The Dancing Man

By Alan Read

The Dancing Man is set in the late 1960’s, early 70’s.
It had begun as a normal summer’s day in suburban Wahroonga on Sydney’s affluent North Shore. In the back yard of the Swain house, workmen set about making good the garden that they had disturbed when connecting the house to the new sewer mains, and removing the now redundant septic tank.
Inside, Cynthia and Peter Swain drifted through life and their marriage.
The discovery of a skeleton in the bottom of the tank put an end to their peace and quiet.
Working on the obvious assumption that a body in a septic tank was that of a murder victim, Detective Sergeant Gary Brownlow set about trying to discover who it was, when he died and why, and who killed him. His investigations lead him to believe that Cynthia Swain knew more about this than she was letting on.
Cynthia, because of Peter’s indifference toward her, was open to a sexual adventure, and Brownlow, attracted to her, was looking to add another scalp to his already crowded sexual belt, and this leads to a brief sexual relationship that Cynthia ends, for Brownlow too soon.
As his investigation gets close to the truth, Cynthia’s mind goes back twenty years to when she was a teenager approaching womanhood in this very house. A time of change and upheaval, of the strange relationship between her father and mother, and of her own sexual awakening. And of Paul Thomas, the Dancing Man of this story, Cynthia’s first love and who, when she was sixteen, seduces her while, at the same time, he was having an affair with her mother Judy Pearson.
Brownlow establishes that the body in the septic tank was that of Paul Thomas, and that Cynthia may have seen him after he was supposed to have left for England to meet up with Judy Pearson. Using his discoveries as leverage in an attempt to re-kindle his relationship with Cynthia, Brownlow arranges a meeting where he plans to confront her with his evidence. This confrontation does not end as he had planned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Read
• Release date: May 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311210029

Alan Read

Born in Grafton NSW in 1942, Maurice Allen was educated at Homebush boys High, from where he escaped to begin life as a Plumber. Following several near death experiences he became a Public Servant. With the threat of a departmental re-structure hanging over him he resigned to work as a Chauffeur. He has retired and moved to Goolwa Beach where he walks his two dogs on the beach, writes short stories and the occasional novel, and drives in tarmac rallies.He has few indulgences apart from good red wine, in moderation of course.He has resisted the urge to become involved in social media, but will, reluctantly, join the modern world.

Book preview

FAREWELL TO THE DANCING MAN

CHAPTER ONE

Summer morning in suburbia, the sunlight struggled through the leaves of the large trees that reflected the quaint Australian love of things English, even in the hot and humid climate of Sydney. This was particularly noticeable and Sydney's Upper North Shore where oak and sycamore stood cheek by jowl with eucalypts beside manicured lawns and garden beds filled with hollyhocks and pansies, lupins and a host of other brightly out of place flowers.

In the midst of the dappled light that flooded the back garden of the Swain house in Wahroonga, the red clay scar of the sewer trench had provided a microcosm of the never-ending struggle for survival. The family of magpies, parents resplendent in their formal black and whites, surrounded by the squalling grey and black offspring picked their way through the piles of loose soil dining regally on succulent worms. They largely ignored the swooping attack of the female peewee aggressively protecting its young in the branches of the large blackbutt above the feeding magpies.

The magpies also ignored the crouched form of Rex, the Swain family cat. Rex was an affectionate feline of unknown parentage, his tabby grey coat sleek and stretched by the overindulgence in pet food, blended into the shadows cast by the trees and his tail twitched as his back feet kneaded the grass like a golfer so that his paws did not slip when the time came to launch his attack. An attack which, like all his previous attempts, would be proved unsuccessful, due in no small part to the fact that years and food had taken a couple of yards of his pace and the bell his owners had placed around his neck, thinking it necessary to protect the fauna.

The summer drone of the cicadas stopped. A kookaburra tilted its head to one side. It had almost located a particular juicy snack on the branches of a large camphor laurel when the cicada stopped its song. The magpies stopped their search for worms in the loose soil and swirled into the highest eucalyptus and safety.

