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Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd - Val McMurray

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111 pages

English

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Money, the need of an estranged parent, paedophiles or trafficking, these are the usual motives for kidnappers. If their plans fail, fear and panic may end in murder. It is June 1995 in Sydney, Australia. Detective Chief Inspector Martin Janson is investigating a heinous crime: a small boy is missing. It appears random, and motiveless. Janson is frustrated, there are no witnesses and few clues. A troubled Irishman who is said to have a 'mysterious gift' which he uses in the TV show 'Spirits and Mind-blowing Magic'. His manager, a flamboyant, loud showman; a known paedophile, a children's entertainer and a Scotsman, are all suspects. The Irishman, Kieran Madigan, may be a phony, and his 'mysterious gift' a nonsense, thought up for the TV show. Barchester, his manager, is a liar and a fraud, but does that make him guilty? In Melbourne, where two women are found dead, a Scotsman is a major suspect. A Scot was seen near the scene of the crime in Sydney; is there a connection? Detective Chief Inspector Janson and his team race the clock to solve the mystery and find the murderers before it is too late to save the child.

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
Date de parution	31 janvier 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781398431256
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

W hispering S hadows
Val McMurray
Austin Macauley Publishers
2022-01-31
Whispering Shadows About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Sydney, Australia,1995 Sydney, Australia,1965 Martin Janson,1975 Campbelltown, August,1995, Friday A Birthday Party The Wishardt Grande Hotel, Sydney, Suite 812,Sunday morning Monday Liverpool, A Suburb of Sydney Campbelltown Vicky and Mitzi Tommy Albury Tuesday --> Lea’s Home,Monday Late Afternoon Monday Afternoon Albury Cuthbert De La Flores Tuesday morning Cuthbert De la Flores The School Albury Carol Brown Jolly Jimmy Janson Tuesday Afternoon --> The Wishardt Grande Hotel, Sydney,Tuesday Afternoon Gold Coast,Tuesday Evening Lea’s Home,Wednesday Morning Interview,Wednesday The Wishardt Grande Tommy Lea Beckwith’s Home Moore St., Liverpool Bernadette Madigan Lea’s Home Wednesday Midday, Fairfield Campbelltown Amanda Dural --> The TV Studio,Wednesday Evening Sydney,Wednesday Afternoon Albury Thursday Morning Albury Mitzi Lea Tommy Campbelltown Amanda’s Spy Baulkham Hills Amanda Campbelltown Area Commander, Chief Superintendent Carlton Longman Campbelltown Hospital Terry Hanbury Bernadette -->
About the Author
Val McMurray was born in England. As a child, she loved to read and write stories. Since 1965, she has lived in Sydney, Australia. She worked as a trained nurse until retirement. Her husband passed away after a long illness and writing became her solace. She lives alone, but her children and their families live close by. She is a member of a writers group and a book club. Friends encouraged her and several short stories and articles were published. Whispering Shadows is her second book; the first, Halloween Fires , did not sell very well but those who did read it, enjoyed it.
Dedication
For my fabulous family, my faithful friends, and Peter Pike,
in sincere thanks for their unwavering support and encouragement.
Copyright Information ©
Val McMurray 2022
The right of Val McMurray to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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 permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398431225 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398431232 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781398431256 (ePub e-book)
ISBN 9781398431249 (Audiobook)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2022
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
I must thank:
Cathie, Lauris, Stephen and Stef, who read the drafts and helped me with useful criticism and encouragement.
Peter Pike, editor of Freexpression magazine, who has been a friend for many years, and has given me the confidence to write.
Robert, a retired Police Officer, who gave me an insight into police procedures (some of which, I confess to having ignored for the sake of the story.)
Austin Macauley Publishers, for all their hard work in preparing this short book for publication.
All mistakes are my own. All the places and buildings exist but the design of the grounds and interiors are pure imagination. As Stephen Kings says, ‘It’s the story that matters.’
I hope you enjoy my story.
Sydney, Australia

1995
Mitzi Williams ran confidently across the school playground to the toilet block. She crept up the side of the block and smiled; she was going to jump round the corner and shout, ‘Boo!’ She peeped around and froze. He was there: the bad, bad man. She opened her mouth to shout and immediately slapped her hand across her lips. He must not see her. He must not hear her. He crouched on the grass verge beyond the school fence. He had Tommy under his arm. Tommy hung quite still. Mitzi’s heart thumped in her small chest. She couldn’t believe what she had seen. She cowered there until she heard a car start. She peered around the corner and saw a white car drive away. What to do? Mummy. She must tell Mummy. Mitzi ran.
Sydney, Australia

