More... Dick Sleuth Mysteries: Volume 2

INTRODUCTION

Dick Sleuth is a private detective who has worked diligently for more than three decades in trying to solve the unsolvable. He rightfully calls himself, Tasmania’s Number One Detective. There are many, however, who would dispute this. I am proud to say that I am not one of these. ‘Who am I?’ I hear you ask. I am Dick’s (or his real name, Eddie Morrison’s) cousin. I am the biographer of his many cases over the years; proud to call myself the poor man’s Dr Watson.

Dick is something of an enigma. Sherlock Holmes and other great crime solvers used their wits as well as any clues offered up to them to solve their crimes. Dick, however, is lacking in wit as well as crime solving skills. He does not try to be smart because he is not smart; he does not dust for fingerprints nor look for hidden spots of blood or any other clues, because he is not fiddly when it comes to taking the time to search for these important clues.

Dick is something of a hands on man; a spade is a spade to him. He usually, (and sometimes dangerously) dives in head first to solve his crimes. Surprisingly, this gives him a great success rate and has helped to spread his fame world-wide, far beyond the shores of Tasmania. I am proud to say that I have helped spread this fame by documenting, from the many scraps of paper given to me by Dick, some of his cases, firstly in the Dick Sleuth Mysteries, and now, in this current volume, More... Dick Sleuth Mysteries. I am already in the process of compiling a third volume of Dick Sleuth cases, Still More... Dick Sleuth Mysteries to be released sometime in late 2018 or early 2019. This is for those of you who cannot get enough of this bumbling and reckless private investigator.

My association with Dick does not end there. I may be his biographer, but my wife, Helena, now works for Dick, helping to organize his daily working life — trying to put his appointments in order and in general, helping to solve some of his unsolvable crimes. I would be lying if I said I was happy with this arrangement — Dick’s life is filled with danger. Helena is independently minded, of course, so it is nearly impossible to talk sense into her. Nevertheless, I know that she will be a valuable addition to Dick’s crime solving skills and that she will also help balance her common sense with Dick’s reckless foolishness...

I hope you enjoy reading the following cases, cases Dick Sleuth is proud to add to his ever-expanding portfolio...

JUST WHERE IS TASMANIA?

Many readers knowledge of Tasmania will be somewhat limited by where Tasmania is located. The reader will, of course, be familiar with Australia, but if you look at a map of this vast continent filling the empty void in the southern hemisphere, the reader will also notice a tiny island hanging off the south-east tip of the Australian continent. The island is not too small, being slightly smaller in size to Ireland. Here are some facts and figures on Tasmania:

Tasmania is located 240 kilometres (150 miles) from the mainland and is separated from it by the Bass Strait. The area of the island is 64,500 square kilometres (24,900 square miles), making it the 26th largest island in the world. Much of Tasmania, particularly on the west coast is covered by extensive forests that include the famous Huon Pine. The South-West National Park is a unique World Heritage forest, with a landscape showing us how much of the planet looked more than 100,000 years ago.

The population of Tasmania is over 500,000 people, with the capital located in Hobart in the south-east. Other large cities include Launceston, Devonport and Burnie, all in the north of the island.

Tasmania was first occupied by the Aborigines more than 60,000 years ago. They crossed from the Australian mainland via a land bridge caused by successive Ice Ages, before finally becoming isolated from the mainland after the last Ice Age of some 10,000 years ago. The first European to discover Tasmania, (which he named Van Diemen’s Land) was the Dutch explorer, Abel Tasman in 1642. In 1803, the British who had already claimed mainland Australia set up a penal colony and settlement on the island, thereby preventing the French from claiming it during the Napoleonic Wars. In 1901, Tasmania officially became a state of Australia...

THE HOWLING MAN

A Book Length Dick Sleuth Mystery

1. THE DISPUTE

1804: The people were surprised when they saw the five men down by the river. Rumours had spread along the river and into the nearby forest of strangers who were living far to the south — now these mysterious men had suddenly appeared in the tribal lands of the people. The people, the Panninher, had lived in this region for more than 40,000 years. Now others, the white strangers from the south were invading their lands...

