She-Venger

By DAVID PHILLIPS

If you like psychological crime fiction packed with action and suspense, you'll love She-Venger.

Two Murders. Are they related? Detective Dirk Morecombe ponders the motivation. Does a third body provide a clue? A female suspect emerges with whom Dirk becomes involved against his better judgement. As he closes in on the search for proof, the terms change and the hunter may become the hunted.

The Back Story

After losing both parents in a car wreck, young Marta Zelic ends up in state care. Forced to grow up quickly, she eventually runs off to the city she is befriended by a prostitute who introduces her to the trade. Happy for a while, Marta's life is ripped apart once more when a knife-ripped, naked body of her close friend and mentor was discovered on a roadside clearing. The killer was sent to prison and Marta prepared to wait as long as it would take to have her revenge.

Dirk Morecombe, the detective in both cases, is convinced Marta is the vengeful killer of the man found dead and degraded in a roadside clearing but complications in the case make it hard to establish proof of guilt.

Detective in a Dilemma

Even as he seeks the proof that will convict Marta, he becomes emotionally entangled with her, leading to moments he wishes he could have controlled which cause him to doubt himself as a top detective.

They come together in a bitter struggle for the final confrontation.

Will he arrest her?

Is there enough evidence to convict?

Who will win the final exchange?

This gritty hard-boiled detective thriller will have you on the edge of your seat. Click the Look Inside feature and start reading the first chapter now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DavidRPhillips
• Release date: Oct 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781540148025

DAVID PHILLIPS

David Phillips, FCPA (ret.) is in his mid-seventies and lives just out of Melbourne, Australia. He began writing in his early seventies and found an enjoyment in putting ideas together with research to come up with stories, often linked to historical events of interest. He finds writing a labour of love and spends time at the keyboard every day.

Book preview

1.The Bar (1)

The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman entered the bar-room on King Street, eyed the layout, and decided on the stool at the very end of the serving area. She appeared exotic, excited, nervous perhaps; there was an aura emanating from her as she eased herself on to the stool.

The bartender noticed her right from the moment she arrived on the scene and he certainly liked what he saw. He restrained the urge to head straight to her, busying himself with a few nothing tasks before coolly, he thought, approaching her and, in the process, placing her in her late-twenties and reckoning she looked as though there could be the chance of some action for Charlie Finn tonight.

He was wrong.

'And what might be your pleasure tonight, pretty lady?'

She looked at him, through him.

'Scotch on the rocks. Double. Please.'

Charlie took the rebuff well. He had plenty of practice at getting flat-batted out of the way and went to fill the order so coldly delivered. Strange, that, he mused. She's high on something but gave me a big nothing when she ordered. He placed the glass on the bar-top alongside the fifty-dollar note she had laid down. This woman was not leaving in a hurry.

'There you go. Enjoy!'

Her smile was on the inside. Charlie got nothing.

Enjoy? She thought about the comment. This drink and others to follow would serve the purpose of bringing her down from the most incredible high of her life; of the supreme power of one person over another; of the ultimate action when another has betrayed a trust that warranted the extreme sanction.

She held the drink before her, at eye level, in trembling hands, a toast.

To Marta Zelic.

Lady-of-pleasure for ten years. No life before of any note. Nothing to be excited about. But, hey! Just look at me tonight!

*

This bar might have been any one of hundreds in the city. The lighting was subtle and inferred privacy, an obvious lie when given thought for even a moment. It was as clean as any quick-and-easy contractor would ever make it and the standard of any drinks not served in original packaging depended on the person behind the bar. It was a bar that suited the lonely.

Charlie Finn was sufficiently competent and sufficiently personable to ensure that this bar had its share of regulars, folks who would have a few words with him as he filled their order prior to them losing themselves in text messages or form guides or crosswords as they passed the time away; time that would otherwise be far too sad and dreary when spent alone in the city apartment or suburban home of discomfort and disagreement.

The bar had been through many changes over the years, ranging from the ‘place to be’ on a Friday night to a venue for the drop-outs of society. In the end it settled down to its present role, a place where people came to drink, maybe chat with some friends and pass the time with a minimum of noise and a minimum of fuss. It was a drinker’s bar.

