Nightsafe

By Robert LJ Borg

The search is on for a vigilante causing havoc on Sydney’s trains; will the police catch him before he strikes again?

By February 1994 Mark Lander has re-married. His new wife, Robyn Shelly, whom Mark had saved from unsavoury characters earlier that year, is not completely what he had thought. She is bi-sexual, a fact Mark only discovers after their wedding. Oddly, he allows his wife’s lesbian relationship to flourish, and in doing so, strengthens his own bond with his wife.

Meanwhile, Mark’s best friend, Detective Inspector Jim Sanders has been assigned two cases: the hunt for a vigilante, who has been preying on the thugs responsible for tormenting passengers on Sydney’s trains, and also, a murder at a local hotel. Although the latter is challenging, a break in tracking down the vigilante comes from an unexpected source, and the police are confident they will soon have their man.

Mark, however, isn’t too sure the person the police are focusing on is culpable and decides to run his own investigation to prove him innocent.

Reader Advisory: Includes graphic violent (murder) sequences. Also, graphic sex scenes.

PUBLISHER NOTE: Commercial Crime Fiction with Erotic Romantic Elements, M/F; F/F/M; F/F; F/F/F/M (orgy)All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Mar 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215093498

Robert LJ Borg

Robert L J Borg was educated in London, England and has always held a passion for History and English Literature.Robert has been writing non-fiction, children’s fiction, poetry and adult fiction since the 1990s having been inspired by his mother, Viviane Elisabeth Borg, who is also a published author.Although he immigrated to Sydney, Australia in 1988 and became an Australian citizen in 1991, Robert has since relocated to Europe. He currently resides in Golfe Juan in Southern France.

Book preview

NIGHTSAFE

The Mark Lander Chronicles – Book 2

ROBERT L.J. BORG

The search is on for a vigilante causing havoc on Sydney’s trains; will the police catch him before he strikes again?

By February 1994 Mark Lander has re-married. His new wife, Robyn Shelly, whom Mark had saved from unsavoury characters earlier that year, is not completely what he had thought. She is bi-sexual, a fact Mark only discovers after their wedding. Oddly, he allows his wife’s lesbian relationship to flourish, and in doing so, strengthens his own bond with his wife.

Meanwhile, Mark’s best friend, Detective Inspector Jim Sanders has been assigned two cases: the hunt for a vigilante, who has been preying on the thugs responsible for tormenting passengers on Sydney’s trains, and also, a murder at a local hotel. Although the latter is challenging, a break in tracking down the vigilante comes from an unexpected source, and the police are confident they will soon have their man.

Mark, however, isn’t too sure the person the police are focusing on is culpable and decides to run his own investigation to prove him innocent.

Reader Advisory: Includes graphic violent (murder) sequences. Also, graphic sex scenes.

PUBLISHER NOTE:  Commercial Crime Fiction with Erotic Romantic Elements, M/F; F/F/M; F/F; F/F/F/M (orgy)All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

NIGHTSAFE

The Mark Lander Chronicles – Book 2

ROBERT L.J. BORG

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LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

NIGHTSAFE

The Mark Lander Chronicles – Book 2

Copyright © MARCH 2023 ROBERT L.J. BORG

ISBN: 979-8-215093-49-8

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Mister Riggs — an adorable German Shepherd, and a good friend.

At the age of ten years, he succumbed to cancer on 17th March 2020.

A dog sitting on a bed

Description automatically generated with medium confidence

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PROLOGUE

Monday, 7th February 1994

Sydney, Australia

The streets were practically deserted as Michelle left work and headed for the railway station at St. Leonards. She had been working as a credit controller for Byford Electronics for the past ten years. The firm, a medium-sized family-run business had only recently moved to Sydney’s North Shore having previously been located at Mascot, near the airport. Even though she lived in Petersham, which had been more convenient for her to travel to work at that time, the present office location was more pleasing than the industrial complex they had been before, and therefore, she didn’t mind the extra travel time. She liked the people she worked with, and she had a good rapport with the financial manager, her boss.

Having placed her magnetic strip ticket through the electronic barrier, Michelle made her way onto the platform. The station was still busy with commuters, and several people milled around her. She glanced at her watch. It was six forty-five. She then looked at the train indicator board above her head. The next train was nine minutes away.