George Williams sat down to rest for a moment on the fallen tree. He was looking in the direction to the south, hidden by the early morning mist rising up from the river. Much had happened in the previous two weeks; these happenings filled Williams with both excitement and fear. For the first time in his twenty four years, Williams was filled with a sense of freedom, total freedom for one who had spent the last seven years of his short life as a convict in the remotest penal settlement in the world. The freedom was the excitement he was now feeling; the fear was the fate that he would face if he and his companions were recaptured — the tightening noose around their necks and the (hopefully) sharp and short pain when they were hanged from the gallows in the Hobart penal settlement.

Do you think they are still chasing us? asked the man as he slumped down beside Williams. The man, Richard Upson had been obsessed with this question since their escape two weeks before. Upson had good reason to be more afraid than the others. He had murdered a prison guard during the escape and therefore, his fate would be a much harsher one if recaptured. What this harsher fate, far harsher than being hanged by the neck, Upson could only guess in the troubled nightmares haunting his restless sleep.

They gave up long ago, Williams, who had taken on the leadership of the group, assured him. There’s a lot of forest between them and us. We are in unexplored territory — no white men have entered these lands. We are the only ones. Who knows? Maybe there are no aborigines here either. We haven’t seen an aboriginal for six days now. We are completely safe. I am sure of it.

I don’t think so, said one of the other men. He was standing on a short rise not far from where Williams and Upson were seated. The man was pointing in the direction of the nearby forest on the other side of the river. The mist had now quickly lifted, revealing a group of figures emerging from the shadows where they had been closely watching the five escaped men.

Aborigines! cried Upson. He stood up, before hurriedly grabbing the musket leaning against the tree next to where he was seated. The musket had been stolen from the soldier Upson had killed during the escape two weeks previously.

Bang!

The figures on the other side of the river quickly scattered into the darker shadows of the surrounding forest. There was a curse and the musket was forcefully grabbed from Upson’s hands. There will be no trouble! Williams threw the musket onto the ground.

Do you think threatening and frightening them will make them go away? Upson remained silent. Williams glanced once more in the direction of the river. The forest was empty — the people had fled, or had they?

An hour later, when the five desperate and tired men began their journey once more, the shadowy figures had returned. This time there were more than twenty of them, all armed with long spears and small bark shields. They followed from a distance, careful to stay out of musket range. Williams was becoming increasingly alarmed.

We can see them during the daylight but what will happen at night? he said to his companions.

We can build a fire, replied Upson, still angry with Williams’ reaction at the river. Williams was holding the musket; he had refused to return it to Upson and to make matters worse, Williams was suddenly laughing.

Build a fire? They will creep up on us in the darkness and when they are twenty feet away, still hidden by this darkness, they will then unleash their spears. A single musket will be no good in the shadows of the night. He glanced at the figures still following them from a safe distance.

We must think of something else.

"The battle must be fought now," demanded Upson. There was a general murmur of agreement from the others. Williams placed the musket on the ground and stepped back several paces. One of the men reached down to pick it up but Williams ordered him away.

We must make peace with them, Williams insisted. The man carefully studied the musket lying on the ground. He seemed to hesitate before finally stepping away. Williams then motioned for all of the men to step back a short distance; only the cynical Upson refused.

They will kill us, he moaned, looking at the others for support. All of their eyes, however, were on Williams. All of them knew that one musket would not and could not save them, whether it was daylight or night. In the time it took the aborigines to overwhelm them, one shot only could be fired. It was a case of simple mathematics: Can one musket ball kill twenty attackers?

The musket lay on the ground with the five men standing some distance from it, their eyes closely studying the twenty armed warriors slowly approaching them with caution. The aborigines obviously suspected trickery from the white men whose strange actions over the previous days they had observed with mystified curiosity. Finally, one of them motioned for the others to stop. The lone figure then continued forward, his companions standing with their spears and shields raised at the ready.

When he was less than fifty paces away, the lone man stopped and lowered his own spear and shield, which he gently placed on the ground. He then proceeded forward another ten paces before stopping once more. Williams also stepped forward until finally, the faces of the two men were less than an arm’s length from each other.

Williams could see the deep lines etched into the man’s face — tribal tattoos of unknown meaning, which only added to his fears. He was thinking that the man standing before him was nothing more than an ignorant savage. He had seen the results of this savagery on several occasions in Hobart, when the bloodied bodies of convicts working in farms on the outskirts of the colony had been brought in — their bodies marked with the six or seven spears that had taken their lives. Some of the less fortunate even had their skulls bashed in, or their limbs cut away with flint knives; others had simply disappeared, leaving pools of blood to mark where they had once existed. Williams was now wondering as to his own possible fate. Strangely, the gallows in Hobart seemed a far less horrible fate.