And this night it just happened to be the bar that Marta Zelic walked into after committing a foul deed. It also happened to be the regular haunt of Detective Dirk Morecombe, a seasoned investigator and a man who came to the bar to spend time that would otherwise be too sad and dreary when spent alone in a city apartment of discomfort and faded, disagreeable, memories.

Dirk had been sitting at the other end of the bar when the dark and somewhat exotic woman came in to the bar-room. He had noticed her, with interest, but had also noted the curt rebuff handed out to Charlie Finn and this had confirmed his earlier reaction that it was, as usual, far better to leave alone than get involved. Dirk came to the bar for a bit of peace and a quiet drink. Involvement with the strays was never on his menu.

As he was considering these complex matters his mobile buzzed into life and he picked up. It was Sergeant Jerry Wilkins, his reliable and constant off-sider.

'Jerry! What do you have for me so late in the evening?'

'It's a messy one, sir. Someone really hated this poor bastard. We're out at Bulli Creek. I'll send you the GPS data. See you soon?'

'Yes. I'll be on my way in a minute.'

Dirk downed the remainder of his beer, nodded to Charlie, pocketed the change in front of him, and walked out into the night.

*

Several hours had gone by. Charlie was getting tired and the bar was almost deserted. The dark-haired woman had just left after consuming four doubles. Strangely, she seemed perfectly sober from both the physical and mental viewpoint. It was as though the alcohol had little effect, other than to slow her down. She was a puzzle to him; she niggled at his mind even as she walked out the door.

He was getting ready to close the bar when Morecombe walked back into the room, accompanied by his regular fellow officer. Charlie stretched. The night could turn out quite a bit longer than he had been hoping. Earlier in the evening, he had seen Dirk answer the phone and leave. Maybe there had been some action out where the restless roved and the rest avoided.

'Scotch, please Charlie.' Dirk slumped on to a stool.

'Make that two, thanks, Charlie.'

Something a bit heavy, Charlie reckoned. They usually had beers if they were in the bar later at night.

'Trouble, fellers?', he said as he plopped the drinks down on the bar-top.

'Some.' Dirk only told Charlie what he wanted him to know.

Charlie understood. Heavy. Definitely. He thought of the woman. Maybe. Something still niggling him there.

The two police went into a huddle, clearly a sign to Charlie to give them space. He got the message and moved away, at the same time wanting to tell Dirk his thoughts about the woman. Ah! It's only a maybe. Let the cops work it out for themselves.

*

Dirk was still assimilating the murder scene. The naked victim, Clifton Walters, eyes and mouth wide open, staring sightlessly at the star-strewn sky, a full-sized chef’s knife buried deep in his throat, arms akimbo as though pleading for just one more chance at the life he had squandered until the moment of suspension. The scene had been posed to look as Dirk recalled it. But Clifton did not die of a knife-thrust to the throat; he was half-strangled, half-garrotted, possibly with plastic-coated wire, then moved to the place where he was laid in readiness for the discovery of his demise.

The clearing itself was a dark and gloomy section of vacant council land. The night-light added a degree of starkness to the scene and Dirk felt a slight shudder run through him as he recalled the sinister effect of the sight with which they had been presented. He was lost in contemplation of the scene.

‘A lot of similarities, right Dirk?’

Dirk jumped.

Jerry had this habit. When Dirk was weighing something he had seen, or a thought, Jerry would come up with a loud proclamation.

‘Jerry, one day I will kill you for that.’

‘Aw, sorry, boss. I just forget. Thinking time, right?’

‘Right, but not for you, it seems.’

‘Right. Got it, boss. But there are, don’t you think?’

‘Similarities?’

‘Yes. To the other murder.’

The reference led Dirk back to thinking time. Gillian. Gillian Fry. She always giggled when he called her ‘small fry’. She was tiny, below five feet, and oh so sweet, yes. He recalled the fun times they had together. When they were out on the town or enjoying a picnic or a movie he was always able to overlook the sly glances of others who were aware that he was with one of the city’s ‘ladies of the night’. It never occurred to him when they were together. She was such a fun-loving and positive woman and they just liked being together. They were just friends but they were more than friends. There might have been something there for them one day. They both felt it but always veered away from any deeper discussion of their relationship.

