Justice Prevails

Chapter One

Situated in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales is the town of Lithgow and Lithgow is the home town of Senior Police officer Frank Hassen. Although Frank had been born in the Blacktown Public Hospital, he had lived in Lithgow since the age of three months. He attended the Zig-Zag primary school and then the Lithgow High School. His first employment was at Berlie; underwear factory; as assistant to Jean in the packing department. As Jean did not take kindly to working with new juniors, she had asked her boss to appoint older workers to her. But to the surprise of the factory workers and even more a surprise to Jean, she and Frank got on like a house on fire.

To describe our Frank, he is as thin-as-a-bean pole and five feet four inches tall in his bare feet. His unruly thick, wavy dark brown hair always managed to fall across his forehead. His good nature and honest-to-John honesty and all the other crap that goes with it, were purely unbelievable… but then… that was Frank. One had to admit though, that the handsome thirty year old officer looked younger than his years.

At age eighteen and having wanted to try the army, Frank joined the reserves. But it was three months after joining that he was exempted on the grounds that he was too bronchial for the strenuous exercises involved in army training.

The war went on without him. He was saddened to read about the casualties of the war. Boys much younger than him being killed or maimed.

At age twenty and with his bronchitis having given him little trouble, Frank applied to join the Lithgow police force. It was like what every young rookie dreamed of, but Frank found the training not as easy as he thought. It was hard and disciplined. But! Frank being a stickler, he persevered. It was over the years that he had gotten promotions. In 1946 he became senior patrol officer.

The year, 1950, Frank had been in the police force for just on ten years.

The Lithgow Police Station was on the corner of Mort and Bridge Streets and as was mentioned earlier, Frank’s place of work. The old brick building although not massive is greatly known for its historic history. Adjoining the Lithgow Police Station is the just-as-historic Lithgow Court House. On Court days, the courthouse accommodates many visitors; who, if you attended the court sessions, would witness the nervous reactions of the accused, with their defeatist looks of wishing they were elsewhere, . . . But! As the old adage goes… You do the crime – you do the time, and/or pay the fine.

Lithgow being well noted for its unpredictable weather; it was the middle of May; the humidity of the past few days was out of character. The temperature being almost eighty Fahrenheit, becoming almost a heat-wave, was showing no signs of relief.

The weather-man’s forecast of the past two days of, There can be expected heavy rains within the next twenty four hours. with no results had Frank thinking that the coming rain was a figment of the weatherman’s imagination.

Elbows firm on his desk, Frank tried concentrating on some paper-work. Although the two roof-fans were full on, the room was still muggy.

Having several times wiped his long cotton shirt sleeve across his forehead, Frank tried concentrating several more minutes on the paperwork in front of him. His concentration having waned, he deliberately dropped his pen onto the desk. Slumping lethargically against the back of his chair, he again wiped at his forehead with his sleeve. Ignoring the wide patch of perspiration on his sleeve, it was with slight amusement that he looked over at the young, blonde, blue-eyed assistant officer deep in concentration on the mountain of paper work on his narrow desk. Studying the young officer, Frank recalled several monthss earlier when he was introduced to his temporary junior officer. Frank had taken an instant liking to the twenty three year old Archie, and was pleased to have him as his temporary partner.

Sitting up straight then giving a yawn and then a hard stretch, Frank asked, How’s everything going at home, Archie? Getting no answer, and knowing Archie’s concentration to be deep, Frank spoke louder, How are things going at home, Arch?

Jerking slightly but not looking up, Archie spoke absently, Just so—so, Frank.

Slouched in his chair, the grinning Frank quipped, You’re as chirpy as a decomposed budgie, Arch!

His pen raised like an Author’s hand paused for thought, Archie looked across at Frank as he drawled, It’s this darned heat, Frank. I’m not used to it. It really is getting to me.

Join the club, Arch.

Archie continued with the paper work.

The loud clap of thunder, followed instantly by the flash of lightning, had Archie jump violently, causing him to knock a small pile of papers off his cluttered desk.

