Inheritance

By Drew Lindsay

Ex Detective Sergeant Ben Hood unexpectedly inherits his aunt’s beachfront land and a beautiful house following her death. Her doctor indicated that she had suffered a heart attack and she was buried without an autopsy. Ben found some garden hose protruding through a tiny hole in her bedroom floor. He suspected a gas had been introduced to trigger a heart attack. Her body was exhumed and an autopsy performed. She had been murdered. Her doctor then fatally shot himself. Ben’s sudden windfall was about to become his greatest nightmare.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Lindsay
• Release date: Dec 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311302472

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

The thing is, when you die, you can’t take anything with you. Nothing…zip…zilch. If you have a hundred zillion dollars in the bank, then that is where it will stay when you take your last breath. None of it will accompany you into the unknown beyond. Other people will get all your money and things and in some cases, people who you never would have dreamed of while you were alive, might take possession of everything you left behind.

Kings and Queens long ago attempted to take people with them into death including slaves, husbands and wives…most of them reasonably unwilling to be buried alive with the deceased but under the circumstances, had little choice. The unwilling were drugged, bashed and one way or another, put underground with the corpse of the deceased monarch. It is unlikely that each never saw the other again, but speculation of what happens after death has plagued mankind since…well since forever.

Precious jewels, carvings, money and even food was tucked away with the royal deceased, only, in the main, to be taken away from them a thousand years later by some low life grave robber with bad body odour.

Hence down the stairway of time, we invented and accepted the practice of formal inheritance. That means instead of trying to take all your accumulated stuff with you after you pass on, you formally arrange to have it given to those who you feel might appreciate it or perhaps even require it in order to survive…usually a spouse and/or children or close relatives.

Some people give their accumulated wealth to a cat farm or the Royal Association for Dwarf Ponies of the Northern Territory of Australia. Other more demented individuals may bequeath their inheritance to a favourite political party…hence many law suits contesting the will of a deceased by a variety of people.

Heirs usually get the inheritance of a dead person if the paperwork has been previously prepared in the correct legal manner. Heirs may fight like cat and dog over the inheritance if they are large in number, otherwise, if there is only one Heir, the settlement of the will and the issue of inheritance can be fairly straight forward.

This was the case in an inheritance given to ex-Detective Sergeant Ben Hood. He had no idea it was coming. It was from an old aunt…his mother’s elder sister and a woman that he hardly knew. On the surface it was going to be a very straight forward inheritance of a charming old house facing the ocean in a southern suburb of Shellharbour about three hours drive from Sydney. Under the surface it was probably going to be one of Ben’s worse nightmares.

****

CHAPTER ONE

Shellharbour is a very pretty seaside town a few hours’ drive south of Sydney, Australia. The town had grown enormously in the past 20 years (as prior to the current date of 2015) as the nearby major city of Wollongong sprawled north and south from its centre. Wollongong would have spread west except for steep, towering mountains just a few kilometres from the coast. It would have spread east as well except for the vast barrier of the Pacific Ocean. Eventually the southern suburbs of Wollongong just over-ran the tiny ocean hamlet of Shellharbour although some ocean front land holders refused to give in to the urban sprawl. The value of their properties rose and many were tempted to sell. Some did and made a fortune. Others just hung on and grew old. Once they died, if they had used their brains and taken the time to make a legal will, their magic ocean front property and whatever may have been constructed upon that property would be inherited by a next of kin or a close friend. If the next of kin was a family member, all kinds of disputes often arose which the lawyers loved. If a close friend inherited the estate and the family was left out, the lawyers loved that even more.

Ben Hood has worked as a VIP protection agent for just over 3 years since leaving the New South Wales Police Force by mutual agreement. As a very pro-active Detective Sergeant he had shot and killed a few criminals in order to save either his own life or the life of a civilian in extreme danger. This practice was not popular with many senior ranking police officers and even less popular with some politicians who basically ran the Police Department. Ben was now contracted as a VIP protection operative for Rodney Reid, the owner of what was considered one of the most sought after protection agencies in Australia. More about Rodney later.