It seemed to take forever, but soon one of those new black, grey, and yellow Tangara trains pulled up alongside her and she stepped inside as soon as the electronic doors slid open. She sat down on one of the hard, uncomfortable seats by a window, but at least these trains were far nicer than those old red rattlers or their slightly newer silver descendants whose air conditioning comprised of opening the carriage windows letting hot air in during the summer months and cold air in winter.

The journey to Central Station was pleasant at the best of times during day light hours, especially on the approaches of Sydney Harbour. At night, with the array of coloured lights on the various office buildings around the city displaying their company names in shades of blue and red, the skyline was spectacular. With brightly lit ferries gliding on the water’s surface, as they crossed from one side of the Harbour to the other, resembling tiny fireflies, the scene took on a magical ambience.

On arrival at Central Station Michelle alighted from the carriage and made her way to the platform for the train that would take her to Petersham. It was a suburb of Sydney which grew up in the late eighteenth century, often referred to as Little Portugal, as the suburb’s residents were predominately from that Southern European country. It was graced with a pleasant mixture of modern and colonial architecture, consisting mainly of terraced housing giving it a typical cosmopolitan feel.

Michelle stood at the centre of the platform reading the indicator board. When she was satisfied the next train would stop at her destination, she turned to face the tracks. At her feet, the edge of the platform was painted with a thick white line. On it, painted in reflective blue lettering, the words: ‘Nightsafe Area’ stood out assuring passengers’ security when travelling alone at night.

When the train arrived, Michelle was disappointed to see that it was one which had the older-styled silver carriages. She glanced at the top level and saw it was empty. On the lower level was an elderly oriental couple. She chose to sit near them for safety. They were surrounded by numerous packages and plastic carrier bags, most of which were adorned with slogans in what appeared to her as possibly Chinese. From these, the tops of various types of vegetables protruded and Michelle wondered what delicious meals would be created by them. As she sat facing the front of the train, she noticed there was yet another passenger in the carriage.

Sitting at the far end, facing her, was a man dressed in black and sporting wrap-around extremely dark sunglasses. Michelle was always amused by people who wore sunglasses when it wasn’t sunny or at night. It was then she noticed what looked like a white stick, propped up near him, and she castigated herself for having such callous thoughts. She looked away, but it wasn’t long before her curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself studying him again. His skin appeared taut, as though made of wax. He was wearing a black wind jacket over a black shirt, and she assumed his trousers would be of the same hue. A black baseball cap on his head was pulled down at the front, as though he wished to hide his face completely. She could see his hands as they clutched a black briefcase, held on his lap as though it contained some precious treasure. They were large, powerful hands, and for no apparent reason they made her shudder, so she once again looked away.

The sound of boisterous voices coming from the rear of the carriage made her catch her breath, and she stole a glance at the man in black, as though seeking some reassurance he may protect her should anything bad eventuate.

What d’you reckon Ron? a voice boomed out with malicious undertones.

Yeah, Mate, I think you’re right! — laughing loudly in response — the bloke was definitely shit scared, did you see his face when I pulled my knife on him?

What a prick!

Yeah, and what was that smell?

The mixture of vulgarity and laughter made Michelle cringe. She felt sorry for the man they had obviously abused and terrorized. She could sense herself begin to perspire; her breathing became shallower. She wondered if the man in black was really blind. Would he be able to help her?

Hey. Steve! Take a look at this!

The array of wolf whistles and crude remarks that followed confirmed her worse fears. She had been spotted. Within seconds three young men had surrounded her. Ron sat directly behind her, immediately toying with her long blonde hair. Michelle leaned forward, swinging around to confront him. Before she could say anything, Steve had pushed the back rest of the seat in front of her forward so that he could sit facing her. He promptly sat down grabbed her knees in the same movement and proceeded in prizing them apart. Michelle yelped and tried to jump to her feet, but the third youth, the largest of the three, who was still standing placed his hands on her shoulders and thrust her back down hard onto the seat.

And where d’you think you’re going? he said viciously.

Nice one, Dave! echoed Ron as he pulled on her hair yet again. You’re going nowhere.

Why don’t you get lost before I call the guard? Michelle stammered defiantly. She glanced over at the man in black; Dave followed her gaze and spotted the subject of her interest.

What have we here? It’s not Johnny Cash, is it? he said venomously and stepped over to where the blind man was seated.

