Cross Connection

By James Durant

Rachel Shannon’s would be husband had tragically died in a car accident on the way to the church.
At the time Rachel was heavily pregnant.
Now seven years later she finds herself and daughter Meagan without a brother and uncle.
Damian Shannon had died from an accident, or was it?
The day that Martin Kingsley witnessed the unfortunate death of Damian Shannon brought back memories of Adele. Cancer had taken his beautiful wife from him twelve months to the day.
The course of events that followed led Martin and Rachel to cross paths, here their blossoming relationship is undermined by a sequel of accidents and deaths, each a link to Rachel’s brother.
The plot thickens when Detective Tony Vander exhibits to Martin a lolly wrapper mysteriously tied in a Knot.
Knowledge of this leads Martin and Rachel to investigate, having; they think identified the owner of the wrapping paper found.
The trail leads to Rachel’s landlord Ray Kelly owner of ‘Kelly’s Pure Water’ and his subordinate Phil Chafer.
Martin and Rachel’s relationship becomes undermined by fear; fear that their memories will darken the future. Each knowing that the dilemma they were in had to be resolved one way or another.
The course they take could be disastrous because due to their meddling Rachel’s daughter Meagan then becomes a target to cover up Kelly’s involvement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Durant
• Release date: Oct 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466187481

James Durant

James Durant born in England (London) 1946 James (mostly called Jim or Jimmy) moved to Australia 1958 Now lives on the Gold Coast, Tweed Heads NSW Married to Sandra; Children Dalina, Raelean and Natalie. Occupation; worked in the Automotive industry, Electrical industry and Water industry. A football referee for 35 years (round ball) In general time spent in retirement consists of reading, writing, painting and when possible golf and fishing. Mostly time is occupied with relaxing and doing our own thing in retirement. The furthermost achievement would be our children and their success. Writing this book was a labour of love, keeps the body willing and the mind active.

Book preview

PREFACE

Rachel Shannon’s would be husband had tragically died in a car accident on the way to the church.

At the time Rachel was heavily pregnant.

Now seven years later she finds herself and daughter Meagan without a brother and uncle.

Damian Shannon had died from an accident, or was it?

The day that Martin Kingsley witnessed the unfortunate death of Damian Shannon brought back memories of Adele. Cancer had taken his beautiful wife from him twelve months to the day.

The course of events that followed led Martin and Rachel to cross paths, here their blossoming relationship is undermined by a sequel of accidents and deaths, each a link to Rachel’s brother.

The plot thickens when Detective Tony Vander exhibits to Martin a lolly wrapper mysteriously tied in a Knot.

Knowledge of this leads Martin and Rachel to investigate, having; they think identified the owner of the wrapping paper found.

The trail leads to Rachel’s landlord Ray Kelly owner of ‘Kelly’s Pure Water’ and his subordinate Phil Chafer.

Martin and Rachel’s relationship becomes undermined by fear; fear that their memories will darken the future. Each knowing that the dilemma they were in had to be resolved one way or another.

The course they take could be disastrous because due to their meddling Rachel’s daughter Meagan then becomes a target to cover up Kelly’s involvement.

PROLOGUE

The Alphabet Computer Company had insisted that the computer upgrade was essential. They were sending their best man over.

A time was arranged.

On arrival the computer whiz had guaranteed Forty-five minutes maximum.

Ray Kelly and his assistant Phil Chafer arrived back an hour later to an empty reception room.

‘Where the hell is Doyle?’ Kelly spat. His answer came from the sound of a flushing toilet from the bathroom.

‘Sounds like she’s having a piss break boss.’

Kelly communicated with his subordinate with disdain. ‘Nice Razor.’ The nickname was an indication of his foul deeds.

Kelly opened the door to his office. ‘Good,’ he mumbled, ‘looks like our computer nerds gone. Shut the door.’ He demands.

He stretched out on the sofa. Razor stood.

‘Well Razor,’ he smirks, ‘as I was saying, once i have tainted the town’s water system everyone will want to buy ‘Kelly’s Pure Water,’ and not to mention all those expensive devices, and---.

The door jolted open and the computer repairman looked at two very surprised people.