Ben was highly trained and skilled in a special form of Karate. This wasn’t sport Karate. It was known by some as Ninjutu and as a martial art was used tactically in Japan by those known as Ninja. It was a form of unconventional warfare. His skills in this regard had saved his life on numerous occasions but had also brought him under condemnation by police and other authoritative persons. His trainer and mentor in this regard was Akira Misaki, qualified amongst honoured peers as 8th Dan and to be addressed as Hachidan.

As Ben moved into his early 50’s and following his departure from the police department, he pushed himself even harder to hone his martial arts skills. This kept him very fit but even Ben knew that his body could only take so much of the punishment he had dished out to it and eventually he would have to find ways to remain fit and skilled in martial arts but work smarter…not faster.

Ben’s parents had passed away. He had no brothers or sisters. His father had a brother who had returned to Scotland in the late 1980’s and had never been heard from again. His mother had an elder sister, Annie Porter. Ben had met her probably less than 6 times in his entire life. She was a large, strong woman who spoke her mind and had no hesitation in bawling Ben out when he was a kid, hence his dislike for her. She on the other hand, admired Ben, especially when she heard he had as a young man, joined the police force. She was too proud to ever mention this to him or anyone else but she was proud of him nevertheless.

Annie’s husband died of a heart attack in 2012. They had no children. Annie remained in their large two storey weatherboard house on the side of a hill overlooking the magnificent Pacific Ocean at the end of a private road off Boollwarroo Parade in Shellharbour. The road ended in a battle axe block which had been divided into four huge parcels of land, each five acres in size and each with direct access to a long white sandy beach and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Annie Porter’s house was at the most southerly end of the battle axe block and her property was considered by the local real estate agents to be the most valuable, as most of her land rose to the peak of a hill which formed the border between privately owned land and government owned land to the south. A narrow concrete road allowed access to each property on the battle axe block and ran between the front of the properties and thick scrubland on sand dunes which lead down to the beach. No resident on the battle axe block could ever be built out and each had spectacular views over the Pacific Ocean…especially Annie Porter whose house was on a much higher elevation.

Annie was well aware that her husband had died of a heart attack at the age of 79, but she resented his death and him in particular for being instrumental in bringing on the heart attack because of his reckless and often dangerous physical pursuits. She had nagged him to give up inventing things that could kill him in an instant if he put a nut or bolt in the wrong place but Errol was a wild man in his youth and once he turned 60 he tended to become even wilder, eccentric and more adventurous. His idea of an exciting time was not aligned with Annie’s. She wanted to take a caravan holiday up to Queensland somewhere. Errol loved to SCUBA dive and then he built his own mini submarine. He had come close to drowning in that submersible gadget long before his heart attack when he was 79 but Annie felt that the damn thing had contributed to his demise, along with other even more dangerous machines he had invented and experimented with in his shed down on the surf side edge of their property.

Errol was a reasonably social kind of man in stark contrast to Annie who tended to keep to herself. The three other neighbours on the battle axe block were as diverse as their homes. The first house off Boolwarroo Parade was made of brick…single storeyed with various additions running off in all directions…most without council approval. An old white Australian man resided there. His name was Alfred Wicker. His wife Pearl had died when she was barely 50 and Alfred had resided alone for almost 30 years, not wanting another woman in his life and making no attempt to find one. Alfred wrote one fictional book after Pearl died. One by one numerous publishers rejected it, as they often do. He never wrote again. He did however, experiment with computers and taught himself the new science of Internet communication and site interrogation.

The second home on the battle axe block was large and recently renovated. The owner was Sharon Wallace who resided with her 18 year old daughter Miriam. They were often away from the house for long periods of time, especially Miriam. Sharon rarely communicated with any of her neighbours and they had no idea where her husband was other than the fact that he wasn’t with her or her daughter. Miriam occasionally held fairly wild parties at her mother’s home when her mother was absent. These occasionally spilled down onto the beach and had been the subject of a number of police complaints.

