Murder Out West

By P J Barker

Detective Axel Rasmussen of the Western Australian Police Force and newcomer Detective Bruce Dwyer investigate three mysterious murder cases - The Sizzling Wok, The Missing Rider, and The Quiet Fisherman.

Their inquiries take them far and wide from their headquarters in Perth and open a myriad af trails as they set about tracking down the killers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P J Barker
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9781923197008

Book preview

MURDER OUT

WEST

Volume 1

PJ Barker

Murder Out West Volume 1

Copyright © 2024 Philip Joseph Barker

The Sizzling Wok

The Missing Rider

The Quiet Fisherman

ISBN:

978-0-6486285-9-0 (paperback)

978-1-923197-00-8 (eBook)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

These short stories are works of fiction. Characters and names are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, dead or living is entirely coincidental. The descriptions of cities, towns, companies, buildings, dwellings, addresses, numbers, vehicles, transport systems, public utilities, government bodies, legal systems, private companies, landscapes, environments, places, locations, procedures, values, peoples and customs are also the product of the author’s imagination, and are not true descriptions of actual places, people or events.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author and publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

Published through Genesis Publishing, a self- publishing imprint of Ocean Reeve Publishing.

Author: Philip Joseph Barker

Edition: 1st

MURDER OUT WEST

Volume 1

Contents

The Sizzling Wok .................................................................................... 1

The Missing Rider ................................................................................ 89

The Quiet Fisherman ......................................................................... 171

THE SIZZLING WOK

The deafening screech of spinning tyres broke the quiet, sending a cloud of toxic smoke spiralling into the air as the vehicle made off from the breathalyser checkpoint. I immediately jumped in the patrol car and was joined by my fellow officer, Patrick Boyden. In less than a minute we were hurtling down the narrow country road, focusing on a red dot that was fast disappearing in the distance. I slammed the throttle of the big V8 to the floor and it roared ahead like a jet fighter.

The road out to the small town of York had a lot of corners and ups and downs, most of it lined with trees and loose gravel shoulders, a danger for the best of drivers. There was also the odd truck, tourist and local vehicles travelling back and forth from Perth making any high speed chases difficult and dangerous.

With siren screaming and pursuit lights flashing, I managed to claw back some distance from the runaway car. He was out of his depth and drifting onto the wrong side of the road in the corners, just a matter of time before he spun out and rolled or collided with an oncoming vehicle.

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I glanced at the speedometer, 179 kph and climbing, time to back off before we had a number of fatalities on our hands. The chase had become too risky, the price too high for what was probably a stolen vehicle, unlicensed driver or someone who’d had one too many drinks. As I backed off the throttle Boyden looked relieved, relaxing his grip on the padded dash. He smiled.

‘Whew! That guy was low flying!’

We called ahead to the York police officers hoping they could pick up the chase and apprehend the suspect before he reached the town. In case he managed to get past York we also called the Perth airwing so they could track his movements from above. The officers back at the checkpoint already had the vehicle’s license plate number on their cameras; if the vehicle hadn’t been stolen the driver would have to go home eventually.

I’d been working in the traffic squad for more than a year after transferring from general duties police work where I’d spent my earlier years after graduating from the academy. At 38 years old I was sick and tired of dealing with thugs, drunks, road carnage and the grieving family repercussions. It was time for me to do something more rewarding and fulfilling. I’d been taking the exams and studying to join the MCS – the Major Crime Squad – as a homicide detective. So far I’d fulfilled all the requirements. All I had to do now was join the queue and wait for a position to become available. That was no easy task I’d been informed. Still I wasn’t holding my breath and eventually I’d get my chance.

Three months had passed and I was still arresting speeders, drunk, drugged drivers and attending horrific road accidents that stressed me out and gave me nightmares. I’d almost given up on the detective job for the time being thinking it could be up to a 2

the sizzling wok

year before my chance came. I knew a couple of guys who worked in the department and one had mentioned some of the older officers were coming up for retirement, but no dates set. Because of this I was caught totally off guard when I received a call to attend a short interview with Inspector Axel Rasmussen on the following Monday.

I felt a surge of optimism, maybe this was the chance I’d been waiting for. On the downside, the guys I knew who worked in the department said that Rasmussen was a very difficult person to work with and wasn’t well liked by many. He was a bit of a loner, prickly, demanding and an absolute stickler for detail and punc-tuality. When he had a case he was like as dog with a bone, he sunk his teeth in and didn’t let go until it was finished. Also he expected everyone else on his team to work just as hard and often well beyond their normal work hours.