The thump, thump of the sludge pump had spelt danger for both the hunter and the hunted.

The workmen watched as the first great mass of smelly water oozed its way down the pipes of the newly connected sewer. The process of draining the now superfluous septic tank had begun.

For half an hour the thump of the pump invaded the otherwise still of the morning. The owners of the house went about the daily routine. Peter Swain emerged from the en-suite, showered, shaved and primed for the day ahead, he slipped to towel from his waist, throwing it casually into a corner by the door. Do you mind, you could least leave it in the en-suite. Cynthia Swain had already showered and was putting the final touches to her make-up, her slender body, dressed in a pink half slip and bra, seated on the padded stool in front of the dressing table was held briefly in the gaze of her husband.

Humph. Peter grumbled as he picked up the offending towel and threw it casually in the general direction of the pink plastic linen hamper just inside the en-suite.

Cynthia let out a long, exasperated, sigh, and returned to the task of improving on an already flawless skin.

Don't start. Peter's voice was a little more than a whisper. It was as if he couldn't make up his mind whether he wanted Cynthia to hear are not. Cynthia ignored him, as she was not interested in any argument this early in the morning, having decided that she would try where possible to avoid a confrontation with him. This decision was a concession to the fact that she knew that he was worried about his business and had been working long hours to keep on top of the workload. She knew that he was doing it for her and the children's benefit, but she wished that he would pay a little more attention to her.

What's for breakfast Mum? The tension was relieved by the voice that echoed down the hallway and arrived with a screech in the bedroom.

The Swain children, Rebecca of the shrill voice, sixteen years of age with her long blonde hair caught at the nape of her neck, her slender body showing a physical maturity beyond her years and a striking resemblance to her mother, was at the breakfast bar with Timothy, thirteen years of age and pre-pubescent in stature and demeanour. They were watching the workmen emptying the septic tank, but for different reasons. They watched as one of the men raised a large sledgehammer over his shoulder and proceeded to attack the concrete lid of the tank so that they could hose out the interior before completing the demolition work.

Lumps of concrete dropped into the hole as the wire re-enforcing reluctantly released its grasp. Soon a large hole was opened and Gerry Forrest stooped to peer into murky depths of the almost empty tank. Hey Danny, come here!

Danny Bailey walked over to the tank and peered into its depths, his eyes following Gerry's pointing figure. Bloody hell! He reacted quickly, running over to the pump and switching it off. Let's get the rest of this lid off without dropping too much inside so that we can get a better look.

The two men worked quickly and carefully, removing as much of the lid as they could, before lifting the remains and levering it to one side. The sight that greeted their eyes was not pretty, and it would almost certainly mean a delay in the completion of the job. Staring at them through empty sockets was the skull of a human. Other bones stretched along the full length of the tank confirmed the existence of a human skeleton.

CHAPTER TWO

Danny ran to the house and knocked on the back door. Rebecca hopped down from the stool and rushed to open the door, her eager ears waiting for whatever request her young and impressionable mind has hoped that the object of her adolescent dreams would ask.

Yes, what can I get for you? Her voice losing its shrillness as she strived to sound older than her eighteen years.

Can I use the phone? It's urgent, I have to call the police.

Yes, of course, I'll show you where it is.

Don't worry, I know where it is. He had used the phone before, and knew that there was one behind the bar in the large family/entertaining room. He kicked off his boots and walked through the room to the bar, the air in the room picked up the heavy aroma of septic effluent that his clothes, clean this morning, had already absorbed. He turned the phone around and dialled '000'. He had to wait some time for the connection to be made. Police please. Another wait. Police? My name is Danny Bailey and I'm working on a sewer connection at 36 Billyara St Wahroonga, and I think you should send someone over here straight away, we have found a human skeleton in the old septic tank, and it couldn't have got there on its own if you know what I mean. He gave directions to the police as to how to get to the site.