67 year old Beatrice Ferri resided alone on the third residential block directly next to the land which accommodated Annie Porter’s huge house. Her home was a huge weatherboard structure built to look like an outback Australian homestead. Beatrice was of Italian stock. She was small in stature but voluptuously built with huge breasts and with long silver hair, almost always tied up in a bun at the top of her head. She regularly enraged her neighbours by walking semi naked along the beach and in this regard had been reported to the local rangers and the police by Alfred Wicker no less than 20 times in the previous 6 months. She had been spoken to…reprimanded…counselled and even threatened personally by Alfred but she paid no attention to anyone really. She was her own person with a fiery temper and not one to be trifled with. None of her neighbours claimed to know all that much about her other than that at least once each month she would entertain an elderly male person who the others referred to as the gentleman as he was always dressed immaculately in a business suit. She also had other visitors from time to time, both male and female however the reasons for their visits were the subject of total speculation, usually quite uncomplimentary. Beatrice never discussed her family history with anyone. She had clashed on a number of occasions with Errol Porter when he was alive because of the occasional loud noises that came from his workshop on the adjoining property. She detested his use of a large beach buggy which he used to facilitate the entry and exit of his home-made submarine down a narrow track through the sand dunes to the Pacific Ocean. Her complaints to the local council had met with failure. Errol’s flying gyrocopter had been a bone of contention with all the other occupants on the battle axe blocks but it rarely flew because of regular technical and mechanical issues and one rather nasty crash on the beach which left Errol with a limp until the day he died. After Errol passed, neither the gyrocopter nor submarine had made an appearance for obvious reasons.

****

CHAPTER TWO

‘We’d better have a chat Ben,’ said Rodney Reid.

Ben moved the mobile phone to his left ear and dropped his pickaxe. ‘I’m cleaning the weeds out of my carrot patch.’

‘You sound like Elmer Fudd. He had problems with rabbits you know. Bugs Bunny in particular.’

‘I’ve got my carrots in a big wire enclosure,’ said Ben. ‘Rabbits can’t get in here and I’ve got traps set on the outside of the wire.’

‘That’s inhumane.’

‘They go nice in a casserole with carrots and garlic you know,’ said Ben.

‘It’s bloody inhumane!’

‘It’s food,’ said Ben. ‘Beautiful food just like the good Lord wanted us to have.’

‘Just don’t bring any of your damn dead rabbits over here. Okay?’

‘I’m sure Rose would love to cook up some rabbits for us one night.’

‘No she wouldn’t. I won’t allow it,’ said Rodney.

‘You eat lamb and beef,’ said Ben. ‘What’s the difference?’

‘I don’t know but it’s not the same. You eat Kangaroo and snakes for God’s sake. What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing is wrong with me. You eat lots of eggs,’ said Ben.

‘So what?’

‘Don’t you know what kind of pain those chooks have to go through to push a huge egg out of their arse?’

‘What?’

‘The pain of laying eggs,’ said Ben, grinning.

‘They don’t lay eggs out of their arse you moron.’

‘What…do they cough them up?’

‘They lay them from somewhere else,’ said Rodney.

‘Where?’

‘How the fuck would I know? I don’t go around watching chooks lay eggs. You’re messing with my head again.’

‘Why did you ring me? I’m tending my garden,’ said Ben.

‘I’ve forgotten why I rang you, damn it!’

Ben sat down on the ground and crossed his legs. ‘Think carefully. If it’s another VIP protection job, forget it. I’m taking time off.’

‘You got yourself into the last debacle! It had nothing to do with me!’

‘It was for a good cause,’ said Ben.

‘It almost got your head shot off you idiot and on top of that you seem to have let go of Charlie Noah and that woman could have taken you to the bloody moon.’

‘I don’t want to go to the moon,’ said Ben.

Rodney was silent but Ben could hear him breathing.

‘What?’ asked Ben.

‘Why not?’

‘Why not what?’

‘I don’t mean literarily take you to the moon. You know what I mean,’ said Rodney.

‘I know what you mean,’ said Ben.

‘No you don’t,’ said Rodney. ‘I’m talking commitment. You’ve got commitment issues.’

‘No I don’t!’