I could see why many of the officers wouldn’t like that. To me that wasn’t a problem. I had no dependants and didn’t need to be home at any certain time as I’d recently split up with my long- time partner. I was ready for a new challenge. Apart from the negative stuff I’d heard about Rasmussen, the one thing that nobody disagreed with was how good his detective work was. He’d solved many of the most difficult and diverse crime cases in Western Australian and also assisted with some interstate murder cases.

The Monday interview couldn’t come quickly enough. My weekend shift was another trauma- filled episode with two fatal crashes and a brutal road rage incident that left a 70 year old woman in hospital and yet another drug- fuelled thug behind bars.

The Major Crime Squad offices were located at the east end of the city overlooking the Swan River causeway. It was in a building 3

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that had outlived its use- by- date having been on the demolition list for at least a decade, but because of various governments and budget restraints the place was still being used to its maximum.

After showing my badge at the security entrance I was given directions to Detective Rasmussen’s office on the second floor, taking me through a virtual rabbit warren of passages and turns.

I found number 32, the office I’d been sent to, but it was empty.

There was a young woman in the opposite office working busily at her computer, her desk stacked with files and paperwork beside the computer.

‘Excuse me, do you know where Detective Rasmussen is?’

She lowered her glasses and looked at me. ‘He’s just gone down to the lower floor, should be back shortly. Can anyone else assist you?’

‘I have an appointment for a job interview at 10 AM.’

The woman got up and walked into Rasmussen’s office checking a calendar near the doorway. ‘Yes it‘s on here. You must be Officer Bruce Dwyer?’

‘That’s me.’

‘OK, you can take a chair on my side and wait. He doesn’t like people in his office when he’s away. Bit of a stickler for that,’ she smiled.

I took a seat and was just about to read the front of the newspaper the woman had given me when Rasmussen appeared.

‘You must be Dwyer?’

‘Yeah, Bruce Dwyer. Pleased to meet you.’ I said exchanging a brief handshake.

‘Come over to my office and take a seat. I can’t talk for long as I’m busy on a case, so I’ll cut right to the chase.’

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We entered his office and I was surprised to see how unclut-tered it was. I expected it to be stacked with files and papers on the shelves or spilling out of drawers like some of the old TV detective shows. Instead everything was tidy, a large computer screen dominating his desktop and some tall grey filing cabinets against one of the walls.

‘I’ve had a look at your history and seen your exam results, Dwyer. I’d have preferred someone who’s spent more time working in general duties and not from traffic, but the feedback from your supervisors has all been positive so I’m prepared to give you a go. I’m sure you’ve already heard all about me from other officers, and I can tell you some of it is true. Like it or not, that’s how I work. I need someone who can give me 110% and follow orders as given. No malingerers or tardiness on my team, without exception.

If you’re not up to the job you’ll be out quick sharp. How do you feel about that Dwyer? Do you think you can handle that?’

‘Absolutely! I’m ready for the new challenge and can’t wait to get started.’

He gave me another firm handshake. ‘I’ll be expecting you at 7:30 AM sharp at this office on the first Monday of next month.

We’ll inform your supervisor. Jenny, who you’ve already met, will fill you in on all the details, forms, paperwork and any other information you’ll need to provide before starting here. Now I must be off. See you then.’

The interview was done and dusted in no time at all and we parted company.

Rasmussen was taller than I’d expected. I’d seen him at a distance before, but never close up. He was about two meters tall with an athletic build, receding greying hair and cleanly shaved.

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I guessed he was in his 50s, but it was hard to tell. His facial expression looked stern and his eyes piercing and focused on the task at hand. When I spoke he looked me straight in the eyes like he was questioning a suspect, analysing my facial expression and words as if searching for inconsistencies or uncertainty. I found it slightly unnerving, but I needn’t have. I had nothing to hide.

I walked over to the other office and gave Jenny, second name Holworth, all my relevant details. After that, I headed into the city centre for coffee and some lunch. I was feeling excited that I finally had the chance to work as a detective on some serious crimes.

I arrived for work 15 minutes early on the Monday morning feeling slightly nervous, but ready for action. I was wearing civilian clothes, a good thing after all my previous duties requiring a uniform. Now I could get around without standing out in the crowd.

To my surprise Rasmussen was already in his office talking intently on the phone. When he finished the call he looked up at me.

