Devlin Pool

By Ken F Stewart

Devlin Pool is the story of a murder in the Geraldton/Greenough region of Western Australia and the ensuing police investigation. Set against this contemporary crime are the nineteenth-century murders of sailors who had been involved in a robbery at sea and the massacre of Aboriginals in the area. Barney Merrick and Zep Marcon, two Geraldton detectives, encounter a bikie feud and Aboriginal rights issues as they try to solve the killing, during the period of the frenzy of a local football Grand Final.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483689678

Ken F Stewart

Kenneth Frederick Stewart was born in 1948 in Perth, Western Australia, and grew up in the suburb of Cottesloe. He is now a retired teacher after forty-two years in the classroom, twenty-five of those as the Head of Mathematics Department in senior high schools. Ten years were spent in Geraldton, and during that period, he was a senior goal umpire for the GNFL. He now lives in Balcatta in Perth. Ken runs a separate web page for his family history research with KITTO as a one-name study. He is a keen body surfer and bush walker.

Book preview

Part I

Chapter 1

Robbery at Sea---October 1862

The four crewmen conspired in secrecy in the galley to finalise their plans to plunder the captain's treasure. It would not be piracy nor mutiny but burglary.

#

With strong easterly land breezes in the mornings shifting to strong onshore westerlies in the afternoons, the schooner Charlotte made a fast run out of Fremantle for the first two days. A full set of sails adorned both her masts, so she was able to make full use of the prevailing winds. She heaved herself forward with energy, surging gently up the front of the long ocean waves and flowing down the other side. With that pace, the captain expected to pass Geraldton in early evening of the next day or see the lights of Geraldton just after dark. The ship should reach Port Gregory after dawn the following day.

There the Charlotte would gain the shelter of the placid waters behind the long reef parallel to the shoreline, reefs that destroyed the power of the massive ocean waves on its rocks. She could then be tied up to the small wooden jetty just recently completed by convict labour, built for the Port Gregory whaling fleet and the shipping needs of the hinterland. They would first offload the officer and eight soldiers as guard replacements for the convict settlement at Lynton. The majority of the troopers were already seasick, so they would be relieved and overjoyed at being able to set foot on dry land again.

The Lynton Convict Hiring Station had been established for nearly twelve years to provide labour for the diggings at The Mines in Northampton and at the Geraldine Mine further north on the Northampton River. The detachment's soldiers, who were being replaced, would be grateful to be returning home with the two-masted schooner in spite of having to endure a long sea voyage in the small ship.

The new detachment arriving would also provide secure escort for the cash box to be delivered to the resident magistrate in charge of Lynton. This cash was needed for the distribution of the pays at Lynton and, in addition, contained monies to be collected by the whaling fleet from the sale of the whale oil that had been previously shipped to Fremantle. The magistrate would also arrange for the transhipment, under guard, of substantial other cash. This was for delivery to the diggings at the Geraldine and The Mines as wages for the miners and the workers in the lead smelters.

For the return journey, there were just a few barrels of whale oil to collect at Port Gregory, but their main cargo was a load of sandalwood to be picked up at Geraldton. The delivery of the human passengers had been a priority, so Port Gregory was the first stop. On the return trip, the relieved detachment would get some leave in Geraldton while the sandalwood was being loaded.

That was the plan of the ship's captain.

#

Two days out of Fremantle, the Charlotte's captain laid a course that would keep him well in sight of land during the day and veer a few miles further out during the night. The next day, when nearing Geraldton, he was fully aware of the reef-strewn Abrolhos Islands fifty miles off the coast, so he had to be a little more circumspect. Many early Dutch trading ships bound for Java in the East Indies had foundered here, miles before actually encountering the mainland coast that they were expecting to find. The hearty old captain aimed to pass Geraldton's Point Moore at a distance of four miles, and by sighting the town or the Geraldton Light, he would confirm his exact position. Thus he could be sure of his course onwards to Port Gregory.

