Death and the Dowagers: Sydney – Spring 1952

By Tony Brennan

Spring of 1952. Annie Watson, now widowed, is assisting her daughter Lady Penelope Sheridan with the first formal dinners to be held at the renovated Big House.

Even the reputedly troublesome Dowager Lady Edwina cannot cast a shadow over the triumphant success of the first dinner. But in all the planning, none of them expected murder to be served as one of the courses.

With the ever-loyal assistance of Superintendent Peters and team, Annie inveigles Edwina into the murder investigation. Little does she know she will involve the Dowager in a hair-raising confrontation with a serial killer — as an after-dinner mint!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781925681468

Tony Brennan

Tony Brennan, a clergyman and a tertiary lecturer, in both English literature and abnormal psychology, says of his writing, 'I have a penchant for zany and weird ideas which end up as stories. I never know what the end is going to be, so am constantly surprised, and a little worried - perhaps therapy might help?'

Book preview

1952

ONE

Superintendent Robert Peters slumped wearily in his chair, turning to stare unseeingly out the window in his office, newspapers strewn across his desk.

In his mind swirled the screaming headlines: ‘Police Fail Again’; ‘Axe Murderer Still At Large’; ‘Reports of Sightings in Sydney Suburbs’; ‘Victim Parts Discovered in Abandoned Ice-Chests’.

He shook his head trying to clear it; but that didn’t help. Images of police holding body parts; heads falling out of their pockets; ice-men trying to deliver ice to packed ice-chests filled with entrails, while he stood by, watching helplessly. He felt utterly futile. But… what more could they do? Other trails to follow? Were there any?

Well, he muttered, I can’t think of any. Peters closed his eyes, sighing wearily.

Where are you Pierce? He shouted silently, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his fist. I need you, now. Here! Come back! Make some comment; it’ll be totally wrong, but it’ll steer me in the right direction. My poor, poor, Pierce…tragic … poor fatherless kids…and Mary? It wasn’t Mary; it was Wendy, no… Judy? Good God, I’ve even forgotten the wife’s name! …Must call in to see ‘whatever her name’, is. She might need help.

Peters sighed, crossing his legs then uncrossing them. Thoughts of retirement calmed him; quietness, no dead bodies, no screaming headlines …no more seeing your friends die…Oh, Pierce…

A sharp knock on the door interrupted his wandering thoughts. He, opened his eyes, making an effort to pay attention. Inspector Manders, Sergeant Watkins and Constable Clarkson, came in for their daily briefing. Peters, without speaking, raised his eyebrows, then glanced quizzically down at the newspapers. Manders replied to the unspoken question.

"Yes, sir, we’ve all seen the rotten papers. Why the hell do they call it: ‘The Axe Murders?’ The bodies are dismembered, not cut with an axe – ignorant bastards.

And, he sat down angrily. "What more do they think we can do? We’re not magicians. We’ve tried every avenue, every clue, every hint, or tip, wrung our informers dry … and where are we? Absolutely nowhere! The young inspector took out his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. And, to make it even more bloody, I think I’ve caught the ‘flu."

He looked at his superior. "Seriously, sir, I simply don’t know where to go from here. And I can’t really understand why this has been dumped in our laps. It’s not in our jurisdiction – it happened about twelve miles away. We’re not responsible for everything that happens in Sydney."

Manders’ good looking face, still young, was flushed with frustration: his very first really big murder case, as an Inspector and he’d come unstuck; his head against a brick wall, every path he took.

He took it as a personal insult. He’d been thrilled, as had Peters, with his promotion at such an early age – he was still under thirty – and here he was, stuck with a big case he couldn’t solve.

It wasn’t just the personal lack of success that rankled; Manders felt he had let his boss down; they had worked together now for more than ten years.

Peters sighed again, sat up straight and planted his feet firmly on the floor. He must deal with this; must stop the recriminations – he knew perfectly well how hard the men had worked. He’d been a policeman now for a very long time. He knew well the humiliating lesson which every senior policeman learns – sooner or later: you win some, but you lose far, far, more. He deliberately roused himself and spoke sharply and with authority.