We do not want trouble, Williams told the man standing before him. The man watched him with suspicious eyes, but remained silent.

We will build our houses beside the river, Williams informed him. We will live in peace and not bother you. The man remained silent.

We will not harm you or your women and children. The man’s suspicious eyes continued looking closely into the nervous eyes of Williams. The man suddenly glanced in the direction of the musket. Williams was now quick to understand the suspicions. He walked over to the musket and picked it up. He could see the other warriors cautiously advancing a few steps forward with their spears raised. Williams knew what had to be done.

Snap!

The broken pieces of the musket dropped to the ground. The warriors stopped their advance, lowering their spears and shields once more, while the man who had stood before Williams broke into a broad grin. He muttered a few words in his native language before turning and quietly joining the others. They then marched silently back into the shadows of the forest, leaving the intruders huddled round the broken musket to ponder their own fate.

Are you insane! demanded Upson as he reached down and picked up the broken pieces. How will we hunt? What if they should come back?

We can make our own spears to hunt with, said Williams, glancing towards the forest. If they intended on killing us, they would have done so by now. We must learn to live in peace with them. He was wondering who the they were and what the unknown people called themselves, and more importantly, who was the man he had spoken with? The people of the forest were a complete mystery, a mystery that needed to be solved if Williams and his companions were to survive in this hostile land. There will be no more disputes, vowed Williams. He noticed Upson and one of the others looking at him with a smirk on their faces...

Time meant very little to the escaped convicts in their new life deep in the forests of northern Tasmania. One day merged into another — one week into another — a month passed, and then another...

The settlement beside the river soon consisted of four roughly made wooden huts, along with the one cross sitting in the small clearing in the nearby forest. It was not very surprising that it was George Williams who was the lone occupant of this cemetery. Williams was the self-elected spokesman of the group, all had agreed upon this with one exception: Upson.

One day there was an accident when Williams was alone in the forest hunting kangaroos. It was presumed by the others when they eventually found him that Williams had lost his footing on a muddy slope, tumbling down before finally becoming impaled on his hunting spear. Strangely, on that same day, Upson was also hunting nearby. There were silent suspicions, but Upson was a man not to be messed with. The accident was readily accepted by the others. Another month passed, with the words from George Williams, "There will be no more disputes," long forgotten by those seeking refuge and safety in the forest...

The Present Day: The agitated man was sitting in Dick’s Primrose Street office in Hobart. He was leaning back on the red sofa and there was a troubled look on his face. He was breathing heavily and at times; his nervous fingers fidgeted with the cracked leather of the sofa.

This is the first part of my story, the man informed Dick. The detective leaned back in his own chair and sighed softly. He was confused as to why the man was so nervous and so jumpy over something so trivial.

The case is solved. You have already told me who the murderer is: Mr Upson. It was your ancestor! There was a touch of triumph in Dick’s words. The man shook his head.

It is obvious to all, even an idiot, that my ancestor murdered George Williams. I don’t need to hire a detective to tell me this. Do you think I am stupid, Mr Sleuth? Dick merely raised his eyebrows but remained silent. Business was slow and he didn’t want to lose a paying customer, even if there was no real case to solve, one that would test his detective skills.

I will continue with my story, said Mr Upson finally after he had calmed down. I will tell you the reason I have come to see you, Mr Sleuth. I will continue with my story, he repeated again. I will now tell you about the Howling Man...

2. THE HOWLING MAN HOWLS

1804: Upson had had enough of the outside interference. The settlement beside the river deep within the forest had grown considerably in recent months, but there was no need for this trouble. The four men lived peacefully with their wives, women from the nearby tribe whom they had purchased by trading a blunt iron knife along with pieces of metal from the broken musket. It would seem that metal was like gold to these people whose only implements were ones of stone.

I will speak with him, Upson told the others. I will take one of the women with me to translate. I know who the troublemaker is and I will stop him. Upson was thinking about this so-called trouble, trouble that seemed to bother only him and not his companions.