The unexpected clap of thunder had Frank also jerking heavily. Noticing Archie’s sudden display of energy as he bent to retrieve the papers from under his desk, Frank, grinning across at the young officer quipped good humouredly, Nice curves Arch!

If looks could kill, Archie’s should have killed Frank. Pushing the papers aggressively back onto the desk as he straightened up, Archie quipped back, I spent all morning arranging those documents!

It was one o’clock when both officers had almost finished their paperwork. It was Frank, who, giving out with another wide stretch and loud yawn, asked Archie, I’m going for a lunch break, Arch, you coming? Looking around the room towards the young woman officer in the adjoining room, Frank thought, Well! Someone has to look after the station. Standing briskly, he headed over to Marion, Are you able to hold the fort for half an hour, Marion?

Looking slowly from her papers and with an affirmative voice, Marion answered, Sure Frank!

Outside and with their caps placed neatly on their heads, Frank and Archie walked the several yards to The Court House hotel. Entering the bantering establishment, Frank was disappointed to see all the tables occupied. Relieved to see the two heavy built men vacating a corner table he unceremoniously pushed Archie roughly in front of him. Hedging between the tables, the two settled into the straight-backed wooden chairs.

From the bar came a slurred, Hello! Frankie Boy!

Sitting at the square wooden table and looking across at the owner of the voice, Frank called back, ‘Hello Jim!" Turning from the drunken old-timer, Frank gave his lunch order to the waiting barmaid.

As was the usual for Archie, he said, I’ll have the same, Sheila. Both officers waited patiently for their lunches. Their lunch finally arriving, the silverside, potato and salad was welcomed and both men ate hungrily. Gulping down the last of their orange juice, they hedged their way back towards the bar. At the bar, Frank joked to the barmaid then stated, A great meal Sheila! See you tomorrow, same time. Patting the intoxicated Charlie lightly on the shoulder, he said, Catch you later digger!

Giving Sheila a light wave and a wink, Archie called, A great meal, Sheila!

It had been almost an hour after Frank and Archie had been back at their desks that the heavy down pour battered down with a vengeance onto the tin roof. Both men looked across at each other. It was Frank who quipped, That was good timing on our part, Arch!

Not sure whether a soaking would have been good, to cool them down, Archie quipped back, We sure missed a drenching!

One good thing came from the sudden torrential down-pour; the humidity of the past days began to ease.

Frank had been happy with the much needed rain, but several days of having to dash to his car and then to his house, had him cursing the rain. The rain, showing no signs of letting up and having to walk steep soggy and slippery foot-paths at far out farms, Frank was feeling some what cantankerous. His soaking Macintosh dropping excess water into his already soaked shoes and having to fight his way across overgrown lawns as well, it was safe to say that our honest-to-goodness Frank was not his usual cheery self.

His own yard being in much need of mowing, Frank wished he had mowed it last week-end when the weather had been dry. His intentions to also re-cement his front path; at some stage, had seemed a reality… but like everything else… it was another gunna. His backyard, almost a jungle, and not wanting to get his shoes more soaked then they already were and getting more sticky paspalum burrs on his trousers hanging out his washing, Frank’s make-shift clothes-line in the garage, sufficed for his needs.

The constant rain brought a chill to the air and Frank, having enjoyed the freedom of short-sleeved shirts, now resorted; to his annoyance, to wearing a jumper. Jumpers irritated him. They made him itch. He guessed the fluke heat-wave was truly gone.

Frank, being between girl-friends and with his married mates staying at home for the weekend and taking advantage of the weather to catch up on long awaited ‘home duties’. Knowing what those home duties were, Frank felt slightly envious. Where girlfriends were concerned, Frank was a gentleman. Treating them like Royalty until he could figure out if he wanted a relationship. It was because of his gentlemanly traits that his dates were few and far between. He was looking for his nemesis’ but had not yet found her as yet.

So it was that Frank found himself spending the wet weekend miserably at home with his loyal feline, Chelsie. Saluting the sleeping cat with his full glass, Frank relaxing in his chair and slowly drank his beer. When he wasn’t staring at the television he was staring at the walls. Soon his mood swung to brooding as he reminisced eight years back… to 1942… about his old partner Jimmy. Poor Jimmy. He had not wanted to join the police force. It had been Frank’s persistence about how great he would feel when he joined, that had convinced Jimmy that Frank was right. It was some months after Jimmy joined the force that he and Frank volunteered for a trial transfer to the Newtown Police Station.