Dave looked down at the man, noticing his sunglasses. "Hey! They’re Ray Bans!" he said, snatching them off the man’s face revealing two unsightly scars above the bridge of his nose and across his two eyes. On feeling the glasses being removed the man instinctively lifted his left hand to stop them from being taken. Dave slapped it away with the flat of the blade of the flick knife he was holding, its point nicking the tip of a finger, drawing blood. Then placing the glasses upon his own face, he picked up the white cane, turned towards his friends, and lumbered down the aisle hitting the seats on either side with the stick, pretending to be blind. His friends roared with laughter, encouraging his antics.

Michelle was disgusted and stole a look at the blind man, who now had his head down as though he were looking into his briefcase. She could see he had opened it, as the lid was propped against the seat in front of him.

The oriental couple began to gather their parcels as the train began to slowly approach the next station. Without warning, Dave discarded the white cane and lurched at them, knife in hand.

Oh no you bloody don’t, you old bastards! he screamed at them, preventing them from moving.

Please, please. No trouble. Please? The old man pleaded.

Leave them alone! Michelle shouted.

The youth swung around.

Or what? You gonna call the guard?

The three men laughed in unison.

He won’t help! He’s too shit scared to come out here. Dave scoffed, promptly sitting down near his friend and facing her, placing his feet on the seat next to the frightened woman.

Think she’s wearing any undies? Dave crudely remarked.

Why don’t you find out, Steve? Ron taunted, pulling at Michelle’s hair tighter, ensuring she wouldn’t be able to move.

As she felt hands on the inside of her thighs, tears began to trickle down her face. Her assailant was grinning like a Cheshire cat, whilst looking over at Dave who had stood up to resume tormenting the oriental couple with his knife.

Hey! Dave? Want some of this? Steve smirked.

Michelle lashed out with clenched fists, hitting him hard to the sides of the head as he leaned forward to look up her skirt.

Ahh...! You bitch! he yelled, looking up abruptly, facing her. His hands now moved to her throat, and he began squeezing it gently.

I should kill you now, you bitch!

Gagging for breath, Michelle grabbed at his hands, digging her sharp fingernails into them, but a tug from behind made her slacken her grip.

No sooner was she pulled back, she heard a short-muffled cough, followed by what felt like a butterfly wing stroking her cheek. Instantly the grip on her hair relaxed, and Steve let go of her throat. The look of disbelief in his eyes made Michelle glance around to see a small red dot appear on Ron’s forehead. His expression was one of total shock.  The next few seconds seemed to last a lifetime as everything around her moved as though in slow motion. It was a surreal sensation.  Two more ‘coughs’ followed in quick succession, and from Ron, her gaze fell upon Dave who had dropped his knife and was slowly crumbling to the floor with a similar red dot beneath his hairline. Even before he fell completely, she sensed Steve slumping over in his seat. Looking down at him, she could see blood oozing out of his mouth, nose and ears.

The oriental couple were hysterical as they quickly gathered their packages, and made a move to escape.

Trembling from shock and whimpering like a small child, Michelle glanced up at the man in black, the expression on his face revealed no sign of blindness, and there was a thin smile on his lips. In the same instance, he was unscrewing a long metal-looking tube from what looked like the barrel of a gun. She watched as he closed the brief case, holding it in his right hand. He then stood up and walked down the carriage to where Dave was lying. Retrieving the sunglasses, and wiping blood off them using Dave’s T-shirt, he replaced them on his own face. Then picking up the cane from the floor he calmly made for the carriage doors.

Michelle could hear screaming in the background and realized it was her own voice. The train had stopped. New passengers boarding the train were confronted with the carnage and raised the alarm.

Through teary eyes, Michelle glanced out of the window searching for the mysterious gunman. She vaguely caught sight of him briskly walking towards the exit on the platform and disappearing into the night.

CHAPTER 1

Wednesday 9th February 1994

Sliema, Malta

It was a great feeling arriving back at mum’s home in Malta with Robyn, now my fiancée, and being greeted by the entire family. When we stepped through into the arrivals lounge at Luqa Airport, early that afternoon, it was a bonus, to see Jim also there; obviously still weak from the stab wound to his chest, as he rested on crutches. It was good to see him recovered from his ordeal some ten days previously. My brothers Andrew and Robert hovered nearby to give him a helping hand should he require it.