Have you really found a skeleton?

Yes, and it's not the sort of thing that a young girl like you should be seeing. Could I speak to your father?

Sure, I'll get him for you. Instead of going to fetch her father she merely turned her head until it faced the general direction of her parents' bedroom. Hey Dad! The plumber wants a word with you.

I could have done that myself. Danny said to her as Peter emerged from, the bedroom and walked down the hallway, his tie looped around his neck as he finished buttoning his shirt. Peter was forty years old but his tall slim body still retained its athletic appearance, despite him not having been involved in any form of athletic endeavour, apart from the occasional game of 'hit and giggle' tennis, since leaving school. His unlined face and clear eyes had survived years of hard work. Nature's only concession to the passing years was the touch of, as he put it, distinguished grey' at his temples that contrasted with his dark brown hair.

What is it?

You'll have police swarming all over the place in a few minutes. We've found a skeleton in the septic tank.

Any idea how long it's been there? No, I don't suppose you would have. Oh well, I guess that I'll have to ring the office and tell them that I'll be late for work. Turning to Rebecca he said. As for you young lady, you had better eat your breakfast and get going, or you'll be late for school.

Aw gee Dad, can't I stay at home today? Just think of the excitement. Just think of how jealous all the girls at school will be, I bet that none of them has ever had a body found in their garden. All attempts at maturity disappeared as the prospect of instant importance among her peers brought her back to her real age.

No. You have to go to school and that is final.

Mum, her voice took on a pleading tone, Mum, can I stay home today and watch the police pull this body out of the septic?

What body? Cynthia had just emerged from the bedroom, a picture of fashion magazine chic. Her blonde hair was cut just above the shoulder and curled under at the ends forming a halo around her face. She looked more like Rebecca's older sister that her mother and, while having matured early in life she seemed to have managed to halt the ageing process.

The workmen found a skeleton in the septic tank and have called the police. I have told Rebecca that she is to go to school today, she will only get in the way.

But Peter, couldn't she stay home for one day, just think of all the trouble she will have trying to explain it all to the girls in her class if she doesn't know all the details.

Anyone would think that popularity is more important than good marks at school. Rebecca is capable of more than basic school, Business College and marriage. I want her to have the best education that I can provide, I'm paying good money for her to go to Abbotsleigh and I'm not going to have it wasted.

What is wrong with Business College? If I hadn't gone there I would hardly have got the job in your father's office and met you, then where would you have been?

Do what you will. Peter said resignedly as he walked back into the garden to have a look for himself at the discovery.

Thanks Mum, wait until I tell Samantha and Belinda! Rebecca disappeared in the direction of the phone to spread the excitement.

Timothy sat at the breakfast bar. Now can I have some breakfast?

Honestly Timothy, anyone would think that all I have to do is wait on you. Couldn't you have got your own breakfast for once?

But I don't know where anything is.

Look, She said taking his hand in hers and leading him over to the cupboards, In this cupboard is the cereal, take your pick, over here is the refrigerator, and in it you'll find milk and fruit juice. The glasses are in that cupboard up there and the plates are in the one next to it. Now I have to have a word with your father.

Cynthia walked to the hole in the ground around which Peter and the workmen stood. Peering into the tank she saw the blackened skeletal remains of a human. Peter, I can't see that you really have to stay home, I'll be able to answer any questions that the police might ask and, give them any information that they might need. It will be easier for me to cancel my hairdresser and lunch with Fliss, than for you to cancel your business appointments.

I still think that I should wait around for the police to get here just in case there is something that they want me for.

Peter and Cynthia returned to the chaos that was now the breakfast room. The floor and breakfast bar were now covered with a mixture of breakfast cereal, milk and juice. I sort of had an accident. Timothy said sheepishly as he tried to shovel the mess into the dustpan and succeeding only in spreading it further. Rex, having abandoned the chase for wildlife, was helping himself to the spilt milk on the breakfast bar.