‘You bed them and then walk away,’ said Rodney.

‘That’s not entirely true.’

‘You can’t keep doing that Ben.’

‘Since when did you become my bloody father?’

Rodney didn’t respond.

‘Don’t try and run my life, alright?’

‘Rose is preparing a roast dinner. You’re invited,’ said Rodney.

‘Okay,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll never knock back one of her roast dinners. That’s not why you called me.’

‘Yes it is.’

‘No it’s not,’ said Ben. ‘You wanted to pick on me and my lifestyle.’

‘Only partly,’ said Rodney. ‘Your lifestyle may be the subject of later discussions but the reason for my call relates to something else.’

‘What else?’

‘I had a call from a woman named Beatrice Ferri.’

‘So?’

‘Do you know her?’

‘No,’ said Ben.

‘She is your aunt’s neighbour.’

‘Aunt who?’

‘Annie Porter.’

Now it was Ben’s turn to remain silent.

‘Your aunt,’ said Rodney.

‘Yes,’ said Ben…distant memories flashing through his mind. ‘She didn’t like me much. She was married to a mad inventor.’

‘She died,’ said Rodney.

‘Oh. I knew her husband had died some years back.’

‘Now she’s passed on,’ said Rodney.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Beatrice Ferri felt that she could contact you via me because you work for me. It’s on the Internet.’

‘I don’t work for you,’ said Ben.

‘Your aunt will be buried day after tomorrow. You are invited to the funeral.’

‘She didn’t like me,’ said Ben. ‘I haven’t seen her in over 20 years. Why am I invited to the funeral?’

‘How would I bloody well know? It’s your family.’

‘And who is Beatrice Ferri?’

‘Why don’t you ring her yourself and ask her? I’ll give you her number.’

‘I’m in the carrot patch.’

‘Then pull out a carrot and write her number in the dirt. That’s what Elmer Fudd would do.’

‘Elmer Fudd didn’t have a mobile phone,’ said Ben.

‘I’ll text you the number,’ said Rodney. ‘Be here by 6 pm. Rose wants to have a talk with you.’

‘About what?’

‘Things.’

‘Charlie Noah?’

‘Could be,’ said Rodney.

‘Charlie and I remain very good friends,’ said Ben.

‘What about Tara Lenox?’

‘What about her?’

‘Men would crawl over broken glass to get to that woman and you just walk away.’

‘No I didn’t. We walked away from each other,’ said Ben.

‘Be here by 6…okay?’ Rodney terminated the call.

Ben dialled the mobile number which Rodney forwarded to his phone. The woman’s voice was soft and very sexy. ‘Yes. Who is calling please?’

‘Ben Hood,’ said Ben. ‘I understand you have been trying to get in touch with me.’

‘Yes I have and thank you for calling back. I’m Beatrice Ferri. I have been a neighbour to your aunt and uncle for almost 15 years, God rest their souls.’

‘Aunt Annie recently died I understand?’ said Ben.

‘Yes. That’s why I said God rest their souls.’

‘Of course,’ said Ben.

‘Annie spoke of you often,’ said Beatrice. ‘You never visited her.’

‘She didn’t like me much,’ said Ben.

‘I fear you may have been very much mistaken young man.’

‘I’m not young,’ said Ben. ‘I’m 53.’

‘I’m 67,’ said Beatrice. ‘That makes you young in comparison. I wish I was 53 again.’

‘Why was I mistaken?’ asked Ben.

‘Annie was a strong, determined woman and she spoke her mind,’ said Beatrice. ‘She called a spade a spade and that often offended people. She and Errol fought constantly.’

‘Her husband was a bit eccentric from what I’m told,’ said Ben.

‘Mad as a bag full of rats,’ said Beatrice. You didn’t know them well, did you?’

‘No,’ said Ben.

‘In the few conversations I had with your aunt, she spoke highly of you. She admired you for joining the Police Force.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Ben.

‘Errol was an inventor of things.’

‘So I heard,’ said Ben.

‘He and your aunt would have gotten on much better if he had been a policeman like you.’

