Four Canberra Crimes: Death in the National Capital

By Greg Cornwell

Inspector Lech Investigates. 
Most people see Canberra as Australia's National Capital and the headquarters of its Federal Parliament and boring politics.  Of course it's much more than that.  A city of over 400,000 people, of monuments and important institutions and sporting organisations.  It's not the perfectly planned city envisioned by its creators however, human nature sees to that.  So we have crime – and murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781923078222

Greg Cornwell

. The author, born in Sydney, previously in travel and public relations was a member of the ACT Legislative Assembly 1992-2004 (Speaker 1995-2001) when he retired. He lives in Canberra with his wife, Margaret, and enjoys travel, reading, writing and involvement in community issues.

Book preview

THE ACCOUNTANT

CHAPTER ONE

If he hadn’t been in profile, standing at the sandwich counter waiting for his order, Maria Lech would have missed him.

In spite of the black moustache and beard there was no mistaking the large nose and Hapsburg-like jutting chin identifying Tomas Stefan, reluctantly taking the police inspector back to the cobbled streets, mist and rain of Europe.

As she watched the man received his paper bag wrapped lunch and turned toward them. Fortunately her husband, Andrew, had his back to him and was too engrossed in his ethnic newspaper. So much for having lunch together! Maria quickly blocked her face with her coffee cup and Tomas Stefan passed into the street without noticing them.

If further identification was necessary the tall man’s slight limp was confirmation.

Maria Lech was conflicted. What was he doing here in Australia? In Canberra? Should she follow him? Was he still wanted for war crimes or had the statute of limitations run out?

She didn’t think so. It was impossible to dismiss the picture of a youthful Tomas, so neat in his dark military uniform, seating the old man on the edge of the stone bridge over the river then shooting him between the eyes so he fell backwards into the water below.

The horror memory from her youth was replaced: her mobile was ringing.

CHAPTER TWO

Hello, Alex? The voice was loud and anxious.

Alex Bramley scrambled for his phone amongst the papers on his desk. No matter when he decided to tackle the impatient demands for action a busy engineering practice called for, he always was interrupted. His foreman on the big electricity sub-station was calling.

Paul, he responded.

Where’s Jason?

Jason, the new engineer recently employed, had been given the supervisory task when Allan went sick.

He’s not shown up, Paul explained.

Further questions confirmed the man had been expected to collect plans that morning but had not done so.

I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, Bramley said. With nobody else available he’d have to come out himself.

The new Molonglo region was growing fast and vehicle move-ments matched the growth. Traffic holdups were common and thus deliveries encountered delays. This should not have reached the stage where it effected the entire workforce however, thought Alex Bramley angrily, as he turned into the construction site where all of his employees appeared to be idly standing around.

Paul hurried to the utility and before Alex could remonstrate he was forestalled.

Found Jason, Paul said abruptly. Dead.

CHAPTER THREE

Electrocuted, how appropriate, thought Senior Constable Paul Parker, seconded to assist Detective Inspector Maria Lech in her transfer from the New South Wales to the Australian Capital Territory police force ‘until she found her feet’. This might take some time, because it had more to do with her thick Eastern European accent, which meant she was not easily understood so didn’t speak much and only recently had been getting out into the field.

Any idea how it happened? asked SC Parker.

They were sitting in the foreman’s office shed, Alex Bramley having dismissed the workforce for the day and now sat waiting for Work Safe to arrive, thus placating the unions.

None. Jason was an experienced engineer who knew the dangers. Understood English well.

Bramley looked embarrassed in front of DI Lech. It wasn’t his first language, he explained. An’ Jason wasn’t his real name, which was Carol. He thought it feminine, so he Anglicized both to Jason White.

Jason had been found outside the open door of a live sub-station well away from where he was working, which explained the delay in locating his body. He had keys to open all sub-station boxes, of course, and given the rapid domestic development of the region electricity was being brought on as soon as possible, not delayed until all suburbs were serviced. Jason’s hand had been badly burned and he’d been thrown back from the door.