Gloria, Jimmy’s Lithgow High School sweetheart’s family had moved to Newtown and Jimmy still kept in touch with Gloria, so the transfer to Newtown Police Station had been no big task on Jimmy’s behalf to accept, so with Frank, Jimmy transferred.

It was six months after their transfer to the Newtown Police Station, in the small Church at Belfield, NSW that Jimmy and Gloria were married; Frank was best man.

Within a few months, Jimmy bought a neat two-bedroom house in Erskineville. Frank worked hard with Jimmy to make the old house just as Gloria wanted it. Several gardens were established with a small manicured lawn; what you could call a lawn. Moving into a rental apartment, close by, Frank had helped Jimmy paint the house. It was in that same year, 1946, that Jimmy and Gloria’s son Bobby was born. Watching Bobby grew into a happy toddler, Frank loved him as his own son. So? Frank asked himself, Why did Jimmy have to be the Hero and go get himself killed? He had a wife and a son. Why hadn’t Jimmy waited for backup? A vision of the large steel shed at the Darlington warehouse came back to haunt Frank. He was seeing Jimmy’s limp form lying just inside the narrow opening of the shed. Disregarding his own safety, Frank had raced to the wounded Jimmy. He had listened hard to Jimmy’s last whispered words, Ba… dr… but could not comprehend what they meant. By the time the ambulance arrived, Jimmy was dead.

Soon after Jimmy’s funeral, Frank asked for and had gotten a transfer back to Lithgow.

Ignoring his smarting eyes, Frank looked sheepish down at the now snoring, Chelsie, Bringing his thoughts back to the present and frowning absently for sometime at his dark coloured walls, Frank suddenly exclaimed, Heck! I’ll have to change that colour. Purple! YUCK! It doesn’t go with my green lounge and brown cupboards. He then quipped, That’s another gunna, Chelsie old girl

By late Sunday, the rain had become a light shower and Frank was glad the weekend was over and that it was Monday.

Donning his police uniform then settling the gun pouch on his hips, Frank holstered his gun to a comfortable position at his waist. His cap neatly over his black-wavy hair and with car keys clutched between his fingers, he headed jubilantly for the front door. Although the rain was light, it still had Frank hurrying to his garage door. At the doorway, he gave a grin towards the blue Holden parked crooked, and the washing hanging close to its roof. Cheerfully he greeted, Good morning Betsy, old girl!

Entering the police station everything seemed exceptionally quiet. Seeing Archie hunched diligent and busy over his paper—strewn desk doing his paper-work and seeing the other office empty, Frank strode to his desk. Placing his cap at the corner of his desk, then slowly sitting, he began flicking lackadaisical through his paper work.

Frank and Archie were not full time desk clerks but needed to fill in time when they were not patrolling their beats.

RINNNNNG ! . . . RINNNNNG!

Archie’s ignoring of the piercing ringing, Frank sarcastically scoffed, Don’t bother yourself to get up, Arch… I’ll answer it. Grabbing the phone hard to his ear, Frank promptly answered, Lithgow police station. This is Senior Officer Hassen speaking. How can I be of help? Listening patiently to the anxious voice at the end of the line, Frank asked, Where is the location please, Sir? Dropping the phone onto its cradle, Frank grabbed up his hat. Scraping his chair loud as he stood up, he called to the now curiously watching Archie, We’ve got a corpse! . . . It’s a Jane-Doe! Leaning back in his chair, Frank called over to Marion, You have to mind the station again, Marion!

Without looking up, Marion called back, Will do, Frank!

With hats settled on their heads and gun poaches secure at their waists, Frank and Archie hurried from the station. Ignoring the continuing light rain, Frank strode heavily over to the police car.

By the time it took Frank to reach the Hartley cemetery and the row of graves described by the caller on the phone, the light rain had stopped.