‘Ops! Sorry I didn’t know you were back or I would have knocked.

Your receptionist, he points outside.’

Kelly stood abruptly blurting out. ‘She didn’t know! She was indisposed when we got back. More to the point, what are you doing back here?’ He grunts.

‘I never left!’ Nonchalantly he walks to the desk. ‘I needed some equipment from my van, but it looks like I’ve left it back at the shop. It’ll keep till next time it’s not that important.’

The two looked on as he logged off, bundles his equipment into the aluminium attaché case and rolls the tumblers over securing the contents.

‘Yep, all fixed see you in a few months time, that is of course,’ he remarks. ‘It doesn’t give you any trouble in the mean time, but if it does please give us a call we’re all too happy at ABC to help.'

He strode out the office shut the door and with an indebted wink said thank you to the receptionist.

Damian Shannon now sat in the back of his van and turned on the Toshiba laptop. His thoughts drifted back to the two people in the office.

‘Jerks! Staring at me as if I was the grim reaper, dick heads - the computer nerd hadn’t gone - lucky they didn’t know the recorder was running.’

Inadvertently he had turned on the computers recorder when leaving the room to get equipment from the van.

‘Well there’s no harm in listen to it, is their?’ He hit the play back button.

It was first disbelief and then jubilation as he heard for the second time, not believing his ears the first, Kelly’s statement.

He named the file ‘Kelly's audio’, and in his excitement hits the do not save button on the dialog box losing the recording to cyber land.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’ He kicks the side of the van. He attempts to stand and in doing so hits his head on the roof and falls back down in disgust. An attempt to retrieve the file was unsuccessful.

Like most, Shannon was no saint and he would often copy documents from customer’s computers. He now congratulated himself for copying Kelly’s. Here he believed was his savour. The documents had to add evidence to the recording, albeit lost to cyber land.

‘Yes he mutters, ‘this will suffice, and as far as Kelly’s concerned I have a very incriminating floppy disk, the documents copied will corroborate the recording.

He now thought of his sister Rachel and her daughter, their predicament with Kelly. ‘It’s all for you sis,’ he mumbles.

Kelly had cursed, ‘why did I leave him alone.’ He recalls the Identity tag on his uniform – Damian Shannon; it should have at least been questionable. The blood raged in his veins as he recalled the audacity of the man when he later returned, defiantly waving a floppy disk in his face. His hands now clinched hard, the knuckles bloodless and eyes seething as he rocked on heel and toe.

Tempt not a desperate man.

‘How dare he attempt to threaten me?’

Chapter One

Wednesday 26th January 2001 - 7:00 am.

Martin sat, captivated by the hypnotic motion. The stealth like shape silently glided across the azure sky, and then plunged skimming the sparse hard white sand with precision accuracy, its shadow in harmony. Then the sensation of sound, the stark reality, a dull imagined thud!

The blood cringed behind his eyes; the apertures expanded to their fullest, a deep tight gut feeling clinched his body as a cold chill crept down his spine vibrating a cold shiver through his entire body. Traumatized he looks on! Had his eyes deceived him? No!

The apex of the green and gold kite had entered at the temple, implanting its metal shaft well within the brain, killing its victim instantly, gruesomely. On impulse his vision is wrenched to the direction of the controller, but what he saw through the morning haze was bright crimson controls lying barren on the sun-baked sand, unaccompanied?

‘Where’d he go?’ His voice quivered with apprehension. Awkwardly he steers the expensive Tasco binoculars along the lengthy wooden boardwalk, back and forth covering the blind spots from the swaying arms of the palms and fingers of ferns in an attempt to sight him, unsuccessfully. The search led back to the mute scene.

From this distance the few people that had congregated around the body were unrecognisable, although one person, his size indifferent, led him to believe that this would be the poor soul that unwillingly guided the kite to its deadly path. But, No! He’s leaving.

He became distracted. His acute hearing detects the monotonous sound of a siren in the distance, closer, louder.

He could do little more now than watch.

Martin Kingsley stood looking through the binoculars the water that dammed in his eyes weren’t just from the length of time he had held them staring at the vision. Momentarily his thoughts had dwelled back picturing vivid memories, then solitude, hurt.

