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    Dying in Paradise
    Dying in Paradise
    Dying in Paradise
    Ebook359 pages7 hours

    Dying in Paradise

    By Drew Lindsay

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    About this ebook

    Ben Hood is reunited with the stunning Samantha Cruz, her sensual and provocative younger sister Irene, and their grandmother, Ivy Cruz as he visits Surfers Paradise in Queensland, Australia, to investigate fraudulent activity involving the Cruz family fortune. Deception, lies, death, witchcraft and the spirit world collide around Ben as he sets out (with some unexpected and lethal help) to bring the offenders to the kind of justice that only Ben Hood knows and understands.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDrew Lindsay
    Release dateAug 14, 2013
    ISBN9781301998197
    Dying in Paradise
    Author

    Drew Lindsay

    Drew Lindsay is a dynamic Australian Novelist and Writer. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia and the world. His background includes working as a Policeman and detective, then managing his own private investigation business as well as working in Fraud Investigation Management positions within the insurance industry.Drew is a PADI Divemaster and holds a private pilot's license. He has a great love of entertaining others with his vivid imagination. His novels allow the reader to escape into worlds of romance, excitement, humour and fast paced adventure. Drew lives in northern New South Wales with his wife.

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      Book preview

      Dying in Paradise - Drew Lindsay

      Dying in Paradise

      By Drew Lindsay

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © Drew Lindsay 2013

      The right of Drew Lindsay as the Author of this Work has been asserted.

      The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

      Acknowledgements

      This one is for Warren Mallard. (owner of Lyonswood Investigations) He lived life to the full and died far too young. He asked me recently to ghost write his biography. That indeed, would have been an interesting task. I’m sorry I didn’t get to him in time.

      Thanks you again to Leonarda for a great cover.

      http://leonardaarmstrong.com

      Thanks Narelle for assisting to put my writing wheels back on the tracks every time they slip off. Proof reading must be a dreadful job, although it could be worse. She could work for an insurance company…..

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      ****

      ALSO BY DREW LINDSAY

      All books are available from eRetailers worldwide

      Coral Sea Affair

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 1

      Black Mountain Affair

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 2

      Flesh Traders

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 3

      The Dead Woman’s House

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 4

      The Men’s Club

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 5

      The Dark Affair

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 6

      An Explosive Affair

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 7

      A Lost Lady

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 8

      Treasure

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 9

      Charlotte’s Fear

      Ben Hood Thriller Number 10

      To learn more about Drew Lindsay, visit him online at

      http://www.drew-lindsay.com/

      Or at his Facebook page

      http://www.facebook.com/drew-lindsay-author

      ****

      CHAPTER ONE

      Captain James Cook from England spent a considerable amount of time sailing to places totally unfamiliar to Europeans in the 17th century. He was a remarkable explorer and map maker. Not only was he the first European to circumnavigate and map New Zealand, a feat which may bring a smile to the face of some larrikin Australians, but he also was the first European to explore and accurately map the eastern coastline of Australia.

      Cook married Elizabeth Batts on the 21 December, 1762. Considering that he spent most of his adult life at sea (without his wife) it is indeed remarkable that they had six children between 1763 and 1776. History records that Captain Cook spent quality time with his wife in a cottage in London’s East End when he returned from his various explorations. None of his children had descendents to carry on Captain Cook’s direct lineage and at least half of his children died before him. Elizabeth Batts outlived her husband by 56 years, mainly due to the fact that some hostile Hawaiians attacked him while his back was turned, bashed his head with a club and stabbed him to death on a beach at Kealakekua Bay in February 1779. Thankfully, the locals at Kealakekua Bay are considerably friendlier towards visitors these days than they were in 1779.

      Less than 9 years before Captain Cook’s untimely death, he was navigating the east coast of Australia aboard the HM Bark Endeavour when he gazed out on a huge mountain peak which he named Mount Warning. This highest mountain peak on the east coast of Australia was part of the ridge of an extinct volcano. Further north he saw long stretches of white sandy beaches and heavily forested hinterland framed with mountains in the distance. The date was May 16, 1770. Captain Cook made brief notes of his observations. He would never know that in just over 100 years from the date he sailed past these long stretches of beaches, residents from Brisbane in the north would visit there for holidays. By the Roaring Forties, hotels on what was now known as The Gold Coast were sprouting like mushrooms. By 1980, huge high rise apartments dominated the Gold Coast beach skyline. They put bulldozers to work beside the beach to the south at Coolangatta, and built an airport. This airport is also now an international airline hub into Queensland. James Cook would be amazed if he saw these stretches of sandy beaches now.