Struggling between much overgrown shrubs that the mystery caller had described to get to the grave, Frank was beginning to wonder if the informer had led them on a wild-goose-chase. He soon had his answer. The closer he walked, the smell became fouler.

Squatting some distance from the decomposing body of a young woman, the grey sky lent an eerie atmosphere to Frank’s emotions. Frank felt nauseous. Not looking up at the wide staring-eyed Archie, he spoke matter-of-fact, You better put an APB out on her Arch. Someone might be able to identify her.

Having kept standing and wanting to heave, Archie stood relaxed beside Frank. Frank’s words had Archie suddenly stand stiffly. Giving Frank a heavy salute, he hoarsely quipped. Wilco! Will do! Frank!

Striding hurriedly towards the patrol car, Archie unnecessarily called back, I’m on my way, Frank!

Momentarily distracted; by Archie’s antics, from the beautiful red-haired drenched corpse, Frank watched Archie saunter quickly and precariously across the roughened mud track.

Not seeing the long thick branch across the pathway in time, Archie teetered precariously over it, stumbling several feet before balancing himself, then getting into the police car. Watching the disappearing Archie into the police car, Frank had to admit that the handsome officer, although dedicated to his job, was sometimes hard to wear.

Half an hour after Archie had put out the APB, Frank was still deep in thought. Trudging back-and-forth, a slight distance from the corpse; his handkerchief pressed tight to his mouth and nose, he intensely studied the scene.

It was the unexpected heavy slap on his back that caused Frank to recoil violently and jump nervously, dropping his handkerchief and drawing in the dead fumes. His sudden coughing lasted a short time. He wanted to wretch.

Waiting for Frank’s coughing to subside, Inspector McDougal, half gazing at the body, and with good humour, accused, Your nerves are sure in a bad way Officer Hassen! Ignoring the stench, McDougal leant closer to the corpse, tutted then stated, It’s a crying shame. She seemed to have been a good-looking woman. But I have to admit though, I’ve never seen hair that colour red before. She probably hennaed it a lot. Walking slowly around the body, he added, Yeah! A real waste of human life. Tilting his cap slightly from his forehead and as he strode briskly past Frank, McDougal said, See you back at the station, Frank.

Frank’s distracted, Yeah Mac! . . . See you later! was wasted on McDougal who was already hurrying to his unmarked police car.

Looking again at the death scene, Frank held his palm outwards and for the umpteenth time he examined the large cigarette butt. His earlier examining of the stiff, cold fingers and now his further examining of the woman’s unblemished fingers revealed to Frank that she hadn’t smoked. Grimacing at the beautiful face and thick reddish-auburn hair, his seeing no signs of a struggle he saw that death had been instant. He ruefully surmised that being shot in the back of the head only stood to reason for her quick and clean demise. Remembering McDougal’s words, Frank gave an involuntary smile at his own thoughts, It sure was a waste. McDougal was right. She certain as heck had been a good looker.

The arrival of the coroner and medic team, Frank and Archie left the group to review the corpse. Turning to Archie, Frank ordered, Okay Officer, let’s head back to the station, you have paper work to finish. At Archie’s grimace, Frank, clapping him on his shoulder, said. No worries! So do I… partner."

With prowess, Frank managed to maneuver the police car back onto the main road.

Chapter Two

It was early evening, several miles from the murder scene, in the tree-lined cul-de-sac, in the vicinity of Lidsdale, that a red Porsche crawled to a stop beside the steps of the massive white brick Mansion. The two men, their poise and expensive looking clothes showing obvious wealth, alighted from the rich interior of the car and strode purposefully up the white wide steps. At the heavy wooden and varnished door, having pressed the bell, they waited patiently while the musical door chimes echoed inside. Several minutes later the door was opened by a tall blonde blue-eyed, Apollo named, Vince Collin. The white long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned at the chest, the slightly tight slacks and shining black leather shoes, Vince’s attire was similar to a buccaneer.

With false joviality, Vince welcomed Mervyn Crow and Bert Benson, Hi! Squinting, Vince looked expectantly past them to their car then asked flippantly, Where is Gloria?