Only by chance we found him in the long grass, contributed Paul.

Why was he so far away from where he was working? asked SC Parker.

No idea. The area’s been active for some time an’ we’ve experienced no trouble.

People living nearby? asked DI Lech.

Bramley looked at the woman curiously.

Of course, he said patiently. Why else would we have activated the site?

Door knock the area, see if anyone saw anything. Lech ordered.

And as SC Parker moved outside to phone instructions for reinforcements, Alex Bramley asked why this was necessary? Surely it was a simple tragic accident?

The watch, said the policewoman, showing him the photograph of the body on her mobile.

A mild autumn had arrived after a hot summer and many men still were wearing short-sleeve shirts, including Jason, whose body thrown back from the sub-station door was spread eagled in the tall grass.

What watch? asked Paul, the foreman.

Exactly, confirmed SC Parker, who had rejoined them.

The body showed no watch but the summer sun had browned the skin around where one had sat upon the dead man’s wrist.

CHAPTER FOUR

Details gradually emerged as to how Jason’s body had been found as following his death a blackout had occurred in the area. Consumer complaints directed workers to the local as yet graffiti-free sub-station and the dead engineer.

Adam and Selim who had investigated confirmed the keys to the door were in the lock and both denied the theft of the watch.

Seems Jason opened the box, reached in and touched the wires, said Parker back at police headquarters.

Or was pushed, thought DI Lech, who couldn’t reconcile how an experienced professional would make such an elemental mistake of touching the wires. The absence of the watch worried her too.

The dangerous wires shouldn’t have been exposed and while this was a matter for Work Safe Alex Bramley had explained they normally were protected by insulation but Covid had resulted in supply delays for all sorts of equipment. In the rush to supply demanding consumers with electricity his company had cut corners in the reasonable expectation nobody but trained employees would have access to the sub-station.

Still make a stink with the unions, I’ll bet, said Parker unkindly as his phone rang.

We’ve got another body, he reported, reaching for his hat. An’ nearby.

CHAPTER FIVE

Door knocking, ma’am, the young policewoman confirmed at the entrance to the unit, while her male colleague kept curious neighbours at a distance.

Save for a dip in the land and the tall grass, you almost could see the electricity sub-station across the vacant block from the government units.

Controversially built to accommodate pensioners and the disadvantaged moved from the inner-city suburbs of Braddon and Turner to what was claimed by these dispossessed as ‘the boondocks’ many other residents struggled to adjust to the general lack of amenities while investors waited until further development made supply more profitable.

The pepper and salt approach to suburbs – a mix of private and public housing – also was condemned as premature for such new areas, isolating poorer residents until proper infrastructure, shopping and transport facilities, were in place.

The young constable stood aside and DI Lech and Parker entered the small unit. Promoted by the government as an improvement upon the original inner city accommodation, Maria Lech was in no position to judge but the living room with an open kitchen off to the right and what she assumed to be a bedroom and bathroom ahead was luxury compared to the tiny Soviet-style block-houses of Eastern Europe.

Except for the body.

Curled in a foetal position, a cringe DI Lech thought as pleading for mercy, was a middle-aged man stabbed in the chest. A quick glance around the tidy if sparse room suggested nothing out-of-place. It was as if the killer had walked into the unit, stabbed the victim and walked out again.

Light’s outside! snapped Lech. Night was falling.

Perhaps as she expected – SC Parker was never sure of her thought processes – they found evidence of a track through the tall grass from the sub-station to the building.

Must have known each other, SC Parker decided. No sign of a break-in.

The young policewoman had confirmed the door was unlocked, prompting the door knockers to push it open calling for attention then seeing the body on the floor.

Have we a name?

Nothing on the body, ma’am, said the senior constable straightening up and removing his gloves. I’ll check the unit.

Which produced two passports. One out-of-date showed a citizen with a foreign name, Milan Broz, in an unpronounceable passport cracked with age and an equally old photograph. The second was a valid Australian document in