"Inspector, stop it! We’ve covered the problem of the doubtful jurisdiction before. You know I’ve questioned – even argued with the AC – as to the reason the murders ended up in our basket.

The only thing they keep repeating is that, although the murders appear to have been committed in Sydney, itself, the fact that the remains have been discovered in our particular area puts the onus on us. The ‘powers that be’ decided it stands to reason that the murderer is from this area – as the body-parts end up here. I can’t see the logic of that myself, but, you know well, we have to obey; that’s a policeman’s lot.

Peters’ voice changed. The harsh tone gone: You’ve nothing to reproach yourself with, my boy. You’ve been meticulous in this investigation; it’s only natural to feel discouraged when it seems as if it’s not going anywhere. I can’t recall how many times I’ve been in your shoes.

He began to fold the newspapers on his desk, his mind reverting again to his friend Sergeant Pierce and his tragic death in the crossfire – why did he try to stop the bastards?…they’d been blind drunk …they should have just shot each other …two drunken, rotten soldiers on leave … on leave! – and, to do that to our poor, dear Pierce! …it seemed far worse them being on leave. He looked up at his Inspector.

Often, it was a word someone said, or some chance occurrence, that set me on the right track – again and again. Peters pulled himself together. But, never mind that now.

He placed the papers in a neat pile on his desk. Inspector, let’s start at the beginning again. Tell me all you have been able to find out so far about the case. Turning to the sergeant, he added, ‘Sergeant Watkins, you add anything that the inspector leaves out which you think important…you too, Clarkson."

Manders shuffled through his notes, mentally pulling all the strings of the case together.

"OK. We have four women, all nearly the same age and all very attractive – about twenty three or four – and what you’d have to call, ‘decent’ women – not tarts, or professional prostitutes, at any rate. They all lived alone in flats, were all employed in senior office work, or something that would be considered ‘respectable’ occupations – except the slightly younger one; she was still at University, doing a second degree.

They came from decent, well-off, families, were out-going, well dressed, did not have regular boyfriends; were reported within two days of their disappearance – which suggests that they were in frequent contact with their families. The young Inspector paused, rearranged his thoughts, coughed harshly behind his hand and took a deep breath.

"The young women, all well-educated in good schools – the oldest of the four had been to University as well. They, according to their friends and fellow-workers, did not go to Night Clubs, but, instead, went to Opera Companies performances and orchestral concerts. They were very attractive, as I said – from the photos we managed to get, either from families, or found in their flats. They were not known to be drinkers; according to friends, they only had a glass of alcohol on special, rare occasions. Yet these unexceptional women, were eventually found dismembered in garbage tips around our very own area here in Tavistock. And, not only cut into pieces, but put into old ice-chests and left at garbage sites.

Peters intervened, his mind going off on a tangent. It’s interesting that it’s mainly ice-chests now. I’m still getting used to these modern, electric refrigerators; they’re rather scary – I keep thinking mine is going to blow up. However, I suppose most people – who can afford to buy them – are getting rid of their old ice-chests. He smiled crookedly. It’s a new world now.

Manders closed his eyes momentarily, remembering. Ice Chests! I’m still recovering from my first view of the pieces I had to look at in the first ice-chest those kids found. I felt my guts heaving.

And the guards?

Absolutely nothing, sir! In spite of placing guards, part-time, including policemen and Council workers, at the garbage tips and keeping a watch on all new ice-chests that go into the tips, we’ve still no real idea who the perpetrator is. The Inspector blew his nose savagely, then added: With respect to the AC, sir, I cannot believe that the murderer is from this area. The girls came from so far away. A murdered could dump his victims anywhere. It would be a stupid murderer to plant his victims near his own back yard.

Peters interrupted. That’s exactly what I argued as well, Inspector, but the ‘boffins’ think otherwise. He turned to Sergeant Watkins.