Without answering, Mervyn Crow pushed past him and hurrying into the vast luxuriously decorated lounge room, heaved himself heavily onto the well padded single lounge, causing the air in the cushion to make a loud hissing noise.

Having escorted Bert Benson inside, then closing the door, Vince jumped nervously at the hissing sound and angrily retorted, Watch the merchandise, will you, Mervyn.

Sarcastically Mervyn yelled, Okay! Okay! Don’t upset your ulcers, old boy, then ignoring his host’s exasperated look and as though Vince had just asked his earlier question about Gloria, Mervyn spoke carelessly, Gloria wasn’t home when we called for her so we figured she’d be finding her own way here.

Reaching a short podgy hand into the full bowl of peanuts and shoving several large peanuts into his mouth, Mervyn mumbled, Who else is coming, Vince?

RING! RING! RING!

Hurrying to answer the door, Vince grudgingly looking back, called, Just the usual crowd. Seeing Mervyn pushing another fistful of peanuts into his almost full mouth, Vince added sarcastically, Why don’t you help yourself to more peanuts Merv! . . . PAL!

Shoving in another handful, Mervyn mumbled, Thanks… I will.

RINNNG! RINNNNG!

The repetitive ringing of the door bell had Vince impatiently opening the door. His impatience momentarily changed into cheerful greeting as he admitted a startling pretty woman draped ethereal-like, in an ankle length shimmering satin gown.

Having glimpsed Vince’s agitation and without speaking, Jean Petro gave him a quick smile then beckoning behind her to the plain looking girl in a loose-fitting red dress, she spoke abruptly, Don’t be shy Lorraine… and do hurry. Almost slithering past Vince, Jean entered the middle of the room with Lorraine awkwardly following her.

Not getting a greeting from the two women, Vince spoke sarcastically to their backs, I feel fine thank you Jean and Lorraine… and yourselves?

Sitting lithely on the three-seater lounge and having heard Vince’s sarcasm, Jean purred back at him, Sarcasm isn’t you, Vince, Darl… ling. At Jean’s looking inviting up at Lorraine then patting the lounge, Lorraine sat nervously beside her.

In frustration, Vince was about to slam the front door when Babs, her ring clustered hand held out towards the door to stop it closing, hurried through the doorway. Brushing noisily past the sour-faced Vince, she sauntered into the white carpeted lounge room and walked over, seating herself next to Jean. Looking around at the familiar faces, she cheerfully greeted, Hello! Everybody! Crossing her stockinged legs, the high split in her burgundy crepe-de-chine dress revealing a lot of thigh. She spoke softly, Hello Jean, and as if it was an after thought, she grudgingly greeted, Hello Lorraine.

Jean’s sarcastic, Hello Babs… Darrrling, was lost on Babs, as Babs asked sweetly, And where is dear old Gloria? Is she still suffering a hangover? I haven’t seen her for several weeks. I have spoken to her on the phone though and…

Having no time for the snobbish Babs, Lorraine deliberately turned her attention towards Mervyn. Noticing Mervyn’s wane look, Lorraine asked, Are you alright Mervyn? You do look ill.

Trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably, Mervyn quipped, You don’t know the half of it kid.

It was a sneering Bert who, as he maneuvered his thick-ash cigarette back and forth, flippantly asked, When did ya get back from ya cruise, Vinnie old boy? To Vince’s disgust the grey ash fell onto his newly laid white carpet. Irritably he roused, That’s right Bert! . . . Just burn my flaming’ house down! And for your information! I got back Tuesday… or was it Thurs… yes, it was Thursday.

Mervyn laughed then jeered, What’s ya problem Vince? Can’t ya remember when ya got home?

Agitated at Mervyn’s sarcasm, Vince turned angrily on him. Are you trying to needle me, Mervyn? I should know what day I arrived back. Taking a threatening step towards Mervyn and at Mervyn’s pretence of cowering from him, Vince shrugged his shoulders in indifference as he joined the others. How did your trip go, Jean?

The Islands were beautiful… and rather restful. I wanted to stay longer but…

Turning to Lorraine, Vince asked, How about you, Lorraine?

