Postcard for a Dead Ringer

By C. J. Forrest

Craig Morton had finally graduated as a detective and now is a member of the criminal investigation branch in Brisbane, Australia. He has finally been chosen to conduct an investigation into a man accused of murder in the far country of South Western Queensland in Charleville. Full of intrigue and local identities in a small country town where everyone knows something, he finds himself caught up in the defense of the man he was sent out to bring in for justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645759850

C. J. Forrest

C. J. Forrest was educated in Edinburgh, Scotland. He became an Assisted Passage Emigrant to Australia in 1951. Following the building trade in Queensland, he was soon tagged with the name Jock. Interested in sport, success on the soccer field led to years of him coaching. As a senior club coach, writing, speaking, and performing at club seminars encouraged an overall interest in writing a programmed agenda. Married and raising four children offered little time to pursue further activity. In retirement, Jock managed to enjoy writing short stories as a hobby. Senior years' interest in writing introduced him to the management of the local library manager, a person who had known him in earlier years as a football club coach. In 2006, 'Caboolture Writers Link' was born. He was elected chairman and remained in charge of this very successful library writers' group over the next ten years. Jock continued writing short stories as part of the writers' group's monthly exercise agenda and, in later years, found further interest in extending one of his short story efforts to create the fictional story Echoes of Alcheringa. Postcard for a Dead Ringer is the second book written by C. J. Forrest.

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Forty-Two

About The Author

C. J. Forrest was educated in Edinburgh, Scotland. He became an Assisted Passage Emigrant to Australia in 1951. Following the building trade in Queensland, he was soon tagged with the name Jock. Interested in sport, success on the soccer field led to years of him coaching. As a senior club coach, writing, speaking, and performing at club seminars encouraged an overall interest in writing a programmed agenda. Married and raising four children offered little time to pursue further activity.

In retirement, Jock managed to enjoy writing short stories as a hobby. Senior years’ interest in writing introduced him to the management of the local library manager, a person who had known him in earlier years as a football club coach. In 2006, ‘Caboolture Writers Link’ was born. He was elected chairman and remained in charge of this very successful library writers’ group over the next ten years. Jock continued writing short stories as part of the writers’ group’s monthly exercise agenda and, in later years, found further interest in extending one of his short story efforts to create the fictional story Echoes of Alcheringa.

Postcard for a Dead Ringer is the second book written by C. J. Forrest.

Copyright Information ©

C. J. Forrest (2019)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Ordering Information:

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Publishers cataloging in publishing data

Forrest, C. J.

Postcard for a Dead Ringer

ISBN 9781643782546 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781643782553 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645759850 (E-Book)

The main category of the book — Fiction / Crime

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Synopsis

A rookie detective is offered an opportunity to apprehend a suspect, hiding out somewhere in the far off sheep-farming district of Charleville, South East Queensland, Australia.

Local enquiries lead him to believe there was more to this search for a guilty sheep shearer than his assignment had proposed.

A homicide had been committed. Sheep shearing union officials and members become secretive. The record of a respected sheep farmer takes precedence over the young detective’s search for an escapee.

Further involvement with country town residents cause him to investigate the reality of what had transpired to create suspicion of fraud, a diversion of justice, and a double murder—finding eventual clarification of the truth.

The young detective brings the confusion to a close only when he takes matters into his own hands, makes a request for assistance from city police, and then manages to apprehend the true suspects.

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This story is a work of fiction

Postcard for a Dead Ringer

Craig Morton had only recently completed his police training at the police academy. His hopes of becoming involved with investigation work included extending himself for further duty and being accepted. At 35 years of age, he finally graduated as a detective and became a member of the Criminal Investigation Branch in Brisbane. Considered a junior in comparison with the many senior detectives who were in their 50s and 60s, he had no previous investigative experience to rely on. Only the years he had spent as a station duty policeman on the streets of various regional towns in South East Queensland.

Now, with credentials, expectations led him to believe that he might be assigned to a headline case involving big-time criminals. He soon learned that practical experience included being patient.

Only experienced men and women in the force were chosen to conduct investigation into major inner-city crimes.

As part of his initiation, and acceptance into the detective force, he was expected to undergo a complete study of safety and duty regulations. A rigid few days of being taught the responsibilities associated with the handling of a firearm—the reason for using a firearm and what would happen if he misused one.