      He would be even more amazed if he had been able to put in at the marina adjoining the Carla Zampatti boutique store, the Marina Mirage resort and the opulent Palazzo Versace hotel just north of Surfers Paradise.

      Captain Cook may not have been startled at the slightly bloated body which floated to the surface between the luxury cruisers tied up at the marina. He lost many men during his ocean voyages. Some died from a variety of diseases which claimed sailors who spent months at sea without an adequate diet. Others died because they fell overboard during savage storms. Others simply jumped overboard because they had gone mad. Some died in bags which they called their beds and were thrown overboard. Some were killed by hostile natives on various South Pacific Islands.

      Samuel Harding’s body bobbed up beside the fibreglass hull of the 45 foot Horizon fly bridge cruiser named Lady of the Sea. The tide pushed him against one of the marina bumpers dangling from the starboard side of the vessel. He didn’t appear to have died from any of the consequences which Captain Cook may have witnessed. Samuel Harding had a fibreglass rope tied firmly around his neck. The rope then stretched down to his hands which were tied behind his back and finally down to his feet which were bound tightly together.

      Nine year old Timothy Lipton saw the body as he wandered along the marina boardwalk. His parents owned a much larger cruiser which was tied up nearby. That cruiser was Timothy’s home. Whenever his parents stopped at a port for shore time, he would go wandering anywhere that kept him off the boat. He looked down at the lifeless eyes and the swollen chest. Samuel Harding’s head knocked against the cruiser’s hull as the tide rushed past his body.

      ‘Are you okay mister?’

      Clearly, Samuel Harding was not okay and eventually young Timothy realised this and ran back to his floating home to tell his mother.

      Detective Superintendent John Campbell looked back at the small gathering of uniformed police. ‘Who found him?’

      ‘A kid off one of the cruisers,’ said a tall, male senior constable. ‘We’ve taken a notebook statement in the presence of his parents. He’s a bit confused but told us that he’s seen bodies on the TV lots of time so it was a bit like what’s on the TV.’

      ‘Get a counsellor in and don’t let the press get to him. I want this part of the marina locked down.’

      ‘The deaden will float off with the tide if you don’t hook him with something,’ said an immaculately dressed woman with short brown hair, as she leaned out with her hands against the Lady of the Sea and closely examined Samuel Harding’s bloated body. Detective Inspector Helen Baxter pushed back from the cruiser. ‘Someone should snag him with a fish hook or something.’

      ‘He’s not a damn fish,’ said John Campbell. ‘I want Janeve to take a look at him first. She’s the expert in bodies and forensics.’

      ‘He’ll be heading down the Broadwater on the tide if we don’t snag him with something,’ said Helen.

      ‘I’ve got a gaff hook,’ yelled a man in shorts and a grubby T shirt from a nearby yacht.

      ‘That will do,’ said Helen. She slipped under the plastic cordon tape and approached the gleaming white yacht. The middle aged sailor handed her a long pole with a very sharp hook at one end. ‘We’ll get it back to you as soon as they take some photographs and pull him out of there,’ said Helen.

      ‘I don’t think I want it back darling,’ said the yacht owner.

      ‘We’ll get you a new one,’ said Helen as she walked back towards the floating body.

      ‘Be bloody careful with that thing,’ said Superintendent Campbell. ‘Janeve will throw a fit if you mess with evidence.’

      ‘She won’t have any evidence if the tide gets him,’ said Helen as she pushed the hook through Harding’s shirt. She looked back at the group of uniformed police, singling out a fairly small female constable. ‘Here you go Rhonda. I’ve got just the job for you. Come and hold onto Bob here until Janeve and the divers arrive.’

      Constable Rhonda Cheng was clearly not happy about the allocated task, but she walked over and took hold of the end of the gaff hook. ‘How do you know his name is Bob?’

      Two of the constables laughed.

      ‘Bob, like a cork in the water,’ said Helen Baxter.

      Rhonda gave a fake smile. ‘Oh Bob. I see.’

      ‘The divers are five minutes out,’ said the tall senior constable as he clipped the portable radio back into its holder. ‘Janeve has just parked in the marina car park and the body contractors are 2 minutes away. Crime Scene is tied up at Ormeau Hills with a hanging.’