Seated at the food-stained, wooden dining table in the galley, Tom Cornwall and Peter Walsh, two well-worn experienced sailors, met with Joe Kitto and Walter Driscoll, two new galley hands. Cornwall and Walsh had been with the Charlotte for over three years, but they were becoming largely dissatisfied with their future prospects. Both old sailors, having been brought up around the London docks where life was exciting and active, found that these coastal runs up and down the Western Australian shores were boring to say the least. Even their time ashore in Fremantle did not compare to the good times remembered from their London days.

Joe Kitto and Walter Driscoll were two labouring landsmen, ex-convicts who had served their time and now planned to return to their past glories and lives that had been severed by the judge at the Old Bailey. All they needed now was a nest egg to book passage on a ship home to rejoin their mates and the girls around the back laneways of Covent Garden in London city. All four conspirators met that night to finalise their plans for the following night.

Some months ago, seated much the same way as now, they were whispering furtively together at a small table in a dark corner in a pub in Fremantle. Peter Walsh, a sailor on the two-masted schooner Charlotte, had learned that his coastal trader took the regular three-monthly cash box on one of its frequent trips north to Port Gregory. At Tom Cornwall's suggestion, Kitto and Driscoll had signed on. The first few days of seasickness had almost finished their plans, but the desire for a better life had made them fight through that dismal period. After a couple of trips, they were almost experienced galley hands now.

The four of them planned to lift the cash box from the captain's cabin while the captain took his usual First Watch---the evening to midnight watch. Escape from the ship would be made using one of the lifeboats on the starboard side, hidden from view by the sails. The lifeboat would be lowered into the lee side away from the heavy seas, and the ship would sail away from them. With luck and good planning, it wouldn't be noticed missing until it was too late. By then they would have made landfall and be well away and hidden.

In the timing of the robbery, it was important to be near Geraldton, preferably somewhere north of town with its sandy beaches and saltbush and semi hospitable scrub beyond. From there, they could split up and lose themselves in the large township of several thousand people, or perhaps get farming or mining jobs out in the district until the heat died down. The fact that there were soldiers on board might be a problem.

Then the weather changed.

The light onshore and offshore breezes that had been so favourable for the ship's smooth progress dropped to gentle wisps. The ship was almost becalmed for a short time. The wind then changed to a moderate west-nor'wester. With its fore to aft mainsail, the vessel was able to adjust sail settings to still make headway, but was now continually crashing into increasing seas. She was forced to take in sail and slow down to avoid damage.

Cornwall and Walsh, as experienced sailors, knew this weather would delay their expected rendezvous off Geraldton's coast the next evening, but only for an hour or two. The odds were weighed up: of timing and the seas, the presence of the seasick soldiers, whether now, or next time, and finally they decided. The message was whispered surreptitiously to Kitto and Driscoll, It's still on tomorrow night.

#

At eight o'clock in the following evening, the captain took over his watch, estimating it would take at least another three hours until the Geraldton Light came into view. Cornwall and Walsh, out of view of the captain and the rest of the duty crew, managed to free up most of the lashings on the lifeboat. It was made ready to lower to the water, and they too watched for the crucial Geraldton Light.

Kitto and Driscoll assisted the cook in serving meals and clearing away after some of the soldiers and half a dozen of the off-duty crew had finished their late supper. The captain and his First Watch crew had dined earlier. After eating, the soldiers were content to get off their rocking feet and bumping chairs and settle into hammocks for the evening. Sailors never knew when they would be needed again to trim the ship, so they always took what sleep they could, when they could. The kitchen was cleared away, and, with their other galley duties completed, Kitto and Driscoll went up on deck.

There was little movement about the whole ship, but it was never quiet. There was always the crashing of the bow into the oncoming waves, the creaking of the masts under pressure from the sails, and the flapping of the sails as they harnessed the ebbs and flows of the wind driving them forward. Occasionally on deck a sailor would loosen off and tighten up a rope to tension up a flapping sail. The helmsman, through deft touches on the wheel, kept the compass needle almost rigid. The captain gazed from sail to black horizon and watched as his experienced crew did what was necessary. The Geraldton Light came into view almost exactly when and where he had predicted. He was on course at 11 p.m.