He had to attend lectures on how to assess information, to consider the best means of approach, given any circumstance, prior to further action. These lectures included gathering relative information and making use of police facilities. Including the consequence of what would happen when careful preparation was not practised.

Craig was careful with his initial duties. Investigating minor complaints involving occasional family dispute cases or petty crimes committed around the city suburbs. After six months, Craig was called into the police superintendent’s office. Senior Police Officer McClure explained the sensitivity surrounding the escape of a prisoner. This prisoner is awaiting trial for the murder of a man out in the Charleville district, west of Toowoomba. He has not yet been found guilty. We need to hold him in custody, at least until further investigation can be clarified. Due to the doubtful conversations surrounding the apprehension of Mr. Taylor, we need to instigate a worthy assessment of the truth surrounding the crime for which he was being held. His name is Charles Taylor. Guilty or otherwise, Detective, to save an embarrassing situation for the police, we first need to find Charles Taylor, and secondly, we need to dignify our actions with the justification of a truthful, accountable reason for his apprehension.

I have recommended that you be given the opportunity to act as the senior detective in charge of this apprehension case.

Craig was delighted to be considered, at last. He signed on for the assignment.

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Chapter One

Brisbane police were unanimous, the containment of Charles Taylor was a priority, at least until proof of guilt could be confirmed and definite charges could bring about a conviction.

The District Police Superintendent William McClure was red with rage when he was informed of Taylor’s escape.

‘After all our efforts, if the news media finds out that Taylor has managed to escape from custody, we’ll be the laughing stock of police all over the country,’ he obviously expected a better result.

Over coffee, Detective Craig Morton spoke with an associate, Isla Stewart, a police reporter.

"Looks like I’m it," he sounded puzzled.

What’s up? Isla replied.

I’ve just been given the responsibility for tracking down Charlie Taylor. I believe he made a run for it from Woodford Prison yesterday.

Isla wondered, "I thought he was due for trial pretty soon. Why would he make a run for it now, for Gods’ sakes? I don’t get it."

Craig looked serious. Guilt, maybe. Although, as far as I understand, he reckons he was wrongly convicted. What was your take on the whole thing, you interviewed him, didn’t you?

Yes, I did, Isla admitted, strange as it seems, I had a liking for the guy, you know. From what he told me, I was even beginning to think he might be innocent.

Craig looked at her from under his eyelids. You can’t pick them these days. However, running now is not going to help his case, that’s for sure. He was charged with killing some fellow, wasn’t he?

Yes, a sheep shearer, I think, she sighed.

Detective Craig Morton had grown up on the outskirts of Brisbane; he was familiar with the South East Queensland border country and the northern coast area of New South Wales.

He learned that Taylor had been working in Charleville as a sheep shearer during the months of February and March. He had been picked up by police in Charleville following the homicide of another sheep shearer on 10th March, 1987.

What are you going to do? Isla wondered.

I’m not sure yet, but if Taylor was a sheep shearer, my guess is that he will be known in the countryside west of the Darling Downs, in South East Queensland. Toowoomba might be a good place to start.

There’s a lot of wide-open country out beyond the dividing range, he could take some finding, you might need to carry a water bottle, she implied with an impudent smile.

Craig momentarily remembered how exceptionally fit he had been in his younger days, in the military and on the football field. I have no intention of trekking too far into the scrub, although God knows I might enjoy the challenge; it might even do me some good.

The truth is, he continued, I am not planning any extreme adventure, I am merely going to drive west to locate one man. Craig looked her in the eye and could not resist the opportunity. Will you miss me? he smiled, Isla blushed.

I suspect it shouldn’t take more than a week or two, at most, okay? he teased.

When do you take up the challenge?

As soon as I swat-up on the information I need, he frowned.

Isla wished him luck. Keep in touch, I will help from this end, if I can, call me.

Toowoomba police had reported that a late-night disagreement between some gamblers and shearers had escalated into an argument between some players out in the carpark at the rear of a hotel. Charles Taylor was charged with having bludgeoned a sheep farmer to death. The deceased farmer was left to die at the rear of a hotel in the South West Queensland town of Charleville.

Taylor had argued that when he had been out in the carpark that night, he had met the deceased while gambling. He’d had nothing more to do with the deceased; he had witnessed nothing in the car park, no scuffle, no people, nothing.

Police had fingerprints from the site, witnesses to time, and evidence supporting reasons for dispute between two gamblers that evening. Charles Taylor had been suspected of having murdered a sheep farmer named Joe Balsham.