      John Campbell ran a hand over his closely shaved head. He looked up as a news helicopter swooped down low and slow over the marina. He moved beside Helen Baxter. ‘He’s trussed up like a damn chicken but he’s not weighed down. Someone’s done half a job.’

      Helen looked up at the 50 year old Detective Superintendent. ‘I guess we’re dealing with a killer with no real experience. That will make it easier because they would have stuffed up other things as well.’

      ‘I need this guy identified quickly,’ said John Campbell. ‘The toffs around here don’t like bodies popping up in their trillion dollar marina. We’ve had calls to the Commissioner.’

      ‘Stuff them,’ said Helen. ‘They’re not all toffs. We’ve already been given a gaff hook.’

      Janeve Midler was barely 5 feet 7 inches tall but her athletic body and determined stride made it clear to even a casual observer that she was not a woman to be messed with. Janeve was Head of Forensic Pathology at the Gold Coast Hospital. She was 30 years old, born in New Zealand; raised and educated in New Zealand until she moved to London to complete her second university degree. She married a Londoner and divorced him in less than a year because of his propensity to torture her psychologically and towards the end of their marriage, beat her up at the slightest whim. Janeve had shoulder length black hair which was usually tied back in a pony tail. Her eyes were brown and her facial features striking. She often smiled, even though most of the time she had nothing to smile about. She knew it just made things easier for those around her. She nodded at John Campbell and walked to the uniformed constable holding the gaff hook. She looked briefly at Helen Baxter and then over the edge of the marina walkway at the body. ‘Why isn’t he up here where I can get a close look at him?’

      ‘We thought you might like to see him the way he was found,’ said Helen.

      ‘He’s got rope around his neck. His hands are obviously trussed behind his back and his legs are tied with rope. Your guys have taken photographs?’

      ‘The crime scene people are tied up with something in the north.’

      ‘So between all the police standing around here, doesn’t anyone have a camera. Don’t mobile phones have cameras?’

      ‘We just thought….’

      Janeve took out her mobile phone and began to take photographs of the body floating face up in the rising tide. She stepped back, tucked the phone into the pocket of her jeans and stared down at the body for a long time. Her eyes slowly scanned the corpse from head to sandshoes. Helen moved beside her. ‘He’s started to bloat but there isn’t any obvious decomposition.’

      ‘The bloating brought him up,’ said Janeve, but he didn’t tie himself up with that rope and I can’t see any weights.’

      ‘Perhaps the killer didn’t want him to stay on the bottom,’ said Helen.

      ‘Killers normally don’t want their victims popping up. On land they usually bury or hide them some other way if they have the time. In the water they weigh them down, especially if they are still alive when tossed into the water.’

      ‘I guess they would want the victim under the water as soon as possible,’ said Helen.

      ‘And that is not likely to happen if they don’t weigh him down. Even tied up, he could be struggling around and screaming out for several minutes until water fills his lungs and he goes under.’

      Helen Baxter looked to her left as a police launch eased into a vacant position on the marina. ‘The divers are here. They can get the body up on the deck first if you like.’

      ‘I’ll give him a quick check over before they bag him up for the trip to the morgue,’ said Janeve. ‘Then the divers can start a bottom search. It’s a long shot but there might be something down there that we can connect to the body.’

      ‘How far do you want them to search?’

      ‘The marina area and anything further out within a hundred metres or so.’

      Three divers in full length wetsuits with fins, masks, snorkels and gloves, removed the gaff hook and pulled the body around to metal steps which gave access to the marina deck. Uniformed police were asked to move away any onlookers. The divers lay the body face up on the timber planking. Janeve slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and examined the dead man’s face. The mouth was partly open but she was more interested in examining and photographing the nostrils. Helen spoke with the divers as they moved back to the police launch to get their scuba equipment.

      Helen Baxter walked back to the forensic pathologist. ‘What do you think?’

      ‘He’s dead.’

      ‘Very funny Janeve.’

      ‘I think he was alive when he hit the water. There is frothy blood up his nostrils and a cloth or something is at the back of his mouth. I’ll know more when I have him on stainless steel.’

      ‘You would think the killer would have knocked him out or something?’

      Janeve looked up at the Detective. ‘Whoever killed this guy wanted him to suffer. We’re dealing with a nasty bastard.’

