[Ooops! Friday passed me by, and I missed posting my latest episode of my Detective Dan series, Under the Bridge (working title as some recent television series has snaffled it).
So, here it is.
This week I introduce an interesting witness, Warick Wilke who, as my story has progressed, may take on more significance than when I first thought of him. We will see…
On another note, I had feedback about a speculative murder mystery novel I’d written way back in 2010. I had shared a draft with my writer’s group and with my mum. The news was not good. Not good at all. Relegating that manuscript to the bottom of the drawer until I can work out how to fix it.
So, as this current story is a work in progress and essentially a first draft, let me know what you think.]
The Ford
Monday, February 7, 10am
Kapunda
Dan
Dee adjusted her double P2/N45 mask as the pylons of the Northern Expressway flitted past. Her glasses kept fogging up. Dan who had offered to drive the unmarked Camry, wore his supermarket purchased mask as a chin bag.
Dee glared at her partner in the fight against crime. ‘What use is it under your chin, Dan?’
‘I’m driving I need to see.’ Dan sniffed. ‘And breathe.’
‘I don’t want ya germs.’
‘Had no trouble way back in what, ’78,’ Dan replied with a shrug and then lifted the mask to just under his nose.
‘No pandemics back then.’
Dan chuckled. ‘Ah, those were the days.’
Dee huffed, folded her arms across her soft stomach and stared out the window at the Max Fatchen overpass. ‘Glad those days are over,’ she muttered.
‘Wonder what ever happened to them all? Our gang, I mean.’
‘Who cares.’
‘I remember your parties, you’d invite everybody.’
‘Not everyone…there was that skinny, bean pole of a girl with white hair. What was her name? Oh, yes, I remember, Lillie.’ Dee nodded. ‘I’d like to know what happened to her.’
‘Hmmm, Lillie what? Watson?’
‘Something like that,’ Dan laughed.
‘No, I remember, how could I forget? She looked like a reject from the Abba band. All Nordic, ya know. Yes, that’s right, von Erikson. Lillie von Erikson. She had a thing for you, ya know.’ Dee tapped the window. ‘But I put a stop to that. There was something wrong with that girl. In the head. Told her you was mine. And she believed it.’
‘Pity, she may’ve been my perfect match. Remember that show?’
‘How can I forget? I went on it, remember? The guy I got matched up with, let’s just say was not perfect. But I got a free trip to Bali out of it.’
‘Good for you, Dee.’
‘Actually, speaking of matches, I did see that Lillie once years ago. I went to this church up in Norwood one time. I was going through my religious phase.’ Dee coughed. ‘In front of me was this lady. I was admiring her dress and fashion sense. I thought she must’ve bought it from one of those exclusive boutiques in Burnside Village. She had a girl all tarted up though she must’ve been only about tenish. Mini with crop top and midriff showing. Asking for trouble. But the most beautiful auburn waist-length hair…just like the man on the other side of her, who must’ve been her father.’
‘How did you know it was Lillie if you only saw the back of her? Wasn’t Lillie always plainly dressed?’
‘From op shops, yes. But you see, the priest up the front encouraged the congregation to greet each other.’ Dee wrung her hands. ‘So, this lady turns around and with a most beautiful smile on her face, shakes my hand and welcomes me. Then, she looks me in the eye and her smile vanishes. And I notice her nametag, put two and two together and my Sunday was wrecked.’
‘Why?’ Dan looked at Dee. ‘You could’ve kissed and made up.’
‘Never! That girl…I mean, why’s she so blessed? I ask you! And I mean there she was, still looking good, and rich enough obviously to live in the Eastern suburbs and afford clothes from Burnside. And darn it, her husband’s called Jimmy Edwards. Not the Jimmy but lead guitarist of the local band I liked.’
‘Oh, come on, people change. I remember the rumours back then. I heard that her father walked out on the family and her mother had to struggle to continue her education at our college. She refused to send her to the local state school…’
Dee turned her whole body and fixed her eyes on Dan. ‘How do you know so much about her?’
‘We went to the same youth group, Dee. I never went out with her, but we had some friends in common.’
‘So, what happened to her? How did she get so rich?’
Dan scratched his shoulder and took the tricky turn off the freeway to Kapunda. ‘After she finished school, she sort of disappeared. Went interstate for a while. We all went our separate ways, I guess.’
‘Probably got herself into trouble and…’ Dee chortled. ‘Now I remember, her brother was hot.’
‘Sven,’ Dan snorted. ‘Yeah, got married to the girl next door. Young. Didn’t end well, so I heard.’
‘What do you mean? Did he kill someone?’
