Dastardly Doings - Part 3

Arjy and Sean have decided to pursue the Serial Killer Case in order to put their detective agency on the map. They have found a clue behind Mitre10 and it has led them to a mouldering old timber building set back in the woods off Cusack Lane. Sean has turned their beat-up Jeep Cherokee into the drive leading to Incontinental Luxury Retirement Home. It is getting dark. They park the car and step up to the enormous hardwood front door. Arjy pulls a tarnished brass lever that causes a mournful toll of bells to sound deep within the house. Footsteps approach the door from inside and a squat woman dressed in a soiled black smock opens the door. Her hands are dripping red. She is Gladys De Weekent the concierge, which is a posh luxury establishment name for an occupational therapist, which is, in turn, the modern title for the kind of bingo caller peculiar to aged care hostels.

Gladys De Weekent: Are you the burglars?

Arjy: Certainly not.

Gladys De Weekent: Bother it! I phoned for the burglars hours ago. It’s getting harder and harder to find tradesmen you can rely on isn’t it? Then you must be the blackmailers for Frau Himmler in room 6. If you go down the Tom Titter corridor and turn right, you’ll find her at the very end of Muggers Wing but, I warn you, she’s down to her last hundred million dollars and quite frankly I don’t think anyone really cares any more who she copulated with seventy years ago.

Arjy: We’re not blackmailers either, I’m afraid.

Gladys De Weekent: You’re not? Well goodness me, I’m so sorry, I think I’ll start again. My name is Mrs Gladys De Weekent – now who are you dear?

Arjy: My name is Arjy Barjy and this is my associate Sean Bean. We are detectives and I would like to ask ……..

Gladys De Weekent: Detectives? Now look young lady, you can tell Senior Sergeant Slideback that we pay into the police protection fund on the first of the month. We have been doing that for twelve years and haven’t missed a beat. If he thinks he can start changing the rules then you tell him we may have a few tricks up our sleeve and things might not go quite as he plans.

Arjy: We’re private detectives, Mrs De Weekent and we would just like to ask you a few simple questions about your aged care facility. It might have a bearing on a case we’re working on.

Gladys De Weekent: Oh I see. Why don’t you come in? We can sit in the visitors lounge; we don’t get to use it much since poor old Mr Bundy went berserk. Oh, and please don’t mind the mess on my hands, we’ve been finger painting.

(They walk down a dingy corridor and then step into a bright airy room strewn with dozens of photographs and the kind of dust gathering knick-knacks favoured by old people with too many memories. The walls are marked by rust coloured splashes that look suspiciously like dried blood. They all sit down in comfortable, pee-stained armchairs.)

Arjy: Perhaps you would tell us a little bit about this establishment?

Gladys De Weekent: Oh gosh, where to begin? Let’s see. We started about fifteen years ago and advertised the facility as a superior retirement home for the better class of Jimboomba residents, but we couldn’t find any. The only professional people we got were banjo tuners and a vivisectionist; it was most depressing really. In the end we conducted some market research and discovered that the most prolific class of professionals in the Jimboomba area was the criminal class so we started there. We got the usual break-and-enter crowd and one or two extortionists, lots of arsonists of course and three flashers but it still wasn’t quite the tone we were aiming for. In the end we advertised internationally as an establishment for the rich and infamous who wanted to live quietly with no questions asked. When we added that we could offer a discrete money laundering service we were overwhelmed with applications and haven’t looked back since.

Arjy: Isn’t it a little indiscrete of you, telling me all this?

Gladys De Weekent: Oh my dear. You have no idea the sort of people we have here and the power they wield. We’ve taken care of the local police and the Australian Judiciary may as well be on our payroll too. Why, even John Howard could take up residence here and there wouldn’t be a thing anyone could do to prevent it. I suppose I’ve told you all this precisely so that I might tell you what I am about to tell you now – if you breathe a word about this establishment to anyone it will be the last breath you use. Do I make myself perfectly clear young lady?

Arjy: Yes. Um…of course. Very clear. Thank you very much.

Gladys De Weekent: I’m so glad. Now what exactly are you detecting dear? Perhaps I can help.

Arjy: Oh nothing important. It really doesn’t matter. We must be going anyway and …..

Sean: What about the serial killer?

Arjy: Shaddup!

Gladys De Weekent: You’re investigating all those dreadful killings! How exciting! Well they would certainly have nothing to do with Incontinental so feel free to ask our residents whatever you like. I suggest you interview Mrs Iris Pessary. She has her finger on the local pulse like nobody else. Unfortunately she is indisposed until tomorrow. Perhaps you will come back then – shall we say about one o’clock? You must both have a spot of lunch with us.

(Twenty minutes later Arjy and Sean are back in Arjy’s unit at the clock towers. They have discussed the day’s events and are making plans for tomorrow.)

Sean: We should forget all about this detective stuff. It’s fucking dangerous if you ask me.

Arjy: I’m not asking you. We’re going to get to the bottom of this serial killer thing and it’s got something to do with Incontinental, I’m certain of that.