He heard that she had been murdered when he received the news from Division along with clear instructions to keep right away from the case. Bad Publicity. If his association with her came out. And it would. And it did. The media loved stories like that – ‘Senior Investigator barred from Fry Murder Case.’ – along with every half-truth the media’s legal representatives would sign off. The PR was bad but would have been a lot worse had he been on the case. He hurt badly right through the period of the investigation and the trial. He missed her badly during that time and had a heavy heart at the way that bastard had killed her; the way she must have suffered.

‘What do you reckon, boss?’

There it was again. He glared at Jerry.

‘A lot of similarities, Jerry.’

The sergeant smiled. His boss agreed with him. His boss was miles away again.

*

Charlie approached them quietly. A little bit of care was sometimes needed around Dirk. Jerry frowned a caution but Dirk glanced up, saw him, and gave him a nod. Charlie leaned over on the bar, the movement indicating confidentiality, and waited for a sign that he could have a few words. In time, it came with another nod.

‘It’s just, well, kind of weird, really, but a feeling I can’t get out of my mind. It’s the woman, the way she came in here, the way she looked, acted, drank even. You would have seen her, Dirk, she was high on something and it wasn’t booze and it wasn’t drugs, believe me. I just had to get this off my chest, you know what I mean, that she could’ve done something wild. You’ve seen something a bit out of the ordinary tonight or I can’t read my customers after all these years. So, Dirk, just keep that woman in mind, that’s all I want to say.’

‘Okay, Charlie, thanks mate, we’ll keep her in mind.’

The bartender moved back to the job of re-stacking a rack of glasses just out of the washer.

‘Silly bugger. Some woman’s a bit high and he has her up as a serious criminal’, was Jerry’s opinion of what he had just heard.

Dirk considered for a moment.

‘We won’t place too much on his observation but he is a bartender. They watch people a lot of the time, see things others might miss. She was a looker. Maybe that turned him on to her but, just the same, there could be more to it than that. Charlie’s been around bars a long time.’

He took another look at the man as he ran a cloth over the glasses, passing time. Charlie Finn was a little fellow, maybe five-five, dark hair and eyes, thin as a whip even as a reformed sixty a day smoker. He was around thirty-five years, Dirk reckoned, and had a clean record. He had been behind a bar for most of his adult years and would have a good read on people even as they entered his bar. I won’t ignore his little chat with us.

*

The night was closing in on the bar. All that remained were the two police attempting to quaff the last of the cleansing ale in their beer glasses and a lonely barman.

‘Fellas? I’m dropping off here.’

‘Okay, Charlie, we’re out of here in a minute.’

‘You’ll remember what I told you, won’t you?’

‘Sure, Charlie, see you tomorrow sometime.’

The officers left the bar and Charlie sighed loudly as he began turning out the lights. He was surprised to find that he was looking forward to the loneliness of the unmade bed in his city apartment of discomfort and disagreeable memories.

*

2. The Body (1)

There was more in the matter of the naked body than Dirk had registered in the blazing lights at a depressing road-side clearing at the end of a mind-numbingly boring day. He waited for Denton Styles to run through his findings.

‘Clifton Walters was murdered at a site unknown to us and transported to the discovery site, possibly in a naked state. It is unclear whether he was naked when killed by strangulation but the evidence slightly favours this likelihood. It is also quite possible that the additions that were made for effect took place at the discovery site. This includes the plunging of a knife through the throat of the deceased and the severing of the penis and placement thereof in the mouth of said deceased. It was clearly a killing based on an intense emotional experience or feeling.’

Dirk interrupted the discourse.

‘The penis thing. Does this provide a strong or merely hypothetical inference that the victim had offended someone, perhaps the killer, in a sexual manner?’

‘Difficult to say. I can’t really help you there. On balance, one would think that it would be the case. The savagery of this murder shows a raw edge and it might be along sexual lines. It seems the victim knew, and felt secure in the company of, the person who killed him. Apart from some chafing of wrists and ankles, there is no evidence of fighting back or defensive action. The likelihood that the victim was naked when killed indicates the possibility it was pre-sexual but there is nothing in the way of conclusive evidence of actual sexual activity. The victim might have been secured by wrist and ankle, in some way, during the period of, or leading up to, the killing.’

‘We also have noted a number of similarities in the presentation