Chapter Two

Toowoomba was considered the gateway to the Darling Downs. It was large, and Craig guessed that the sheep shearers’ union office in the city might be as good a place as any to start.

Compared to other Queensland towns, the air in Toowoomba was cooler in summer months, due to the height above sea level.

The workers union office was part of the main council chambers building in the heart of town. There, Craig simply enquired about members and how he could locate where Mr. Charles Taylor may have been working as a sheep shearer recently.

He told the girl at the reception that he would like to speak with a shearers’ union representative.

I’m sorry, there are no representatives in the office at the moment. If you would like to speak with a worker’s union official, I can make an appointment for you.

He tried his luck. It is not necessary, I wonder if it is possible for you to give me a list of farms or stations where union members are working at the moment.

The girl was confused. This is the Queensland Workers Union’s office, most of our members are affiliated with a specific workers union or an associated employees’ union.

Craig explained, I’m interested in the shearers’ union. Possibly in the district of Charleville, if there is one.

I’m sorry, I am not sure if I can offer much in relation to specific contract work. If it will help, I can give you this information. She handed Craig a small booklet and some papers referring to unions, offices, conditions for members, and reference to application forms. Craig had not expected too much from the union enquiry. He realized he needed to speak directly to shearers themselves. She tried to help. You may need to enquire at a district shearers’ union or local employment office.

On the pamphlet, he noticed there was a shearers’ union office in the Charleville area. He thanked the girl receptionist, telling her he would enquire at Charleville.

The eight-hour drive west towards Charleville was long, hot, and dry. Only stops at Dalby, Miles, and Roma had offered some relief. He rested in Roma. Then, he decided to push on towards Charleville, passing through the smaller settlements of Mitchell and Morven.

Breathing a sigh of relief after the long hours of driving, Craig finally pulled up at a close-to-town motel.

Exhausted from driving in the heat, the motel’s air conditioning felt like a life saver. He spent the last hour of the late afternoon and early evening resting, before visiting a local hotel where he thought he might relax the night away with a nice drink in the cool comfort of a softly furnished public lounge room.

The bar room was relatively quiet. The barmaid smiled. In a bid to sound inconspicuous, he casually ordered a light beer. There was no rush, so he enquired where the local shearers’ union office was located. The pretty redhead bar attendant smiled. Just a couple of doors down, next to the T.A.B., she offered, before adding, looking for a job?

Not really, just trying to locate a friend of mine.

Does your friend have a name?

Craig was temporarily distracted, and without thinking too much, he casually mentioned he was looking into a situation regarding a man by the name of Joe Balsham.

He noticed the surprise in her reaction.

She lifted her head and turned to look at him directly, face to face.

Joe Balsham? she repeated with obvious surprise.

Sounds like you know him.

Well, yes, I know him, or I should say I knew him.

Is he a local in Charleville? Craig paid for his drink.

The bar lady had another customer at the far end of the bar. She looked up at the wall clock. Look, I’m too busy at present. If you care to wait in the lounge room, I knock off in about five minutes.

Finding the cool comfort of the lounge room was what Craig had wanted. He didn’t expect to have such pleasant company this soon. He looked forward to chatting further with the barmaid. Could this lady lead him to Charlie Taylor?

He had nowhere to go. She appeared not long after 10 PM, relaxed in her off-duty dress. Hello. You still here?

She sighed as she sat recovering from her shift. It is good to sit for a while. I’m sorry, my name is Catherine Jenkins.

Craig couldn’t believe his luck. First night in town and, here he was, sitting in the lounge room of a nice hotel chatting with a very classy looking redhead.

Hi Catherine, I’m Craig Morton.

At her request, it was decided they sit at the far corner of the lounge.

Craig ordered another light beer, with her choice of lemon lime and bitters. Fortunately, only the bar closed at 10 PM.

Now, how come you want to find Joe Balsham and why?

She came straight to the point. Craig was surprised.

It is quite simple, Catherine…

Call me Kate, everybody else does, she interrupted.

Okay, Kate, I thought if I mentioned Joe Balsham, it might lead me to a fellow named Charles Taylor.

She shook her head. Taylor, I can’t say I know anybody by that name, but I don’t like your chances of finding Joe Balsham. She then took a deep breath. He’s dead.

This was not surprising to Craig, but he thought it wise to sound concerned.

"Sorry to hear