Sean: I don’t like this.

Arjy: First thing tomorrow we’ll have a word with Slideback. Then we’ll ask around a bit more before we take up Gladys De Weekent’s offer of lunch.

Sean: That’s an awful lot to get done in one day.

Arjy: The day after is a Bogan Council working day; you can have a rest there.


THE NEXT DAY.

(Arjy and Sean enter Jimboomba police station. Constable Gruff, the public relations officer of the day greets them just inside the main door.)

Constable Gruff: That’ll be $20 – each.

Arjy: What will be $20?

Constable Gruff: Entrance tickets. Come on, cough up!

Arjy: Since when have people been charged entrance money at police stations? This is disgraceful!

Constable Gruff: Oh, I see. You’re one of those are you. You think you can just swan in and out of police stations, using up police resources while there are people out there being raped and pillaged all over the place because there aren’t enough coppers to protect ‘em. Listen lady, if you want the service you can bloody well pay for it! $20 – now!

Arjy: In that case we will leave. I shall phone the Senior Sergeant to discuss this with him at some length. As for you – I shall make it my business, as a Bogan Chitty Council officer, to look into your threatening behaviour. Have a nice day Constable!

Constable Gruff: That will be $40 exit tax – each!

Arjy: WHAT?

Constable Gruff: You heard. Normally we refund the entrance charge on the exit tax and you get out for $20 but seeing you haven’t paid to get in, it’ll be the full $40 each.

Arjy: I don’t believe this! It’s …it’s…. Look, here’s the bloody $20 entry money and another $20 for Sean – we’re going in!

Constable Gruff: Would you like some tea and biscuits while you wait?

Arjy: Too bloody right we would – and hurry up about it!

Constable Gruff: That’ll be another $10 – each.

Arjy: You have got to be joking! Forget the tea and sodding biscuits, just tell Slideback we’re here!

Constable Gruff: Well, that will be $5 for wasting police time – I’ve already written you down in the tea and biscuits book and now I’ve got to scratch it all out.

(After a noisy period of charge and counter-charge, Arjy and Sean are sitting in the office of Senior Sergeant Slideback. He is ignoring them as he reads laboriously through Constable Gruff’s charge sheet. At last he puts down the document and fixes the pair with his number six look – stern but understanding.)

Senior Sergeant Slideback: These are serious charges.

Arjy: And quite spurious. We arrived at this station in our capacity as representatives of a local elected authority and we have been subjected to treatment that is tantamount to demanding money with menaces. This does not reflect well on your choice of staff, Senior Sergeant Slideback.

Senior Sergeant Slideback: Oh, Gruff isn’t part of my staff. He’s not even a police officer.

Arjy: What? You know about this and do nothing?

Senior Sergeant Slideback: Come now, its not that bad. Gruff is harmless enough. He’s my sister’s boy and he likes to play policeman. As a matter of fact he is our major source of funding for the Red Lamp Disco we put on for the Jimboomba youngsters. If is wasn’t for Gruff keeping the Red Lamp project solvent the police Alcopop sales would probably drop by 50%. Don’t worry; I’ll get him to refund your money when you leave. Now what can I do for you?

Arjy: The Bogan Council is very concerned about the spate of killings in and around Jimboomba recently and we would like to know what you are doing about it.

Senior Sergeant Slideback: Suspicious Deaths, councillor, not ‘killings’ let’s be accurate about this please. There are many interpretations that could be placed on these incidents and our investigations are still at an early stage.

Arjy: But I understand the most recent death involved a body that had its head sawn off.

Senior Sergeant Slideback: Exactly my point, councillor. The head was sawn off which clearly points to suicide in that case.

Arjy: Suicide! What kind of suicide candidate saws his own head off?

Senior Sergeant Slideback: A pretty determined one I grant you, but never the less we can’t ignore the evidence. It was the victim’s saw and his fingerprints were all over it – apart from the fingerprints on the handle that is.

Arjy: Whose fingerprints were those?

Senior Sergeant Slideback: Could have been anybodies.

Arjy: Including a murderer’s?

Senior Sergeant Slideback: Or the person who sold him the saw.

Arjy: When did he buy it?

Senior Sergeant Slideback: In 1958.

Sean: What about the body you lost? Any luck with that?

Senior Sergeant Slideback: Your information is inaccurate as usual. The body was not lost, merely misplaced and, yes, we did find it thank you very much. In fact it was just one of the lads having a bit of a laugh. He propped it up at a desk in the duty room and stuck a cap on its head. It was three days before we twigged. The bloody thing even won the station raffle. Still, it gave us all a much-needed chuckle.

Arjy: I must tell you I’m not all together happy with your answers to my questions Senior Sergeant and I shall be reporting that to Council tomorrow.

Senior Sergeant Slideback: You must do as you think best, councillor but if I might offer a little bit of advice?

Arjy: Which is?

Senior Sergeant Slideback: If you’re going to sit with your knees up around your ears like that you really should wear trousers.

TO BE CONTINUED.