He whispers mournfully. ‘Unbelievable.’ His eyes are in Denial. Memories crowd in. For him the torment was tearing, straining at his aching heart. The tension. The mind would not let go, not forget. His young beautiful wife of twelve months had lost her fight with cancer.

His mind serenely travels back, eyes oblivious to the bustle of the ambulance. They had first met at a business conference. He was twenty-four at the time. He remembered vividly the lasting passion the feeling, he knew then that they were destined to be together for eternity. He was blessed with an angel, a godsend, and the luckiest and happiest guy in the world. What followed was an inseparable relationship. The many friends they had, envied them.

They had decided not to marry until they could forge a strong and financial start for their future and their children. In the years leading up to their marriage they had built a solid foundation. Both had secured jobs in Sydney. Martin a programmer for an IBM Computer Company and Adele managed an estate agency, each day travelling together from their cedar cottage in the picturesque hills above Richmond. They had decided against their apartment on the Gold Coast for their honeymoon, too close.

It was on returning from their holiday on the Whitsunday, they should never have returned, but he knew it would have made little difference. They had made the detour to Adele’s parents. Adele was ravaging through the photographs, laughing. Martin had accidentally collided with a waiter; she had clicked. She playfully threatened to show her parents.

They had both wished the honeymoon had never ended. Their detour was to collect mail. The inconspicuous looking letter had informed Adele that a shaded area on her X-ray required further investigation. The fearful weeks that followed proved clearly that the cancer was malignant and had taken over most of her petite body.

He recalls the agony the love and then the memories. He held her hands, stroking her, her eyes watery and solemn, half closed. He was oblivious to the family assembled around the hospital bed. Her eyes widened, taking in the memories. She reaches a new strength. Her being, eyes enlarge, seek, and then settle on Martin, her body becomes still. The nurse leans forward and gently closes the inert eyes. ‘Adele! Adele!’ Martin again felt the emptiness.

The flashing lights and movement of the ambulance broke the mood. He crammed the binoculars back in their heavily stitched black leather case and placed them on the smoky glass-topped wicker table. He steps into the lounge the rich Axminster carpet a plush light green speckled with diamonds, soft and spongy under feet. Closing the sliding doors of the balcony initiated coolness to the tenth story apartment. The unsteady hand reached for the unwashed glass that had been used too often of late; too early he thought, then concedes defeat pouring a large Johnny Walker with no additives. The brown smooth fluid glides down in one gulp teasing the taste buds and in turn lighting a fire in the small of the taut stomach. He then slid into a grievous state, sinking back into the black leather recliner and then stares at one of many framed photographs scattered around the sun-drenched room.

One shown carrying Adele over the threshold of their proud new home, another ringed in gold of their wedding day, another and another he was, is wildly and madly in love with her. ‘Snap out of it’, he had tried this many times to no avail.

Situated on a highly polished Rosewood occasional table and within arm’s length was a remote control, he hits it, the heavy green satin curtains slowly close. The effect only clouds the room in darkness, not the memories, and once more he languishes into the same emotional dream.

Chapter Two

26th January

It was mid day when Martin woke, startled by an energetic sound of a demanding tinny noise ringing in his ears. The empty glass falls to the floor. He gingerly stands’ one hand steadies his tired body on the bulky arm of the rich burgundy leather recliner the other rubbing his forehead in an attempt to capture his bearings. He gathers the glass from the floor and places it next to the bottle on the coffee table, was it a dream? No.

He opens the curtains. His eyes squint as the room jumps to life.

The twang rattles harder, the echo in his head vibrates, the front door! He hollers, ‘okay, okay’. He stumbles to the door. Through his drained sleepy eyes the face in the peephole looked distorted. He again rubs his eyes; a second look identifies a blurred blue uniform, and still a distorted face. No sooner he opened the door the caller began to speak.

‘Constable Denton sir.’ Pad and pencil in hand he clumsily flaunts his identity card.

‘We’re investigating an accident that happen on the beach this morning sir and we have reason to believe that you witnessed the accident. Are you aware of the accident sir?’

Martin showed signs’ of fogginess in answering.