It began each morning before the mist lifted from the river. Upson would go to the river to wash and then he would notice the man sitting on the ground beside the grave of George Williams. On the first occasion, Upson had been terrified, thinking it was the ghost of the man he had murdered. He had quickly retreated, but on the second morning and after a troubled night of sleep, he noticed the ghostly figure was the man Williams had spoken with on the morning of the first encounter between the invaders and the people.

What do you want! Upson cried out to the seated man. The man remained silent, his faced filled with a grim expression. He looked towards Upson with a look that filled Upson’s body with a cold chill. The man had then quietly stood up and walked back into the forest. This strange ritual had occurred every morning for the past week. Upson was determined it would come to an abrupt end.

He is a spirit man, one of the wives informed Upson after he described the man to her. He is a man not to be messed with. He has strong magic, the magic of the forest. The spirit man is an evil man. He is everywhere. Upson was confused.

The spirit man? Everywhere?

The Panninher people depend on the forest to survive, continued the woman. "To do this, we must make peace with the forest and obey its strict laws. The kangaroos and all the other living creatures in the forest also abide by these laws. They are laws, which must not be broken. The spirit man ensures this; break the laws of the forest and you will be punished."

I have broken no laws, insisted Upson.

I have heard the whispers of the others.

What do you mean? demanded Upson. The woman looked fearfully at him before explaining.

They say that you murdered the man whose name is George Williams. Upson laughed loudly.

It was a long time ago, he said. It doesn’t matter any more. He looked uneasily in the direction of the clearing, expecting to see the man seated beside the grave. It was late morning, however, and the man was gone.

What does the murder of Williams have to do with this spirit man and the laws of the forest? Upson asked the woman.

The forest cannot be touched with blood.

The Panninher people hunt animals in the forest, Upson replied. If a hunter spears a kangaroo then there is blood. The woman shook her head.

This is different.

Why is it different? he asked.

The kangaroo is given up to the hunter by the forest. It is an offering, one which must be respected. There is no waste. The kangaroo feeds the people and in return, the people protect the forest from outside evil.

Am I and my three companions considered evil?

You are all outsiders, replied the woman. Only one has committed evil by foolishly killing another. Only one has stained the forest with unwanted blood. The spirit man will have his revenge. Again, Upson laughed loudly but it was a worried laugh.

He was thinking about the man’s face, the spirit man — a similar face to one he had seen in Hobart shortly before his escape. The man in the forest in the north of Tasmania had exactly the same face as the man in Hobart. Everything was the same: the eyes were dark and questioning eyes sunken into their sockets; the lines of the mouth were exaggerated into both a smile and a frown; the hair was matted and caked in dry clay; the skin was painted in orange ochre. Yes! What did the orange colour symbolise? Perhaps it was a mark of the spirit men to have their bodies painted in this orange. Oddly, Upson was convinced it was the same man.

How could he have travelled from Hobart? Upson asked himself. The journey took nearly two weeks through dense forest and across wild rivers. The man in Hobart was from a different tribe... He was thinking back to his fatal meeting with the aboriginal man in the far south. The meeting had continually haunted Upson’s sleep and was one of the reasons for his escape from Hobart. The convict life was a hard life, but tortured dreams were a far harder reality to face than the sting of the lash and manual labour that could break a man’s back.

"How could it be the same man? I killed him in Hobart!"

It was later in the day when Upson questioned one of the other women about the spirit man. He is the husband of the woman who is now your wife, she told him. There is no such thing as forest law. He has simply come to reclaim his wife. This is why he is bothering you. The words were spoken in hesitation and Upson was convinced the woman was lying. He had another question to ask.

Can a man from another tribe become a member of the Panninher... A man from one of the tribes in the south?

This is not possible, replied the woman. A man from a nearby tribe can do this but not from one of the tribes in the south. We have no contact with these people. Upson was thinking deeply. He was thinking that his thoughts of the two men being the same man were stupid thoughts. Besides, one of them, the man in Hobart was already dead. Richard Upson was determined to solve the dilemma once and for all.

He will bother me no longer, Upson cursed quietly to himself. The man seated beside the grave would not intimidate him. He would confront the bothersome man in the morning and simply tell him to go away...

The man was seated beside the grave. Upson knew enough words of the Panninher language to make known what he had to say. He stood a short distance from where the man was seated, the small rock clutched tightly in his right hand.