1965
Kieran Madigan played on the floor of the lounge room in his family home. His mother was ironing and his granny was sitting in her armchair busily knitting and watching her three-year-old grandson. It puzzled Kieran, how she could knit without looking at her work but she did. His mother was talking rapidly. She was upset.
‘They said I should have put his name down as soon as he was born! How could that be? We weren’t even living here then.’
His granny replied, ‘Now don’t get yourself all worked up, now. Did they take his name?’
‘Yes, but they said there was no guarantee. It’s the best Catholic school here. Michael will be so angry.’
‘Well then, Michael will have to go see them. He’s teaching. He should have a bit of clout for sure.’
‘He wouldn’t apply to teach at the Brothers. Says the salary isn’t as good as at the public. They’ll hold that against him.’
Granny sighed, ‘Oh, I can’t help wishing your…’
‘Don’t you say that! It doesn’t help!’ snapped his mother.
Kieran paused in his careful efforts to build a super tall tower and looked at his granny. She smiled down at his round freckled face, framed in red curly hair.
He saw a clear picture in his head, of a little old man standing in a bright green field, stroking the neck of a beautiful brown horse. The man turned to Kieran with a wide, almost toothless grin and whispered, ‘Tell your Granny, I’m foin, boy. ’Tis a lovely place.’
Kieran said, ‘Granny, the old man patting the big horse, says to tell you he’s foin. It’s a lovely place.’ Granny made a funny noise and swooped on the little boy, gathering him into her arms. His mother angrily snatched him from her.
‘Where did you hear that, Kieran?’ His mother shook him hard. He began to cry.
‘Don’t, Bernie. Don’t. He has the gift.’ Granny was crying too. His mother smacked him.
He had never seen her so angry. ‘Don’t you dare tell him that. He’s heard it somewhere.’
‘How?’ asked Granny. ‘To be sure we don’t ever mention him. We should speak of him.’
‘It’s all too hard, Mum. I won’t distress you or me with remembering.’ She ran from the room in tears.
Granny hugged Kieran and pulled out her big soft handkerchief to wipe his tears. ‘Don’t you fret, darlin’ boy,’ she whispered. ‘Your own Granddaddy had the gift too. You’ve made me very happy, so you have. Sure, but you must hide it. There’s those who’ll be unkind.’ Kieran had no idea what he had done that was so wrong in his mother’s eyes and yet it had pleased Granny.
Martin Janson

1975
Julia Marie Havelock glanced at the good-looking man driving the police car. His warm, dark brown eyes were fixed on the road ahead. She loved him desperately. She stroked his knee. Constable Martin Janson shook his head. He loved this small, pretty, new constable. The first time she walked into the station, it had hit him hard; this peculiar surge of wanting her. It had been an astonishing coincidence, this morning; they had both been assigned to this job. After that first sight of her, he had only seen her at meetings or in the café across the street from the station. That was where they had met, and he had managed to ask her out. After that, they had been together as much as possible but always away from work. He glanced at her and said, ‘Julie, not on duty. We’ll both be out on our ears if anyone finds out.’ She removed her hand.
‘Sorry. No, I’m not sorry, but it’s so hard; all the sneaking around hoping we don’t meet anyone we know. I’ll ask for a transfer.’
‘That might be a good idea, but not too far away. You’d also have to have a very good reason for a request like that and you can’t give this.’
‘I know.’ She lapsed into silence and stared out of the window.
They pulled up outside an old weatherboard house. Janson stepped out of the car and joined Julia at the broken gate. Tall, thin Janson towered over his companion. She looked up.
‘What’s the drill?’
‘Well, the Cockswains are a bad lot. Steve is maybe the worst. But he’s in jail. We just need to talk to Mick, the brother, about the armed robbery in Fairfield. No real link yet, except the M O’s are similar, so, just a friendly chat.’
‘Right.’
Julia preceded him up the three concrete steps. As Janson followed her, he was thinking how beautifully her blond hair shone in the sunshine. She reached the door and raised her hand. The door swung open before she could knock and the shot sounded loudly as the young woman collapsed at his feet. Janson dodged to one side and pulled his gun. A second loud report and he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He fired at the man in the doorway. The man doubled over and fell against the door jamb. Janson dropped to his knees and bent over Julia’s crumpled body. Screams came from inside the house and a woman appeared shouting, ‘Murdering pigs! Bloody, murdering pigs!’ She crouched over Mick Cockswain. Janson was aware of people running. A man shouted, ‘I’ll call the ambo’s.’ Janson blacked out.
He woke in hospital. The bullet had been removed and his shoulder was heavily bandaged. Senior Constable Tom Brunswick was sitting beside him.
‘Well, hi there Marty; back in the land of the living eh?’
Janson shifted and felt a sharp stab of pain. He winced.
‘Take it easy,’ said Tom.
‘Julia?’ Janson asked, desperately hoping she might be alright.
‘Yeah, sorry, mate, she died at the scene, shot through the heart. Ambo’