What about the study you were doing of the area where the girls lived? Anything come up in the line of social meeting places there? There has to be somewhere where the girls were picked up.

Well, something interesting, sir. All the girls come from that one same rather small area of the city.

Where exactly in the city? Remind me.

Three of the four came from City Road near the University. I wondered if that means students – possibly medical students – are involved.

What do you think, Inspector? Peters asked. Manders wrinkled his forehead.

"I think, personally, sir, that that’s the answer. City Road’s actually opposite the University itself. The University’s full of young males – not many females – and the Medical Faculty, or Department’s, the largest in Australia. I think it’s highly possible, that’s where the murderer will be found.

The bodies are professionally dissected which would suggest surgical knowledge – but one problem does strike me if I’m correct. If the students are living in colleges on campus, then it could possibly be difficult for them to have the privacy, and the equipment, to handle the bodies – we don’t know how access to laboratories is managed; we need advice on that.

Watkins suggested another problem. And, if it were students who lived away from the university, it would be difficult for them to take the bodies very far.

Difficult, but not impossible, Peters answered. "Many of the students are very wealthy – especially those studying medicine – and have cars, so they could cope with transporting the bodies – alive or dead.

Peters held his chin in his hand. For me, there still remains the need for facilities for cutting up the bodies, he went on. It’s a messy business, so it would be pretty difficult to clean up afterwards, wouldn’t it? Then, the Superintendent added in a vexed voice. "No. Forget I said that. At the University Medical Department, the students, are training to be surgeons! Therefore, they practise on real dead bodies, don’t they? Therefore the sight of dead bodies would not be a problem if the student-murderer was seen in the lab working on a body; it wouldn’t, necessarily, involve any comment at all. And all the means of cleaning up the mess – the sinks and the drains – would be there on hand, waiting to be used.

I’m sure we’re both right, Inspector. However, we’ll just have to go on as the bosses ordered; who knows they might turn out right after all. Let’s keep an open mind on this for a while longer. He paused. There’s another problem that is worrying me.

He paused, thinking of another angle. I’m uncertain about the type of women being attacked … do you think students would be attracted by them? What do you think Constable Clarkson? You’re the youngest of the team. Would you find the women attractive?

The Constable blushed. Well, to be honest, sir, I think the women are too sophisticated for the average young man like me; to be frank I think they’d scare me.

The young man smiled. Perhaps that’s naive. However, never having had the brains, or the money, to go to University, I don’t honestly know what type of woman a University medical student would find attractive. It could be, those students – you know, the very wealthy snooty ones – would not consider them sophisticated; quite possibly the opposite.

I think it’s an interesting and honest answer. Are you suggesting then, an older man, a more experienced man?

"Well, I think I was, sir, and I also thought … a very wealthy man; someone who has a lot to offer the victim. But, that’s ridiculous – as you pointed out – all the students are wealthy just to be there at the University."

What do you think Manders? Let’s see if we can build up a picture of our murderer; we could be completely wrong of course. That doesn’t matter. If we’re wrong, we just start again.

Manders was interested in the idea; he blew his nose again and stared into the middle distance. I can’t see the point in dismissing the University-student-murderer. You can’t get over the problem of dismembering the bodies and getting rid of the mess. You are left with doctors, of course, but even then, unless they work in a hospital, they, too have to have somewhere to do the ‘dirty work’. But, whether the murderer is a student or an older man, he must have a car – quite possibly a very fine car and be very sexually attractive. Can you add to that Clarkson?

Not really, but I am interested in the City Road area. I know that area. There’s a popular, well-run Dance Hall there, very well patronized – standing room only on both Wednesday and Saturday nights – opposite the university, which attracts both males and females, the young and not so young; from all differing social groups – including students from the Uni. The young constable blushed slightly. I used go there myself for a while. He hurried on:

It’s the only place I could find in that long street, where there was any entertainment offered, other than the pubs. I’d be very surprised if these women would patronise the pubs there – it’s a fairly rough area; backs on Redfern.