Jim and I had arrived in Malta just over two weeks ago chasing a criminal by the name of Raymond Falzon, who had escaped capture in Australia. Ray Falzon had been involved in the death of Robyn’s friend, Marilyn Wright, and Robyn had also been threatened by this very vicious man. It was only by sheer luck that Robyn had eluded assault by jumping out of a power boat they had been in at the time. I just happened to be on the beach as the incident unfolded, and I was able to rescue her from the surf. Robyn had been in Australia on holiday from England visiting Marilyn.

Apart from being my oldest and best friend, Jim Sanders is a detective in the police force of New South Wales. As the body of a young woman, which we later discovered had been Robyn’s friend, was found washed up on rocks in the vicinity of the area covered by his station, he found himself drawn into the investigation. For me, however, it was an incident that was to change my life.

Up until that moment I had been going through some depressing times due to a couple of harrowing ordeals. The first was a messy divorce, and the second, having become the recipient of a bullet from a sniper’s gun in Afghanistan when I had been there on an assignment several years earlier. It was an occupational hazard at being a war correspondent. You always knew it could happen, a stray bullet, shrapnel from an exploding shell or land mine, but you always think it will happen to someone else, never to you. Only this time the bullet had my name on it. Fortunately, it entered my shoulder and exited the other side without causing too much damage in between. It did however play on my mind, because had I listened to my wife and not gone to cover the story of the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan then I would still have been married, and everything that had happened to me to this point may never have occurred.

The problem I had been having, however, was neither due to the wound nor the divorce, it was boredom. You can only take so much recuperation. My editor, even though he was a very close friend, was not prepared to risk sending me on another assignment, and I respected him too much to plead with him to let me go. So, when Robyn fell into my arms, so to speak, it was a gift not to be ignored.

While the police were conducting their search for the perpetrator, Robyn had been placed into protective custody with me. Over the space of several days, we had got to know each other really well, and an unusually strong bond was formed between us. Needless to say, I was devastated when she returned to England. However, I was determined that this lovely person was not going to be forgotten, so when Jim and I flew to Malta following in the footsteps of the alleged killer, I contacted Robyn, and asked her to meet us there.

My connection with the island was thanks to my parents. Although my father was Australian, my mother is Maltese, but who had been born in Egypt. Dad had met her when he had been posted in Alexandria during World War Two. They had married, and after the war, they had remained there until political unrest in 1952 forced them to leave the country, as did a few of their closest friends, such as George and Caroline Azzopardi, and Edward and Rita Mifsud. They all went to Sydney.

Andrew, my twin brother, and I were born on 4th September 1950, but because he emerged first by several seconds he always boasts as being eldest. My remaining siblings, a brother and three sisters, had all been born in Australia.

When dad passed away due to cancer about ten years ago, mum decided to return to Malta. Andrew and Robert, as well as one of my sisters, Claire, went with her. On the subject of Claire, she was the daughter of Edward and Rita Mifsud. Unfortunately, two years after Claire was born, she and her parents were travelling by road to Melbourne, when a dreadful head-on accident ended their lives. Claire, securely strapped in the rear seat of the car escaped serious injury. The sad part was, that as far as anyone knew, there were no close relatives to speak of, so rather than see the little girl end up with social services, my parents adopted her. Since then, of course, we have only ever looked at Claire as a member of our own family.

Claire had been engaged for an eternity, but as her fiancé was making no commitment to finally tie the knot, she made the decision to dump him. We didn’t blame her, we all would have done the same, and we told her so. Unfortunately, because of it, my dear sister remains unmarried, it’s as though she can never trust another man. A shame really, because she has a heart of gold, and I think she’d make a fantastic mum.

My other two sisters, Theresa and Anne who were happily married to a couple of great guys, chose to remain in Sydney, as did I, that is when I wasn’t on assignment somewhere or other.

In a way I am fortunate that my sister Anne lives only a few doors away from me at Freshwater Beach, so she can keep a check on my place when I’m not there. Her kids can be relied upon to water the garden from time to time which is a bonus. Anne’s husband, Tony Byford a financial manager at a family-owned electronics firm based in St. Leonards on Sydney’s lower north shore always keeps himself busy, if not for work, then on some project or another at home. His father and uncle own the business, so you can say there’s a bit of security for my sister’s family. They