Go away! he called out. The man ignored him.

Leave immediately or I will force you to leave. The man remained seated. He glanced casually in the direction of Upson before returning his full attention to the cross that marked Williams’ grave.

I demand that you leave!

Upson took a few steps forward. He intended on throwing the rock at the seated figure, but the anger was growing inside of him like an erupting volcano. The rock was gripped tighter in his hand. He was suddenly standing over the seated figure who continued to ignore him.

"You will leave immediately!" The rock came crashing down hard on the side of the man’s head. He attempted to stand up but Upson continued striking him still harder with the bloodied rock. The man desperately struggled to push his attacker away, but Upson was far more determined. Finally, the man collapsed to the ground beside the grave. Upson was sure he was dead. He kicked the motionless figure but it didn’t move. A panic came over Upson and he was suddenly looking around frantically.

I will have to hide the body. I don’t want trouble from his tribe. He tried to drag the lifeless body towards the nearby forest but it was too heavy. When Upson returned a few minutes later with one of the other men, the clearing beside the grave was empty. The body was gone!

He was here, insisted Upson much to the bewilderment of his sceptical companion. Everyone knew of Upson’s obsession each morning with the ghost beside the grave.

There is nobody here, replied the other man. Upson noticed the bloodied rock on the ground and picked it up. He held it up before the man’s eyes.

I killed him, Upson insisted. I killed him just like I killed Williams. The man remained silent, glancing for a second at the cross marking the grave in the forest clearing. It was the first time Upson had confessed to the murder — now he was confessing to two murders... Upson seemed more relaxed during the remainder of the day, believing to himself that some large forest scavenger had taken the body away. His confidence continued to grow.

I killed the spirit man, he boasted to his wife. The woman seemed both surprised and horrified but remained silent. A spirit man could never be killed.

If Upson thought he had ridden himself of the seated man beside the grave then he was foolishly mistaken. The following morning, when Upson was making his way to the river for his morning bath, he saw once more the familiar seated figure. A sudden fear came over him: The man is dead, he thought to himself. I killed him.

Go away!

The seated figure ignored him.

"I will kill you again!"

The seated figure remained seated.

I will make you go away!

The seated figure continued to ignore him.

Upson glanced hurriedly around him for support but he was alone; the others were still asleep. A fear came over him. He hurried back towards the huts and then he suddenly stopped. The fear had turned to one of anger.

I will not be intimidated, he muttered quietly to himself. He began walking back towards the grave and then stopped. In the silence of the early morning, when not even the birds in the trees were awake, Upson could hear a noise. It was a low chanting noise that seemed to increase inside of Upson’s head. The chanting was growing louder and louder, pounding firstly his ears and then the sides of his head.

Arraarra — Arraarra — Arraarra

One of the women appeared on the track leading to the river; she was carrying a jug in which to collect water. Upson hurried towards her, grabbing her tightly by the arm, so tightly that the jug dropped from her hands. Do you hear it? he cried out to the surprised woman.

I hear nothing, the woman replied. She pulled from his grasp, before picking up the jug and hurrying away. Upson cried out to her but the woman continued her escape. She was sure that Upson was crazy.

Arraarra — Arraarra — Arraarra

The noise continued inside of Upson’s head.

When night came, he lay alone inside his hut the chanting still pounding away inside his tortured mind and throughout his whole body. There was no break — not even for a few seconds. I am going crazy! he screamed, but he was alone. The others who could not hear the strange chant stood in silence outside the hut, too frightened to enter. Upson had already killed two people and in his insane rage, they didn’t want to be the third. I am going crazy! Help me! Please help me...

Arraarra — Arraarra — Arraarra

3. CORROBOREE

The morning light filtered through the cracks in the bark walls of the hut. Upson lay on the straw bed studying the spider spinning its web on the ceiling beside the closed door. He was thinking there was something different, something strange happening, but he couldn’t think what it was. Finally, it came to him — the noise. There was no noise; the chanting had stopped inside of his head.

When he walked outside, Upson saw the others watching him from nearby. They seemed frightened of him. Did you hear the noise of the chanting? he asked them but they remained silent. He glanced in the direction of the grave, expecting to see the seated man, but the clearing was empty. When evening came, the noise returned — and this time the others also heard it.

