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The
Authors Geoff
Bebb is well known around the world for the mining and environment software
product SURPAC, which he originally wrote and marketed internationally. The
software, which has been sold in 84 countries, has exposed Geoff to a wide range
of people, places and experiences. His first adult novel ‘Fragments’,
co-authored with his partner Michelle Denise, is based upon a number of these
experiences. Michelle
Denise (Sorrell, nee Meyer) is a Swiss/Australian, who migrated to Geoff
is an experienced author. He started writing poetry while working as a surveyor
at the Michelle’s
first foray into writing was in 1986 with her bilingual ‘Mimi Adventure
Books’ for teaching LOTE to primary students in Michelle
and Geoff met back in
In 1999, they joined the WA Bush Poets and Yarn Spinners Association,
where they became co-editors of the Association’s magazine. Their membership
triggered many new poems, finding their way into the books ‘G’Day
(Geoff)’, and ‘Fun Fur and Feathers’ (Michelle) published by KIT. These
books are already into their third printing. They have been distributed to local
clubs and libraries as well as to This adult fiction, which
has taken three years to write, was created during the authors’ overseas
travel and at a Bed and Breakfast in Dunsborough in Reviews
of ‘Fragments’ Reviews from
people of diverse occupations and ages (29-82). “The
book is outstanding both in production and content; and is a cracker read, even
for me who does not normally tackle such categories.”..............Mark,
Pipe Organ Designer
NSW
“Compelling
“I couldn’t put it down. It made me late for work. The ending came too quickly.”.....Kerryn, Business Proprietor, Food Industry “More than the sum of it’s parts.”...... Matthew, Hospitality Industry “It's
one of those books you don't want to put down, it is a fascinating story.”......Tom,
Nurseryman Qld “…I
really admire people who can write together…”.........
Peta, Bookshop Proprietor "Well
written, kept me absorbed, … was a good read."
....... Joy,
ex-teacher.
Chapter
One (part sample) Saturday
25th October 1997 – Hyde Park The
Saturday rush hour crowd in Suddenly
aware of her audience, she wrapped her green coat more tightly around her
slender figure. Head down, she hurried past the crowd, which now pretended not
to notice. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Dominic. She
stopped abruptly, glued to the spot. Her heart beat wildly… ‘Calm down
‘Pic-Pic’, it can’t possibly be him.’ Willing
herself to go on, she finally found the next park entrance. In the rapidly
fading autumn light she turned up the fur collar of her coat against the chill.
Stumbling across the horse track, she almost walked into a low wire fence. Her
height helped her over this final obstacle. A brief sighting of a darting
squirrel lifted her spirits, which quickly waned as she became aware of a
dreadful thirst. She searched around for a tap. “Damned alcohol!” Inside
a hedged area she spotted a fountain flowing from a heavy stone basin, supported
on the shoulders of Greek maidens. Atop the basin, a young graceful Diana,
confidently naked, drew her bow, pointing an arrow into the sky. “It’s
a sign!” she cried aloud. “It’s a symbol of femininity combined with
strength and accomplished purpose! That’s how I want to be from now on, a
Diana firing my arrows fearlessly into the beyond. No longer burdened by the
weight of suppression. No more a victim of wounded dependence.” She looked
around nervously, but there was no one there to criticise. Sitting
on the base of the fountain for a minute, another Diana sprang to her mind; a
modern day Diana, a princess, whose recent freedom flight had ended in tragedy
just two months before. A
man came walking out from behind the fountain. For a split second she thought it
was Dominic again. Her inner critic chastised her. ‘Stop being so vulnerable!
You’re supposed to be strong now.’ In
the gathering gloom, a nearby French-style gas lamp went on, casting weird
shadows on the pavement and grass. The effects of alcohol and thirst, now
overlain by hunger left her feeling slightly faint. She made up her mind to head
back to the hotel. Wearily
getting to her feet, she hesitated, watching yet another little squirrel going
about its business. Its colour and markings were quite different to the
squirrels of her homeland. Her mind vaguely registered two teenage girls coming
up the hill towards her. Laughing, seemingly joyous and full of life, they
vaulted the little wire fence with ease. ‘Nice to see a little joy,’ she
thought. As
they passed, she pointed out the squirrel, poking about near the base of the
fountain. “Isn’t it a bit late for this little critter to be still up?” The
girls paused, to take a closer look at the squirrel, before moving on. Without
warning, a sudden jolt and a whirl of colours pierced her consciousness. All she
felt was a flurry of movement as she was violently spun around. “Non,
non, arrêtez…?”
Her shoulder bag flew open, disgorging her hand mirror, which shattered,
splintering the reflected gaslight into a thousand fragments. The
ferocity of the attack propelled her sideways, the side of her head striking the
top basin of the fountain. Everything went black as the back of her skull
cannoned into the stone base. ~~~ Inside
the yellow and black tape of the police cordon, the pair of attending officers
was talking in desultory fashion as they worked. Constable Kathy Cruickshank, a
woman in her early thirties and Constable Arthur Beeston, a weather beaten
cop-on-the-beat. “Another
Saturday night, out in the cold, Artie, instead of being out clubbing,” Kathy
said, running a hand through a mop of strawberry-coloured hair. “Or
being home with the missus by the warm fire,” agreed Arthur, still kneeling
over the victim, checking the pulse and breathing. “Christ that wind is blowin’
right through me. Riverview’s got a car on the way. Shouldn’t be long.”