‘I’ll fill you in on the way, looks like we have a homicide.’

Quick as a flash he grabbed a large brown bag off his desk and led the way to his car in the under croft garage. As soon as we were in the vehicle the radio was cracking with activity and Rasmussen barked instructions to his team as what to do at the crime scene if they arrived before we did, making it crystal clear that the general duty officers already at the site must not disturb anything or go stomping around the area leaving boot marks everywhere.

‘Hope you don’t have a queasy stomach, Dwyer. We have a rotting corpse in an abandoned vehicle out in the Gnangara pine plantation. Seems like a couple of illegal trail bike riders came across it yesterday evening, but didn’t call it in until about 10:30 PM. Lucky they did I guess, these little shits must have a conscience. Most of 6

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them usually run from the police and stay quiet. Anyway, general duties checked it out early this morning and confirmed their story is true.’

Gnangara used to be way out from Perth city, with a huge pine plantation and some market gardens and plant nurseries scattered around the fringes. Now many of the pine trees and market gardens had disappeared, replaced by the ever increasing urban sprawl as the housing expansion made its way north. What remained of the pine plantation was sadly used as a dumping ground for stolen vehicles, household waste and as an illegal motorcycle track.

We arrived at the site about 30 minutes later. It was a rough gravel track that ran off from the main thoroughfare, a narrow sealed road that gave access to the original plantation and a number of market gardens. There was a police officer in a van waiting at the start of the gravel track. He got out of the van and flagged us to a stop. Rasmussen wound his window down and showed the officer his badge.

‘OK. There’s one of your guys already at the scene. He arrived about ten minutes ago. Be careful the gravel only goes for about 100 meters then its soft grey sand, easy stuff to get bogged in like the driver transporting the body did.’

The track cut its way through some bushes and rough lowlying scrub that had taken hold since the large pine trees had been chopped down. Originally the track was a firebreak and an access way for fire trucks and machinery. Now it was a place used mainly for illegal dumping. We turned a slight corner and directly ahead we saw the gravel change into grey sand with a large burnt out four wheel drive vehicle bogged down to its axles some six metres from where the sand began. Our early arrived team member had parked 7

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his vehicle off to one side of the gravelled area and he walked over to greet us.

‘Hope you’ve got breathing masks? It’s a real nasty one and stinks like hell.’

Rasmussen didn’t care; his eyes were already scouring the scene. ‘Put a ribbon across where the sand starts and then move your vehicle out of here and park it further away, we’ll do the same.’

We reversed back about 60 metres and found an area with no bushes, just weeds, grass and an old fridge.

‘See if you can move that fridge out of the way, Dwyer.’ I got out of the vehicle and rolled the fridge to the side and Rasmussen carefully drove into the space. ‘There’s a sign in the boot. Put it up in the centre of the track. I don’t want any more vehicles driving past this point.’

I found what he was talking about and hammered it into the gravel - ‘No Entry! Police Crime Scene.’ While I was doing this another car arrived, saw the sign and then reversed back to find a place to park. With the sun rising higher and the temperature increasing, the nauseating stench of death from the abandoned vehicle blanketed the entire area. I noticed Rasmussen grab a disposable breathing mask from a packet in the glove box, so I helped myself to one before walking over to the crime scene. The bogged vehicle was only partially burned out, the engine bay and the front seat compartment were completely blackened, all the plastics and glass gone. Strangely the rear of the vehicle was reasonably intact, the rear seats melted slightly, but not turned to charcoal. The back door was open and its window blackened, but still holding together.

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‘The body’s here,’ Rasmussen said, pointing to the back luggage area. The first member of the team to arrive was taking pictures from every angle, many overlapping shots in case he missed something. I carefully walked over and saw a black plastic garbage bag trussed up with grey gaffer tape and the defining shape of the person inside. There were a couple of holes in the bag torn open by an animal or bird and I could see part of the body moving slightly as thousands of maggots squirmed around consuming the human flesh. The back of the vehicle hummed like a small motorcycle with an incessant cloud of flies desperate to lay more maggot larva on the decaying body. A hardened veteran of situations like this, Rasmussen had already made an insertion in the plastic near the face.

‘It’s a young woman,’ he said solemnly. ‘Let’s get her back to the forensic lab and try to identify her.’

The smell was so intense even with the mask on I almost vomited. Luckily I managed to hold it back; not a good impression if I’d thrown up on my first job. Rasmussen seemed unfazed by it and he continued scouring the scene for the smallest of clues.