Leave it. Go and change your pants while I clean it up. Hurry or you'll be late for school. She turned to Peter. You will be able to drop him off, won't you?

If the police have finished with me in time I suppose so. If Rebecca is allowed to stay home, why not Timothy?

He's much too young to see what is down there and I think that he will only get in the way of the police.

Alright, I suppose I can drop him off.

Cynthia busied herself with the making of coffee and toast while Peter made inroads into the disaster that had started out as Timothy's breakfast.

The front doorbell rang its message down the hall. I'll get it. Rebecca's call came from the front of the house. Footsteps, the first light, followed by a collection of heavier ones echoed down the hall as she led the policemen into the family room. Dad, Mum, this is Detective Sergeant Brownlow and Detective Constable Withers.

Winters, actually. The younger of the two mumbled.

Whatever. Rebecca's attention was focused on his colleague.

Pleased to meet you. Peter held out his hand to be shaken by both men, it was. I'm Peter Swain and this is my wife Cynthia, our daughter Rebecca you have already met although she probably didn't give you her name, and our son Timothy will be out shortly, he is just getting changed ready for school.

Good morning Sir, Madam, Miss. The owner of the voice was tall, had broad shoulders on which, at the end of a short neck was a face that, despite looking as if it would have been at home on a rugby league field, which it regularly was, still retained a rugged charm. Now if you can just take me to the scene of the crime so to speak, we will begin our investigation.

Peter led the two men into the back garden and introduced them to the workmen. Together they peered into the tank. No doubt about it, Sir. Constable Winters' solemn voice broke the silence. Winters was the younger by a couple of years, taller by a couple of inches, lighter by a couple of stone than Brownlow, and even if his eyes were further apart he would not have been as good looking. It is without a doubt a human skeleton.

You constable, Brownlow could not disguise the sarcasm in his voice, Never cease to amaze me with your uncanny ability to state the patently obvious. Of course it's a human skeleton, what did you suppose it would be, an elephant?

Only trying to be of help. Winters' head and voice were both lowered for his reply.

Our next step will be to call in the Forensics boys and get them to give this the once over. Constable, will you get onto the radio to headquarters and see if you can rustle us up some experts.

Will you need me for anything? Asked Peter.

Not at this stage Sir. If you can just leave a number where you can be contacted if necessary, that will be sufficient.

My wife will be around if you need any information. If she can't help she will know where to find me. Peter left the men at the tank and went back inside. I'll head off to work now, the police might have a few questions to ask, and if there is anything that you can't answer you can give them my number. Ready Tim, I'll throw your bike into the back of the wagon. Timothy had succeeded in demolishing, in his second attempt, his breakfast. He grabbed his school bag and trotted after his father.

Cynthia experienced the usual disappointment that she felt at this time each morning. Peter had left without as much as a peck on the cheek. Their marriage, she knew, was drifting along in the same listless pattern as that of several of their friends. The loyal devoted wife of the young professional, complete with the mandatory two children living, in relative comfort in tree-lined affluent suburbia. There was the usual round of socially acceptable activities where one met other socially acceptable people. All something of a bore.

Honestly Sam, there is a body in our back garden! Rebecca's enthusiastic prattle intruded into Cynthia's thoughts. Mummy will tell you, won't you Mum? Come and tell Samantha that the workmen found a body in the yard.

Yes Samantha, there is a body in the garden, now hadn't you better get to school.

Sam's not going to school either, she's waiting for her parents to leave and then she's coming over here.

You could at least have asked if it was alright for her to come over before asking her. How many more of your friends have you invited over?

Only Samantha and Belinda, after all, I want to keep this as exclusive as possible, I mean, if I asked just everyone, there'd be no-one to tell tomorrow.

We couldn't have that could we? Cynthia looked out the window to see the workmen sitting down with their thermoses and cake having their smoko. "Sergeant, would you and the