‘Yes! Yes! Would you like to come in?’ Signalling the officer to enter.

‘Thank you sir that might be a good idea sir.’

‘Why would it be a good idea,’ he thought, ‘wish I’d never seen it.’

‘Take a seat. Make yourself at home. I’ll just freshen up.’ He hastily opens the heavy grained panel door and steps onto the bathroom carpet, into the marble room, fills the sink from the gold coloured cold water tap and immerses his tired face, until out of breath. Gasping he gropes for a towel, and dry’s his face. On glancing into the clear vanity mirror he noticed Constable Denton positioning himself adjacent to the balcony window.

A seemingly large person accentuated more so by his stance, obviously trained into him from cadet school. He would be nineteen, twenty, at a guess no older, conscientious looking young fellow. A sun and surf lover, this was perceivable from his tanned skin and bleached hair.

The dusty brown eyes although soft, showed signs of wisdom. Martin liked him, Intuition you might call it. The constable then delicately sat in the wicker chair. His soft well-manicured hand pushed aside the bottle, a smidgin of scotch colouring the base, accompanied by a stained empty glass. Placing his pad on the coffee table, he manipulated his position; his large eyes seemed to have changed to a hazel colour, and comprehensively glanced out over the balcony rail towards the beach. Martin fresh and alert enters the room towel around neck combing his wet hair and pretends to be unaware of the Constable’s deliberate positioning. ‘Okay, that feels better. Martin, Martin Kingsley. He shakes the offered hand. ‘How did you know I saw what happened, it’s a long way from the accident to be canvassing for witnesses’?

‘To be quite honest sir I was on my way to the accident when I bumped into a mate and he told me that he saw you looking in that direction with your binoculars, quiet a coincidence.

‘Yes quiet a coincidence.’ And conscientious, 'what a fluke Martin' thinks. He strolls over to a Baltic pine dresser and presses a button that’s hidden within the carvings of a matador and bull decorating the front of the mystery. The low whirring sound of an electric motor automatically opens the front, sliding then concealing the doors neatly into the dresser sides. The mirrored glass illusion slowly opens expanding the well-stocked mini bar. He turns facing the Constable and directs at arm length a glass. ‘Could I offer you a drink, non-alcoholic of course?’ The constable hesitates.

‘Err! No thank you.’ His trained suspicious mind intrigued by the concealment of the drinks, or the ingenuity of the contraption! And, ‘Trivial talk down the local tonight.’ Martin. Realising that it wasn’t a good idea to indulge a drink at this point in time, the cabinet was closed.

‘Right sir, about this incident, what can you tell us?’

It had taken thirty minutes to convey the morning’s tragedy and all he had witnessed to Constable Denton, even to the extent of stating that the bottle of scotch was a non-event. He apologised for his tiredness.

‘I think that just about covers it Constable.’

Constable Denton stands erect. ‘Right!’ Placing his pen in his top pocket and pad under his arm he manoeuvre's across to the balcony window and glances down. Obviously, Martin thought to corroborate the report.

‘Balcony extends to the bedroom.’ Martin points. ‘On a clear day you can see Surfers paradise and Coolangatta. Albeit a humid haze had developed along the horizon constricting vision, blanketing out the jagged line of skyscrapers.

‘Excellent view sir, thousand metres, uh!’ It was all too obvious that the Constable had little interest in the view other that the immediate beach. On the outside table the sun’s glare reflex on the buckle of the binocular case, this initiated a response.

‘They the binoculars sir?’

‘Yes.’

He slides the balcony door open, nodding in the direction of the binoculars.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Be my guess.’ Answers Martin.

He placed his pad on the table, and then pulls the binocular from their case, commenting on their weight. He opens the pad, pulls the pen from his pocket and jots down the make and strength, Tasco 10x21.

He then moved around the back of the table facing the beach, pulls a chair out and sits. Resting his elbows on the table he holds the binoculars in both hands and manipulates the turn screw adjusting the focus. He slowly spanned the beach and its surrounds, deliberating at great length when in the confines of the area in question.

On placing them back in their case he holds them out, saying. ‘Better put them away, shouldn’t leave things like these lying around out here?’