Most of the town of Geraldton was sleeping now, so there were only a couple of houses showing any illumination at all, but there was always one bright Geraldton Light burning at Bluff Point. The town of Geraldton was a growing fishing and whaling town, so occasionally, a boat would be returning after dark. One radiant lamp was kept burning all night, a little north of the town, where it could be sighted easily from up to eight miles out to sea. It signposted the location of the harbour. A proper lighthouse was planned there for the future.

Immediately on sighting the important light, Cornwall and Walsh knew that the ship was directly out from Point Moore, just about level with the town of Geraldton. The potential robbers would have preferred to wait a bit longer, until they could row ashore into the bushlands to the north of the town, but by that time, the captain's watch would be finished and he would be going back to his cabin. Walsh gave the green-light nod to the two galley hands.

With furtive glances all around, they slipped into the captain's cabin, hefted the cash box from under the bunk, and silently made for the lifeboat. A strong man was needed to carry the box, so it was probably half full with one pound and half pound coins and some smaller ones too, as well as the expected paper money for higher amounts. The lifeboat had already been fitted out with oars and swung out by the sailors. The cash box was placed quietly into the boat, and this was then carefully lowered by the ropes and pulleys to the heaving seas. Four men slid quickly down the ropes which were then dragged through the pulleys to drop into the boat. The most experienced two sailors on the oars urgently pulled away into the darkness in silence.

#

They were lucky. When the next watch came on duty, nobody noticed the missing lifeboat, and the tired captain didn't bother to check for the cash box before he collapsed into his bunk. But luck went against them with the seas. Their rowing was good, but the strong winds and heavy swell were stronger. With desperate continuous baling, they managed to stay afloat, but by the time the lifeboat had travelled the four miles to shore, they had been driven six miles to the south of the town. There was no longer a sheltered point to land behind.

Across their entire front reverberated the thunderous crashing of massive breakers, usually with a hint of rocks and reefs. The round glowing ball of the full moon had risen slowly above a long line of white sandhills, and it showed ribbons of iridescent white water highlighting a very disturbed foreshore. Rowing along the shoreline, it was necessary to be always pulling out seaward against the tendency of the nor'wester to push them onto the shore. They stared forlornly, hoping and praying for something. Even with taking it in turns, with pairs alternately rowing or baling and staring into the gloom, all were tiring. Cornwall sensed a change in the tone of the surf in front of them. He pointed to where it showed lines of long rolling waves, not crashing breakers. It was a small respite but better than nothing, so they took their chance.

In a boat not designed for surf, they managed to keep rowing forwards, buffeted first with one rolling wave, followed by another, then another. All the time, they kept moving towards shore, rowing flat out to keep forward headway. The rolling waves diminished, and the boat was seized by the current of a tidal race that rushed them strongly forward towards the coast. For a brief time, they were buffeted forward by standing waves, until finally they found themselves cruising into a quiet river mouth with the strong incoming tide behind them. They had made it safely ashore.

#

Looking around, the robbers could see they were in a large estuary of quiet water surrounded by white sandhills, spotted here and there with the blackness of bushes. Visible in the moonlight, against the distant sandhills, were the silhouettes of a couple of shacks over on the northern bank, probably fishermen's hovels.

We'll push up river, Kitto declared loudly, effectively taking charge now that they were landsmen again. He had the street-smarts and cunning through many years of living on the fringe of the law. It had been mainly his idea and planning that had got them this far. The further we go up river the safer we should be from a sea search.

As long as we don't find any major settlements, groaned Cornwall, pessimistically.

Rowing quietly for half an hour, the river closed in and the surrounding banks became more densely covered with trees and bushes. A chill descended on the river. With the full moon overhead reflected as a dancing globe in the ripples in the water and with the foliage so dark that told them nothing, it was creepy. The wind moaned like a dying sailor at their backs, but everything else seemed so quiet. They rowed until they saw a small creek entrance, just before a slash of white sand, indicating a beach clearing in front of the gloomy vegetation.