      The corpse was wearing black cargo pants, black socks and white sandshoes. His dark green shirt had short sleeves and two of the buttons at the front had popped due to abdominal bloating. Janeve moved her fingers carefully through all the pockets, and then pushed the body onto its side to examine the back pockets of the cargo pants. ‘No ID,’ she said. ‘See how his hands are pulled into tight fists? That’s also a sign of a desperate struggle to stay alive underwater.’

      ‘His wedding ring has been removed,’ said Helen.

      ‘Well spotted,’ said Janeve. ‘You can clearly see where it had been for quite some time. It must have been engraved and the killer didn’t want him easily identified. That’s another reason why I think he must have been weighed down with something, but somehow, it’s worked its way free.’ She pulled the body onto its back. ‘Someone will be missing this guy. He is married. His shirt is Polo Ralph Lauren and his sandshoes are designer.’

      ‘His facial features are relatively intact so we’ll ID him soon enough,’ said Helen.

      Superintendent Campbell came up beside them. ‘The body contractors are here.’

      ‘I’m done for the moment,’ said Janeve. ‘I’ll finish him off later this afternoon.’

      ‘I’ll get some of the uniforms to help me do the rounds of the boaties,’ said Helen. ‘These boat people are a very inquisitive group. Someone might have heard or seen something of value.’

      ‘I’m out of here,’ said John Campbell. ‘It’s your show Helen.’

      ‘Where’s my partner?’

      ‘Sick.’

      ‘He’s always sick. I need at least two more.’

      ‘I’ll arrange it,’ said Campbell as he walked away.

      ****

      CHAPTER TWO

      Ex New South Wales Australian Police Detective Sergeant Ben Hood had been basically forced to ‘retire’ from the police force for shooting a couple of criminals who were intent on killing him, or some other innocent persons. Police are issued with firearms in order to protect themselves and vulnerable members of the public they are paid to protect, but Lord help any policeman who actually shoots a criminal, especially if they don’t actually kill the criminal. The wounded criminal will make up more tall tales than the Grimm brothers in order to explain why they should not have been shot in the first place.

      Someone once said that there is nothing more ex than an ex policeman. Ben had subsequently found this not to be the case, unless you had a police bureaucratic target painted on your forehead. Then you were fair game because of those you had betrayed in your scramble to the top of the heap.

      Ben had recently divorced and had given his home and most of his worldly possessions to his ex wife Fay. He now lived in a tiny flat in Mosman with a partial view of Sydney Harbour.

      Unlike most other men in Sydney or Australia for that matter, he did have a V8 Vantage Aston Martin Roadster. This late model monster went from 0 to 100 km/h in less than 5 seconds. 313 kw’s at max power. Gunmetal grey in colour if you can call gunmetal grey a colour. A very rich man had given the vehicle to Ben for saving his daughter’s life. (Flesh Traders)

      Ben was a big man, 52 years old and over 6 foot tall. He was muscular and very fit notwithstanding his age, due to regular and often brutal workouts with his personal trainer and fighting mentor, Akira Misaki, and various opponents. He had spent many years learning the life style and fighting ways of the Shin Obi Ninjutsu. He was extremely good at this ancient form of Japanese soldier fighting but something deep within, drove him to maintain his fighting skills, notwithstanding the fact that Ben felt his body wasn’t exactly keeping up with the stamina required to execute the skills. He speculated this was more psychological than physical but he was realistic. The human body can only retain strength and physical stamina for just so long. Eventually, age takes its toll. Akira’s biggest concern was that Ben’s acquired fighting skills were not married with the spiritual component that often accompanied and enhanced such skills. Akira often described Ben as a very special fighting machine, with no rudder to guide his skills in the appropriate direction.

      Rodney Reid was the Managing Director of a VIP Protection Company named predictably enough, ‘Security for Important People’. Ben had undertaken various assignments for Rodney since being asked to resign from the NSW Police Force. Rodney Reid’s home and office was set well back from the street in a leafy cul-de-sac in Castle Hill, an upper/middle class suburb northwest of Sydney. The house was double storied and clad in brilliant white weather board. Rodney had considered re-painting his house a soft green or perhaps a light brown. A neighbour had complained that the brilliant white from Rodney’s house was reflecting the morning sun into his bedroom and waking him and his wife much earlier than they desired. The neighbour had even gone to the trouble of making a complaint to the local council. Rodney told them all to go to hell. He loved the brilliant white weatherboard.