The strange noise was coming from the other side of the river, and through the trees Upson and his companions could see a large fire burning. They decided to investigate. The noise was the sound of singing that occasionally broke into the familiar chanting Upson had heard earlier.

Arraarra — Arraarra — Arraarra

I don’t like what I am hearing, complained one of the men nervously as they approached the noise. The others also seemed to be holding back. Upson who was leading the way turned to confront them.

What are you afraid of? You didn’t have the noise tearing your brain apart like I did. Wait until it is screaming inside your skull, then you will be afraid. There was a murmur of dissatisfaction from the other men. They didn’t like Upson calling them cowards. The group continued through the forest, the noise and the chanting steadily increasing with each footstep. When they were on the edge of the clearing Upson suddenly noticed that he was alone. I knew they were weaklings, he cursed quietly to himself. He could see the last of the men hurrying down the trail leading back to the river. Upson turned his attention to the nearby clearing and to the strange activities there. Despite having lived side by side with the Panninher people for several months, he knew nothing about their culture.

Arraarra — Arraarra — Arraarra

A fire was burning in the centre of the large clearing and seated to one side of this fire, Upson could see the women and children sitting in three lines. They were clapping their hands and singing a song, while round the fire danced the men, waving their arms in unison as they performed an event or story from the tribe’s past — a legend perhaps. Upson was witnessing a corroboree or dance ceremony performed for more than 40,000 years by Australian aborigines. It was a ceremony that held great religious value to these remarkable people who had co-existed with nature in one of the harshest and driest continents on the planet. The ignorant and selfish Upson, of course, knew nothing of this; to him, the Panninher people were nothing more than ignorant savages to be taken advantage of and perhaps to be eventually exterminated. The singing and the dancing continued...

Upson sat hiding behind a tree in the shadows on the edge of the clearing. It was a dark night, but the light from the fire lit the surrounding bush. The unwelcome observer thought that he was well hidden, that is, until an old woman seated a short distance away spotted his shadowy silhouette hiding behind the tree. She struggled to her feet and approached him, her hand held out before her. When finally she stood over him, the uneasy Upson looked up into her wrinkled and dry face. The tired old eyes seemed to be saying, Come with me. Do not be alone. Here, you are among friends. Upson reluctantly reached up and took her hand.

The children were more excited by the presence of the visitor than they were with the corroboree. They reached out and touched Upson’s white skin, laughing and giggling when they did this. Others sat in front of him, their enquiring eyes studying with curiosity the strange face of the visitor. The singing and the dancing continued long into the night. The repetition seemed to relax Upson, placing his mind and body into a peaceful trance. The horrors of the Howling Man were soon forgotten in the repetition of the ceremony.

When morning came, most of the women and children as well as many of the dancers departed quietly from the clearing; the fire which had burned brightly throughout the night was now also extinguished; the drifting smoke making strange images in the early morning light. Two or three dancers continued their dancing to the singing of half a dozen of the younger women. The old woman continued to sit beside the sleeping Upson.

Arraarra — Arraarra — Arraarra

Upson immediately awoke from his peaceful slumber. He glanced round wildly and in panic. The Howling Man had returned! He was dancing in front of the seated Upson, waving his arms wildly and howling the familiar and frightening word. This time, however, there was something different, which only added to the terror of the Howling Man.

Red ochre, the colour of blood covered the Howling Man’s naked body from head to toe; his hair was also pasted with this red ochre; while the rims of his eyes were painted black, to make the anger of the eyes stand out even more. Upson let out a loud cry, jumping to his feet before pushing the fragile old woman aside. The Howling Man howled still louder and his dance was more crazy. Arraarra — Arraarra — Arraarra

Get away from me! For God’s sake get away from me! Within seconds, Upson had fled from the clearing with the terrifying howling still ringing loudly in his ears.

4. THE REIGN OF TERROR

The procession appeared unexpectedly in the early afternoon of the same day. Two men carried the body wrapped in bark, which they gently placed beside the door of Upson’s hut. Several more people, the family of the deceased followed behind. Upson and the others, his white companions watched on in a curious and hesitant silence.

They are saying that you are responsible for the death, Upson’s wife told him after she had spoken with one of the pallbearers. The woman died last night.

I killed no one last night, the puzzled Upson replied.