That should do, stated Cornwall hoarsely, starting to feel that he needed to impose some form of leadership over the party. The tense situation of being in the eerie unknown was starting to prey on his nerves. They all stared intently into the darkness about them.

They edged nearer the bank, grinding onto a rocky bottom hidden below the surface. Cornwall slid over the side into knee-deep water and wedged the boat ashore. Then, acting from his years of seagoing habits, he used one of the pulley ropes to tie up to a tree. The rest clambered out, with Driscoll and Walsh holding on to each of the end handles of the cash box. The whole group dropped to the ground, exhausted and relieved to be finally ashore.

We made it, gasped Driscoll. Now what?

All four looked at each other in the gloom. They were safe, and the tension of the last four hours should have begun to ease, but it didn't.

I vote we smash the lock and divvy up the cash right now, Cornwall blurted out gruffly. Then we can go where we want, when we want.

I suggest that we bury the box, get into town, and stay low until the heat dies down, as we originally planned, declared Kitto. He had doubts as to whether these two sailors could stay out of the limelight if they had lots of ready cash to splurge about.

Who's to say you two won't come back and take the lot? snarled Walsh gutturally, as he stood to look down on them all. Like his mate Tom Cornwall, he wanted to celebrate with some of their newly won fortune.

Don't you trust us? sneered Driscoll.

No, was the quick reply from Walsh whose nerves were still strung on end. Impetuously, he thoughtlessly added, Even your mother must have had doubts about you.

Why you . . . Driscoll had snapped. As he rose, he grabbed and swung a heavy lump of stick in an arc, striking Walsh on the side of the head with a sickening thud. Walsh collapsed lifelessly.

Seeing his shipmate go down, Cornwall swiftly pulled his sailor's knife and threw it with the skill of years of practice. It sank into Driscoll's chest.

Walter Driscoll looked down at the hilt, looked up in surprise, and sank limply to the ground.

Now look what you stupid bastards have gone and done, drawled Kitto, slowly getting to his feet. Driscoll's dead. Walsh has probably got real head damage, and we still have to get out of here. Let's both calm down and sort this out, he continued, holding his hands out palms upwards in a manner of peace. We are going to need each other.

Okay, rasped Cornwall, his breathing still quite heavy. He kept a wary eye on the only other man still standing. He slowly moved over and pulled out his knife with great difficulty, wedged between the ribs of the limp body. He wiped the blade on the victim's shirt, thoughtfully hefted it for a while, and then slowly replaced it into its scabbard at his side.

Kitto went over and turned Walsh's face upwards. His dead eyes stared back unmoving. His crushed temple was seeping blood. Well, they both caused the death of each other. I guess that makes them even.

So now what? said Cornwall tersely, suspiciously still keeping a close watch on Kitto.

We'll sink the boat midstream with rocks in it, bury the chest by that rocky outcrop, bury these two with the oars and ropes at the base of that sand dune, and stick together in town for a month or two. If we cover them up, nobody will ever know that we've been here, Kitto spoke knowingly, as he had clearly thought things through. The bodies were just additions to his original planning.

It took ten minutes to bury the chest in the sandy ground near the rocky point, a good landmark to return to later. The remaining two robbers dragged the two bodies, the oars, and the ropes to the bottom of the sandhill and then began shoving the powdery dune down from above. It took little time to cover them over, but they made sure with additional soft sand.

It took just a few more minutes to fill the bottom of the boat with large rocks collected from underwater as they walked knee-deep along the shore pulling the boat behind them. Then both heaved large stones at the exposed sides of the boat and saw large cracks appear and water beginning to spurt forcefully in.

Kitto grabbed another large rock and, while Cornwall was watching the flow of water into the boat, smashed the rock into his downturned head. To make certain, he held the stunned and dying sailor underwater, his eyes desperately staring upward, until any movement ceased. He waited a little longer to be certain.

He eased the body back onto the bank and then watched and waited emotionlessly as