      Ben and Rodney had formed a rather special relationship during their relatively short time together. Rodney considered Ben to be his most valuable field operative, notwithstanding the regularly disastrous although usually successful results to each and every assignment.

      Rodney was an Australian guy in his mid 50’s. He had short grey hair and was slowly going bald. He was almost six feet tall and thanks to a recently imposed diet, was now quite trim rather than a touch overweight. He had recently married Dr. Rose Hendricks in an amazing wedding ceremony at Bora Bora in Tahiti. Ben was the Best Man.

      Rose had totally recovered from a gunshot wound and fairly major surgery. (Flesh Traders) She was required however, to remain on a special diet and Rose figured that if she had to be on it, Rodney could be also.

      Rose and Rodney had met under rather unusual circumstances. She was the resident surgeon at a large Sydney hospital about 10 years ago and Rodney and his mates got drunk one night and somehow Rodney’s right foot got dragged under a large four wheel drive vehicle and crushed beyond repair. Rose later amputated it. Rodney used a single crutch under his right arm and occasionally an artificial foot. His disability had almost no effect on his mobility.

      Ben stopped his Aston Martin in front of Rodney’s electric gate. Two cameras operated by passive infra red detection, recognised heat from the engine and moved down to examine the car. The gate slid open with a soft whine of electric motors. Ben drove through and the gate slid closed on a steel rail. Rose was waiting at the front door as Ben stopped his car on the cobblestone driveway. She stepped down to the driveway and hugged him as he approached. ‘He’s still stewing over the media coverage of you blowing up that drug hideaway at Nimbin.’ (Charlotte’s Fear)

      ‘Stuff him,’ said Ben.’

      ‘He likes to control the action.’

      ‘He’s not getting a bill and I was working alone.’

      ‘You make him nervous Ben. Your actions are automatically aligned to his company.’

      ‘He makes me nervous, so we’re even.’

      ‘Do you want a drink?’

      ‘No. Why does he want me here?’

      ‘You had better come inside,’ said Rose. ‘He’s in the office.’

      Rose led the way down the hallway to the sunroom at the rear of the house and then left into Rodney’s office. In comparison to the rest of the house décor, the office was in stark contrast. The ceiling and walls were clad in dark timber panelling closely resembling mahogany and may well have been mahogany. Two dark green glass lamps hung over the huge timber desk and were the only source of lighting in the room. The single window was blocked with closed shutters. Rodney sat behind the desk in a thickly padded, high backed leather chair. He was staring at a flat screen computer monitor and tapping at the keyboard.

      Ben had never been in this room and it took him quite by surprise. He stood for a moment, taking in the vast book library which occupied the entire left hand wall and part of the wall behind Rodney’s desk. ‘Are you going to stand there all day or sit down?’

      ‘It’s the first time I’ve been in your engine room,’ said Ben. Rose touched him gently on the shoulder and left, closing the door softly behind her. There were three leather upholstered chairs facing Rodney’s desk. Ben sat down in the middle chair. ‘Should I check the other two chairs out to see which is the most comfortable?’

      ‘Rodney looked over the top of the monitor. ‘They are all the damn same. We don’t play Goldilocks and the Three Bears in this room.’

      ‘You have quite a book collection,’ said Ben. ‘Have you read any of them?’

      Rodney looked back at the computer screen. ‘You are such a funny bastard. Why do I keep you on my payroll?’

      ‘Well obviously Goldilocks and the Three Bears is in there somewhere because you know the story.’

      ‘What is more frightening is that you seem to know the story as well,’ said Rodney.

      ‘Are we going to sit around discussing Goldilocks and the Three Bears, or get onto something else?’ asked Ben.

      Rodney sat back in his chair. ‘I’ve had phone calls about a massive bushfire in the north of New South Wales recently. You seem to be connected.’

      ‘They needed some back burning up that way.’

      ‘Two homesteads were burnt to the ground and people are seeking compensation.’

      ‘Didn’t they have insurance?’ asked Ben.

      ‘The insurers are trying to screw them down.’

      Ben laughed. ‘Now that comes as a surprise. Give me the contact details of the owners and I’ll sort things out. I’ve apparently come into a bit of money recently and I may need to give some of it away.’ (Treasure)

      ‘I don’t want to even hear about that. I’m still handling the fallout from the Federal Government over that damn treasure ship at Port Macquarie. You’re a VIP operative for God sake! Why can’t you just protect the

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