I think that most definitely needs checking out, suggested the Superintendent. Inspector, could you and Constable Clarkson – who knows the area – try to cut some fancy capers on the dance floor on Wednesday night?

Yes, a good suggestion, I’ll do it, promptly replied Manders. What about you, Constable, are you free?

Free, but a terrible dancer, sir. However, I’d be delighted to give it a go. Peters smiled at the constable. Thank Heavens, he thought with relief, he was now too old and too senior, to have to do any of the field work himself; he could now leave all that to the youngsters.

His mind turned to the new Forensic Science results the police now had available to them.

Inspector, what about the Lab results? Anything more from the Science boffins? Tell me, even though I won’t understand it, I bet.

Manders smiled. "It’s certainly interesting though, super. With such messy crimes – in the general sense – you would think the whole scene would be overflowing with incriminating evidence, but it isn’t.

"They say the criminal, as you would expect, is definitely wearing a gown of some sort, probably that new stuff – polyester, lycra or nylon – I don’t know how to refer to these things: Are they called materials?"

Peters shook his head, indicating his ignorance; Manders went on: "They suggested it could even be something made of that very new, plastic stuff – something which is easy to wash, or even burn – it just shrivels up. They said he uses gloves – of course he would, the idiots – and they believe that even the saw that is used, is scrupulously cleaned with bleach, as well as every instrument used during the operations.

"They found definite evidence of bleach being used. They also said the saw must be similar to a jig-saw you use in carpentry, but think it must be strong, possibly electric – something similar to that used by butchers – it must be able to cut through bone. Then they suggest that the body is carried in another bag – the bits that is – and when they are placed in a thoroughly, hygienically-cleaned ice-chest, or refrigerator, all the protective clothing, gloves and especially the body bag, would probably be burnt in a furnace.

Another interesting point they made, was that they would make an educated guess the bodies are packed into the ice-chests before they leave the building; they are totally sterile. Inspector Manders interrupted himself.

Sir, it’s the ice-chests that puts me off every time. To tell you the truth; I don’t go for the older murderer; I believe it has to be tied to the university. The murderer, to my mind, is definitely one of the University Medical students, but where the hell do they have to store the ice-chests? This is a crazy case and no mistake – no wonder they shovelled it on to us. Sergeant Watkins broke in on the Inspector’s thoughts.

"Excuse me, sir, but you could still be right. The murderer could be from the University, but not a student; from one of the large number of men who work there – cleaners, lab-assistants, rubbish removalists and so on. That would solve the problem of the collection and storage of ice-chests. If it were one of that group they could keep the collection in their own garages, for example. I think it would also indicate that the man was living alone."

Manders nodded his head in appreciation of that reasoning. He went on with his summary:

"So, the murderer must have a supply of ice-chests, be he student or Uni- worker, with also some way of delivering them to the garbage tips – we must not lose sight for a moment of the problem of transporting the body bits.

Forensics are certain we’ll find nothing in the car of the criminal, if ever we catch him, as the dead body parts would never touch any part of the car. That could be wrong, of course, but I think it is sound thinking. Pretty disappointing really, but interesting. The inspector paused to sneeze, then continued.

"However there was one bright spot: the lab boys did think it was suggestive that the murderer always left the heads in one piece, as if he wanted to make sure they were identified easily. The Psycho-blokes found that very interesting; they suggested he’s an arrogant bugger."

I would second that; the heads prove that, Peters added. "We should add ‘vanity’ and ‘arrogance’ to our picture of our murderer as well. Yes, I would agree with that. He … whoever he is … is proud of what he’s done and wants to boast about it. I suspect he’s also proud of the way he’s fooled us – laughing at us most probably." Peters looked into space for a moment and then added:

"I like Watkins’ idea: a worker at the labs where the students cut up the bodies. That makes sense. There would have to be a tremendous amount of pretty horrible guts and entrails that they have to get rid of. I wonder how they do that.

Inspector, I think it would be well worth while finding out at the University how those repellent things are done. He smiled, I don’t envy you; I’d most probably be sick myself.