Ben pulled up a carrot for no particular reason. He had been invited out for dinner. He didn’t really need the carrot.

‘Your aunt’s funeral is at 11.30 am tomorrow at the funeral parlour in the Shellharbour Cemetery. It will be a small affair I understand. They had no children and few friends.’

‘I see,’ said Ben.

‘Annie will be buried. She detested cremations although she was more than happy to have her husband consumed by fire.’

‘I know she was my mother’s sister,’ said Ben, but I hardly knew her and…and…’

‘It would be best if you were there,’ said Beatrice. ‘I’d like to meet you myself.’

‘I’m not sure what good purpose would be served by me…’

‘I’ll be waiting for you at the funeral chapel at 11 am.’ She terminated the call.

****

CHAPTER THREE

‘So you have a family history?’ said Rodney. ‘And here I was thinking all this time that a stork just dropped you into a playground somewhere.’

‘Leave him alone,’ said Rose, glaring at her husband. She piled roast lamb onto Ben’s plate and sat down.

‘What about me?’ asked Rodney.

‘Get your own,’ said Rose. ‘You’re not a cripple.’

‘I am actually and you damn well know it!’

Rose glanced at Ben. ‘I amputated his mangled right foot one night at the hospital and he reminds me of it almost once a week.’ She looked at Rodney. ‘Get over it.’

‘I’ve been getting over it for the last 15 years!’

Rose stood and walked around the table to where Rodney was seated. She pulled back his head with one hand and kissed him on the mouth. ‘How many slices of lamb do you want?’

‘He got four so I want four.’

Rose served the lamb slices onto his plate. ‘Can you reach the vegetables dear?’

‘Yes, I’ll manage,’ said Rodney.

Ben pushed the steaming lamb gravy pot in his direction. ‘How are you off for underpants and socks?’ asked Ben.

Rodney pointed a fork in Ben’s direction. ‘There’s no need to be rude.’

Rose resumed her seat at the table.

‘I’m going to a funeral tomorrow morning,’ said Ben. ‘My mother’s sister actually.’

‘So that was the reason for the phone call from Beatrice Ferri?’ asked Rodney.

‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘I’ve brought my suit and was hoping I could stay in your guest room tonight. It shortens the trip to Shellharbour.’

‘Of course my darling,’ said Rose.

‘She sounded like a very distinguished woman,’ said Rodney.

‘No, my aunt was a bit of a grouch,’ said Ben.

‘Beatrice Ferri you idiot,’ said Rodney as he poured thick gravy over his lamb.

‘She was her neighbour,’ said Ben.

‘Italian?’

‘No, my aunt was English.’

‘Beatrice Ferri!’ exclaimed Rodney, waving his fork in the air. ‘Why do I have to talk in circles with you?’

‘Leave Ben alone,’ said Rose. ‘He’s probably suffering bereavement.’

‘The hell he is,’ said Rodney.

‘It’s true,’ said Ben. ‘I didn’t have much time for my aunt. I didn’t think she liked me much but I’m now told that she had some affection for me after she knew I joined the Police Force. I’m going to her burial out of respect for my mother rather than respect for my aunt.’

‘Burial?’ asked Rodney.

‘She didn’t want to be cremated,’ said Ben.

‘Burials are expensive and take up so much room,’ said Rodney.

‘That’s why we are going to bury you at sea,’ said Rose, smiling at Rodney.

‘The hell you will.’

‘I’ll hire a little tinny and take you out near Sydney Heads and drop you over the side with a few house bricks tied to your feet…sorry…foot.’

Rodney slowly put down his knife and fork and looked at Ben. ‘You see what I have to put up with around here.’

‘I think it would be a nice way to be buried,’ said Ben. He sipped his glass of red wine. ‘Nice meal for the sharks although I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they kept well away from you.’

‘May I change the subject?’ asked Rodney.

‘Certainly,’ said Ben.

‘Charlie Noah.’

‘What about her?’

‘She wanted you,’ said Rodney. ‘I could see it in her eyes man. She really wanted you.’

‘Rodney!’ Rose glared at him.

‘Don’t you Rodney