‘No, they got divorced after a couple of years. But there were custody issues. I remember coming across the case. Still, long time ago. Geez! That poor little mite would be in his forties now. I wonder what he’s up to. Hope he turned out all right.’
The welcome to Kapunda sign appeared followed by the Miner statue on the left. “Karen”, the trusty sat-nav, directed them to a road off the main road to the workshop belonging to Warick Wilke.
Dan pulled the patrol vehicle to a stop in front of the pastel green painted home. A parade of classic cars of varying antiquity lined the driveway leading up to a massive tin shed.
Dan stepped out of the car and smiled. ‘You can always look your nemesis up on Facebook and ask her to be your friend, Dee.’
‘Never!’ Dee replied.
Dan and Dee walked up the path lined with standard Iceberg roses. Dan adjusted his protective facial mask before knocking on the wire-mesh security door.
A man, his face smudged with grease and wiping his hands with a once-white cloth, emerged from the shed. ‘Can I help you?’
Dan pulled out his identity wallet and showed it to the man. ‘DCI Dan Hooper and DCI Dee Berry here. I believe you have new information about a cold case.’
‘Come inside,’ Warick said and gestured to the pair of detectives to enter his humble home. ‘I have it all set up in the dining room.’
Dee’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, my Lord!’
‘You have gone to a lot of trouble, Warick. Do you mind if I take some photos of your findings?’ Dan asked.
Warick placed down his cloth on an antique cedar chair and straightened a photo of a presumedly deceased kangaroo next to an obviously dented bonnet of a 1995 model Ford Falcon station wagon. ‘Best I could do; considering the original Ford Falcon XB’s can be worth in excess of a hundred thousand.’
Dan studied the photo. He’d owned a car such as this. Back in the early 2000’s. Ah! Memories! Camping trips to the Flinders Ranges with his then wife, Kate. His smile faded. Kate insisted the children have a shower each night after hiking. And made the whole family miserable if one of the children muddied their clothes. Scenery was unimportant for his ex, unless of course Kate was prominent in the photo.
‘You may want to compare this,’ Warick said and passed Dan a faded Polaroid photograph of a red 1976 Ford. ‘You can see there’s damage to the right headlight and the right side of the bonnet is caved in a bit, but you can see that a roo makes much more damage.’
Dan nodded. ‘Hmmm, Mad Max.’
Dee snorted and then continued perusing Warick’s wads of paperwork he’d gathered.
‘Also, on further inspection, I noticed that there’s what looks like a streak of black paint on the original.’ Warick quickly pursed and relaxed his lips. ‘I had to use a magnifying glass, but the image came into its own when I scanned it and enlarged it.’
‘Good work,’ Dan said.
‘Do you have a name for the person who brought the car in for repairs?’ Dee asked.
‘You see, it was only years later, upon reflection, that I recalled the motorcycle accident down at Sellicks Beach…I’m still kicking myself. Just that one detail, that one piece of paper—missing,’ Mr. Wilke said with a sigh. ‘I had an apprentice at the time. Great worker, but well, his brains, let’s just say weren’t in his head; they were elsewhere. As for paperwork? Hopeless. And unfortunately, he was responsible for fixing up that car and dealing with the owner.’
‘Name?’ Dan asked.
‘Francis Renard,’ Wilke grunted, ‘never forget that name.’
Dan made a note. ‘Francis Renard, now why does that name ring a bell?’
Dee snorted again. ‘Now there’s a blast from the past.’
Dan leaned over to Dee and whispered, ‘Is he on our records?’
‘Not exactly,’ Dee replied softly but with a sour note in her tone, ‘tell ya later.’
After recording Warick Wilke’s abundance of information about Fords, kangaroos, and receipts of repairs, followed by coffee and sultana cake with an informal interview, come witness statement from Warick, Dan and Dee finally dragged themselves away from the little green house in Kapunda.
‘Francis Renard and Lillie von Erikson, now there’s an odd couple I’ll never forget,’ Dee said as she yanked open the door of their Toyota Camry. ‘Imagine the offspring if there was any.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Dan asked while securing his seatbelt. He smiled, noting that Dee’s mask had slipped to below her chin after coffee and cake, and had yet to migrate up to cover it again. ‘There were rumours. Her friend, Fifi Edwards was quite concerned for her after an end-of year party.’
‘Ooh, you do remember her. Thought so.’ Dee checked her image in the mirror. ‘Wonder what happened to Francis? A mechanic: that sounds about right. If he’s the same Francis Renard, he didn’t strike me as the academic type.’
Dan tapped the steering wheel, then adjusted the visor to minimise the glare of the late afternoon sun. ‘Francis Renard, I’m sure I know him from somewhere.’
‘Probably do, Dan. It’s Adelaide.’
© Tessa Trudinger 2024
***
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