Sergeant Watkins coughed slightly. Inspector, have you forgotten the stain?

Manders wrinkled his forehead in frustration. I had, thank you Sergeant. Sir, the lab boys told me that, on a piece of one of the women – the left breast, to be exact – they found a large brownish-orange stain, which on analysis, turned out to be nicotine.

Good gracious. Does that mean the crim, or the victim, is a heavy smoker?

No sir, apparently not. The nicotine is in a liquid form which suggests, rather, that the murderer has access to chemicals.

Hello, hello! That’s the most helpful hint so far, Inspector – it narrows the field. Peters paused. No, wait a moment. That’s not as helpful as I thought. Of course, he would have access to chemicals – you’ve just explained how he sterilizes everything.

That’s exactly what I thought myself, super. However, once again, it draws us again back to the university; I’m sure we’re right Sir. With that in mind, sir, this is what I plan to do; I’d like your opinion …

Manders spoke seriously to his superior, outlining his next plan of operation; Peters listened closely, then nodded his approval. As Manders was finishing up, he asked: And you, sir, will you be available this weekend? I know you have the conference to attend which won’t finish until Friday. I only ask in case we need to contact you during Saturday, or Sunday.

Peters smiled. Well, you can contact me, but I certainly will not be available for any police business. I’ll have you know, lads, that I’ve been invited to the official Opening of the Big House, by none other than the Lady Penelope Sheridan, the daughter of our one and only, Annie Watson.

Manders and Watkins actually whistled in their delight, looking for a moment like the young lads they had been when they had first come to Tavistock Police station, under the then ‘Inspector’ Bob Peters, all those years ago.

Both the young policemen knew their area of Bexford North very well, and young Penny Watson, now her Ladyship Penelope Sheridan, very well indeed. They were delighted to hear that Peters had been invited – he would be among friends there.

Before leaving the Superintendent’s room, the policemen chatted for a few more minutes on the latest war news from Korea; both Manders and Watkins had younger brothers who had been called up to do their compulsory National Service and were now serving with the CMF. After having worked, with Peters, all through the previous war, they were both dreading that this war would escalate further, and that China, with its teeming millions, would be involved. That would be terrifying.

Any word of your brothers having to serve overseas, yet, Peters asked. Both his men shook their heads.

Not yet, super, answered Watkins, my dad was saying, after all those long years of the last war, we look as if we’re in for many more wars this century. It’s a dreadful thought.

What about your father-in-law, Mr Firelli, Sergeant? Watkins started to laugh.

"Well, after all those years behind bars as Italian internees, my father-in-law says he’ll personally shoot any attempt to intern any of his family ever again – shoot anyone at all indiscriminately."

Peters and Manders laughed in genuine sympathy. They had all been violently opposed to the internment of the Firelli men. Peters reverted to Watkins’ previous comment.

It certainly is beginning to look as if we are in for many more wars. I think your father’s right, Sergeant, Peters agreed seriously. The trouble is, we in Australia, don’t really know the Far East at all. It all belonged to the big empires, the English, the French, the German and the Dutch. We have always looked to England, or Europe, before; perhaps now the empires are gone, we have to look in another direction.

Pretty scary, Manders suggested.

"I suppose that’s just because we don’t know them, Inspector, but I agree, yes, it’s pretty scary. However, we have a problem to solve here so we’d better concentrate on that. But, before you do that; take these lozenges, they might help that throat and make sure you take a hot whisky tonight before going to bed. OK?

Now, just to be sure I’ve got it right, let’s just hear again what you plan to do now…

The Superintendent listened carefully and made helpful comments as he jotted down the main facts.

TWO

Damn! Here it comes! muttered Annie Watson as she heard the maid she privately called ‘Lucrezia Borgia’, tapping at the door to the balcony. She went to run her fingers in exasperation through her hair and paused, frustrated – another damn thing she couldn’t do anymore! She took a deep breath, forced herself to speak quietly, and replied to the knocking.

Her beautiful, clear voice advised the starched,