Martin takes them without comment, thinking to himself ‘sure someone’s going to climb ten stories for a pair of binoculars.’

The same thought had just dawned on the constable; he became a little flustered and remarked. ‘We’ve had a few cat burglars of late. Right! We appreciate your time sir.’ Offering his hand. ‘My superior, I’m sure he’ll be in touch. Thank you.’ The Constable caught concern in Martin’s eyes. ‘Routine sir, only routine.’

Martin closed the door, defining the word routine! ‘Why would his superior get in touch?’

The thought he dismissed as insignificant.

Chapter Three

Monday 26th January – 5:00 pm.

In a bid to bring some sanity to the day, if not his so far - lean holiday he decides to indulge in a night out, dinner and a few casual drinks at the Casino.

His thoughts glide back to recall the last words echoed to him when pulling away from the shared Sydney flat. ‘Martin life goes on. Adele wouldn’t expect you, and I know Adele, to be in moaning forever! '

This was Gerald Hadley, -Martin’s best friend and work mate’s passing words.

He rephrased the thought. ‘In other words get off your arse and start living again. Easier said than done.’ His mind ponders for a time on his best mate. Gerald stood two metres tall, looked anorexia and fair to the point of being an albino his thin white hair gave him the distinct look of being bald. The typical style of character he betrayed was undeniably a nerd, but a nerd he wasn’t, like chalk and cheese. Employed as the number one computer analyst at IBM, a wizard on computers - at work! Outside of work he was no different from the ordinary guy sex, drink, sport and rock and roll and not necessarily in that order. Even with his looks he had that certain woman magnetism. Martin had never seen him drank, although he drank like the proverbial fish. Energetic to the point of being hypo active dresses appropriately and came across as an all round good guy. He had been Martin’s friend since childhood. The brother he never had and this became no more apparent later in Martin’s life.

Martin was seventeen at the time when his parents had died in an accident while overseas. The coach they were travelling in, touring around Spain, was forced off the jagged mountain road spearing down the cliff one hundred and fifty metres, six were killed two being Martin’s parents.

Gerald Hadley became his soul mate, after Adele’s death they shared a flat in Sydney and worked at the same establishment. Above all the introductions that he will never forget was that of Adele.

Chapter Four

Monday 26th January – 8:00pm

He cursed at the injection of tourists, some hooting along, others unsure of which lane is their destined lane, indecisive slow hesitant drivers. The neophytes that think they know where they’re going, noses peaking over the white knuckles clamped to the steering wheel. At this time of year, late January most of the tourists were having their last fling before heading home to the monotonous task of work and the back to school blues.

‘It’s hard enough at the best of times,’ Martin quipped.

He mimed, ‘you stupid bastard.’ Shaking his head to a Japanese woman intent on keeping abreast of the car in the other lane, both rear view mirrors showed focused faces reflecting from the flicking lights behind, enthralled in their own aim, travelling at a snail’s pace creating havoc on the Gold Coast Highway. He analyses the number plates, giving away their origin, Vic-The Garden State. ‘Wish there stayed in their garden.’ He squeezes into the left lane and a hundred metres on steers into Casino drive, past the over-stretched limousines parked at the foyer. On slowing he observers the usual tour guides steering their rich commodity to the lobby, then pointing nonchalantly to the casino.

Careering down the maze of parking lots he slips into a space just vacated by a Rolls Royce, this having navigated the car park twice. It always amazed him why a Rolls’ would park here, if you can afford a Rolls’ you’d either be chamfered or be taxied to the casino.

‘Now if I owned a Rolls Royce. Never.’ On sliding out of the light brown leather seat he stands admiring his sleek silver BMW 38I then presses the remote locking all the doors and activating the alarm.

‘Keep out the honest people.’ He mumbled.

The lustrous marble foyer was bubbling with people of all nationalities, giving him an incessant alien feeling. As he braced himself against a polished pillar he pondered his plan of attack gamble first, eat first? He catches from a temptress the come on look, ‘no thank you.’

One of three little girls, each look no older that ten caught his attention. Her voice high and humorously innocent. ‘You win that Mr..?'