sophia pushed her arms up behind her head. ‘You must be joking. I would have paid that bitch thousands for just one photo in my outfits.’

‘Aboriginal bitch you mean.’

‘Whatever. You’re Aboriginal and I treat you like a sister.’

Ann didn’t reply immediately.

‘You know what I mean,’ said Sophia.

‘Aren’t we all the same?’ asked Ann, her voice soft and calm.

‘Of course we are…sort of.’

‘Milba Berry is worth a lot more than you because of her movie star status, said Ann casually.

‘Good luck to her,’ said Sophia. ‘Why are you teasing me with this Milba Berry nonsense?’

‘I know her fairly well,’ said Ann.

‘You never told me this before. I needed her body in one of my outfits for God’s sake!’

‘She doesn’t work like that and I wouldn’t have asked her,’ said Ann.

Sophia was now more alert than she had been since admitted to hospital. ‘So why mention her now?’