‘Too many people have already trampled the area,’ he said disappointedly pointing to numerous footprints and motorcycle wheel tracks left in the loose grey sand.

‘This type of stuff is rubbish. It’s got no substance to hold a decent mark. I might have to get a good tracker to see if they can pick up any tracks from the driver or any passengers. Whoever dumped this vehicle had to get away from here somehow. What’s your take on it, Dwyer? What do you think happened here?’

I stepped away from the back and looked in the front of the vehicle. Rasmussen followed, his eyes looking puzzled.

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‘I figure whoever drove this had no idea how to operate a four wheel drive properly. If they did it should never have got bogged.

Look.’ I pointed at the lever. ‘They didn’t lock it into four wheel drive. If the person knew what they were doing it would probably have pulled itself through the sand. It’s built for this type of terrain.’

Rasmussen looked impressed. ‘Good work, Dwyer, but also consider another possibility. The driver was probably in a complete panic at the time and wasn’t thinking straight. They’d have wanted to get away from the body quick sharp in case someone saw the vehicle’s lights or heard it struggling. Once it was torched, unless the driver had an accomplice in another vehicle, he or she must have got away from here on foot. It’s a fair way back to the main sealed road, so if that’s what happened, they must be reasonably fit. They’d also have tried to keep well out of sight in case anyone saw them near the area. I think I’ll get Walter Brody out here to have a sniff around and look for a trail. He’s a great tracker. His mob know most of this country like the back of their hands.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s an Aboriginal Elder who helps us out occasionally. He’s the best. If anyone can find a clue Walter can. What about you, Dwyer, have you got any theories on what we should be looking for here?’

‘I’m guessing, but I think the killer probably knew the area, and they’d been out this way before. Maybe riding a motorbike or dumping rubbish. My guess would be they stole the vehicle, stuck the body in the back and were going to bury or dump it. When the vehicle got bogged and they couldn’t retrieve it they panicked and torched it to get rid of any fingerprints and other evidence. Like 10

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you suggested, they’d panicked and probably ran off hoping that everything would burn to a crisp, body included. They were lucky that nobody saw the flames rising from the vehicle and called the fire brigade or police. If they had, maybe the perpetrator could have been rounded up and caught near the scene. My guess is that this happened in the early hours of the morning when most people are in bed and no one saw the smoke.’

‘Seems like we’re thinking along the same lines, Dwyer.’

A large white van eventually arrived near the scene to collect the corpse and take it back to the forensic lab for further investigations and an autopsy. A messy and putrid job that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Even with it placed in a sealed body bag the stench was still permeating the burnt vehicle where the fluids had seeped from the torn plastic wrapping. I’d seen dead people after road accidents, many with horrendous wounds, but this was different.

It was hard to believe that this rotting mess in the bag had been a living person a few days earlier. Someone, somewhere was probably wondering why their loved one had stopped communicating, probably thinking there was a simple explanation. I hoped that I wouldn’t be the person who’d have to break the sad news to them if we could establish the victim’s identity.

Once the body was removed, another man arrived on the scene and was greeted by Rasmussen with a firm handshake. They exchanged a few words before Rasmussen waved me over to meet him. He was an Aboriginal man, in his late 50s was my guess, his long shaggy grey hair was topped with a wide brimmed hat that had seen better days and was pulled down to his ears. A thick grey beard and moustache covered most of his face but his deep set, piercing eyes were already scanning the ground looking for the slightest clue.

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‘This is Walter. He’s going to search for tracks and any other leads.’ Rasmussen said.

‘Good to meet you, Walter,’ I replied. Walter smiled and nodded almost shyly, his deep set eyes quickly turning their attention back to the sandy ground scanning the area like a hawk searching for prey. After scouring the disturbed sand surrounding the vehicle, he walked back to Rasmussen shaking his head.

‘No luck here! Way too messy to find anything useful. I’ll head down the gravel to the sealed road and see if there’s any clue on the sandy verge. I reckon the driver most likely walked back that way instead of through the rough scrub,’ Walter said, pointing off towards the distant Gnangara Road.

‘Ok. Good luck! Here’s a phone and some water. If you find anything give us a call and we’ll meet you. Otherwise, we’ll pick you up at the intersection on Gnangara in about an hour,’ Rasmussen confirmed.

Walter set off walking and we waited for the police truck to arrive so the wreck