I couldn’t afford an Island holiday. I visited with my sister in Katoomba. It was a change for me.

Facing Mervyn and with disinterest, Vince asked, Did you holiday in some rich resort?

For your interest, Vincie, I stayed home by my little lonesome…

Interrupting Mervyn, Vince almost spat as he accused, And I came home early to supervise the redecorating of my place… just so Mervyn could wreck it.

Reaching for the remainder of the peanuts, Mervyn gave a loud, Hmph. His deliberate loud crunching on the peanuts was meant to annoy his host.

The party was a rowdy one. At one o’clock in the morning, the party was still in full swing.

Chapter Three

Early morning sunlight penetrated the half open, thick wooden framed window of the Lithgow Police Station. Inside the old brick building it was chilly but a snoring Frank lay sprawled over his desk, his head resting loosely on his folded arms. It was the loud scraping of the chair that startled him awake. Yawning shakily and sleepily, he stretched his arms outwards until he was sitting upright. Yawning wider, he opened his eyes, only to quickly blink as the rays from the warm sun through the window momentarily blinded him.

Seated on the arm of the chair behind Frank, a chuckling Archie gibed, I didn’t think you’d ever wake up, Frank.

Unwittingly, Frank gave another yawn before snapping, Fair go Arch, I’ve been up all night.

His hands held out, Archie apologised, I was only joking Frank! . . . Only joking!

Sorry for snapping Archie, but I’m really tired. Frank’s thoughts were now on the corpse of last night. It had not been straight forward like the usual dead wino’s and prostitutes he’d had the misfortune to encounter in his job and…"

The rowdy boy racing into the station and behind the high desk, and his even rowdier yelling, got Frank and Archie’s full attention.

Mister! . . . HeyMister! Ya have ta come quickly.

Jerking his head up, almost causing himself to have whiplash and momentarily forgetting he was a law officer of impeccable patience, Frank yelled irritably, Hold on kid! Just take it easy!

Hurrying to where Frank was seated the boy grabbed hard at Frank’s shirt-sleeve. The boy’s agitated state had Frank taking him seriously, especially when the boy gasped, It’s a dead woman, Mister!

Gripping the thin long fingers to release the strangle hold on his sleeve, Frank, assuming the boy’s problem was only trouble at home, he chided, Hey kid… take it easy. Now give it to me slowly. Is your mum in some kind of trouble?

Frank could tell that something was genuinely upsetting the boy and this had Frank quickly studying the anxious form. Turning to Archie and seeing him grinning, Frank prudently asked, What’s the big joke, Arch? The boy sounds genuine.

Feigning remorse, Archie apologised, Sorry… Frank.

Take over will you, Arch? This could turn out to be really important…

The boy’s agitated outburst interrupted Frank, It’s damn important all right, Mister. It’s murder.

Archie prudently ordered, You watch your language, kid.

Out on the footpath, Frank stumbled slightly over the boy’s pushbike. Frowning disapproving at the boy, Frank roused. Darn kids.

Frank concentrated on driving as the boy’s stiff pointing finger directed the way towards the crime scene. Noticing the boy’s excitement at being involved in something important, Frank thought he would not disappoint the kid and as he drove along the Hartley Road he turned on the siren. Outside the cemetery gates he turned off the siren. Inside the cemetery, Frank was again finding the precarious dirt track hard to drive along. Wondering to himself as to why anyone should take the trouble to hide a body in the deserted Hartley cemetery, Frank turned to the boy and asked, Are you sure the body was in here?

Stiffly pointing at the thick brush, he yelled, Yeah! It’s over there, Officer… in the shrub.

Parking beside a high clump of dead blackberry bushes, Frank let the boy lead him to the section of the old Hartley Cemetery; known as the ‘The Tombs’.

Pointing to an overgrown bush covering a dilapidated headstone, the boy yelled, It’s over there!

The puddle was deep and muddy. Frank trod in it. He also hadn’t needed more clinging paspalum and a boggy track. Damn, heck! He also didn’t need to be told where the body was. The stench was smothering and bringing back the memory of the other corpse he