Arthur, feeling the arthritis in his back, straightened up painfully. In
the approaching patrol car, DC Cliff Smythe noticed the two officers. He alerted
PC Vicki Barton, his offsider and driver for the night. “Over there Vicki, by
the fountain in the grove.” Vicki,
who had already noticed, swerved abruptly to a stop. “Yeah, okay, okay,” she
replied, slamming the door angrily as she got out of the car. They walked in
stony silence up the hill. Cliff was of medium height, slim and fit looking,
with aquiline features. His short dark curly hair sat quite naturally against
his head. Vicki was about the same height as Cliff. Her dark hair tucked neatly
into her cap. As
they approached the scene of the crime, they trudged over the horse riding track
and clambered over the wire fence before going their separate ways; Cliff going
straight over to the victim, who was lying on her side in the recovery position,
looking like a frozen Pompeii ash cast. Vicki went to speak to the other police
officer. “Hi,
Kathy.” “Oh,
hi Vicki. I see you’re with your ‘friend’ Clifford again,” said Kathy,
nodding in Cliff’s direction. “No one I know likes working with him,” she
added quietly. “He’s
the only one who doesn’t seem to notice,” replied Vicki, eyes raised to
heaven in exasperation. “Not only do I miss yet another Saturday night out
with Jason, but also I get saddled with the boy scout of Riverview – Clifford
Smythe. Gimme a break.” “He
always seems so bloody cheerful with what he’s doing,” observed Arthur as he
joined the women, watching Cliff going about his work with alacrity and purpose,
seemingly oblivious to their comments. “But I tell you one thing, CID reckons
he always gets his man – it’s about his logic or summat.” “Well
if he’s that good, why is he still a DC?” “You
got me there. But the way he caught that Shepherd’s Bush serial killer –
that was something else I tell you. Fancy connecting a killer to a matchstick
found in the lining of the back seat of the killer’s car. Is that an eye for
detail or what? Bloody amazing.” “Funny
how he never even got a mention in the press releases afterwards…” added
Kathy. Vicki
shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, I won’t have to put up with him much longer
Kathy. The Sarge told me that CID has insisted that Clifford takes all his
overdue leave. He reckons it adds up to five weeks. Imagine that!” “That
must be a relief for you,” replied Kathy with a smile. There was a pause as
she cast an admiring glance at Vicki. “Just look at your flat tummy, Vicki. I
don’t know how you manage to keep in such good shape.” “It’s
only because of the amount of time I put in at the gym, with Jason. He’s my
personal trainer.” With a heavy sigh, she added, “ah well, better get on
with it.” Vicki
did what she needed to do with practiced efficiency. A quick, cursory look at
the victim sprawled on the pavement was followed by a ten-minute search of the
surroundings then more questions to Arthur and Kathy, who had been first on the
scene. “How
long ago do you think this happened, Artie?” “Fairly
recently, I’d say. She is unconscious but has a strong pulse; just slightly
chilled. A young couple strolling in the park alerted us. They heard a scream
but didn’t see anything till they went past the fountain and found her.” As
she watched Cliff out of the corner of her eye, Vicki strolled over to where
Kathy was finishing her examination of the surroundings, looking for evidence. “What
do you reckon Kath, any MO?” “It
shows some similarity to the latest series of muggings around this area. If
I’m right, this’ll be the eighth this month; all involving prostitutes. This
one’s got alcohol on her breath – but that’s about all we can find. No ID
or anything as far as I can see. There are some fragments of glass from what
looks like a cheap Marks and Spencers’ make-up mirror. Here’s the plastic
frame,” she said, holding up the frame in a plastic bag for Vicki to see.
“Other than that, there’s not much to go on till we can find her purse or
something. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long night.” Vicki
cast one more glance at Cliff then back to Kathy. “Look at the silly old
bugger, meticulously noting every bloody detail in his notebook; dotting the
i’s and crossing the t’s. He’ll find something even if he has to imagine
it. Well, let him do the dirty work, he loves it.” Then embarrassed at her
outburst, she placed a hand on Kathy’s arm. “Don’t take any notice of me
Kath. I get really peed-off, having to work with Clifford. Thank God I’ve
occasionally got someone like you I can talk to.” “Hey,
no problem, Vick, we go back about seven years now, eh? Us drinking mates have
to stick together.” “I
agree with your diagnosis that this is just another ‘Tom’ bashing. I’d
better brief the nick while he’s farting around. Where’s that bloody
ambulance?” Tilting
her lapel radio towards her mouth she called her base. “Victor-Lima from
Victor-Lima-7.” “Victor
Lima-7 from Victor Lima; go ahead Vicki.” “It
looks like the standard Saturday night ‘Tom’ make-over, Wendy. When’s that
ambulance getting here? Over.” Wendy,
who was familiar with Vicki’s curt, impatient tone replied, “Victor-Lima to
Victor-Lima-7, on way. It’ll be there any minute now. Keep your hair on Vick,
out.” Wendy’s
co-radio operator, Jock McTavish, turned to Wendy one eyebrow raised.
“What’s up Wendy?” “Our
resident feminist is on the job in Foot
tapping, Vicki turned to Cliff, still poring over the ground adjacent to the
woman’s inert body. “Jeez Clifford, we’ll all die of old age and that
‘Tom’ will turn into another statistic if we don’t get her to hospital
pronto – can’t we do that later?” “After
you’ve done as many investigations as I have Vicki, you’ll find that
attention to detail is the key to successful crime solution. Besides, it’s not
been established that she is ‘on the game’. You presume too quickly.” “Patronising
old sod, it’s a wonder he didn’t quote from the police manual,” she said,
out of the corner of her mouth to Kathy. Kathy
turned her face away to hide her smirk. When
the ambulance arrived, the woman was quickly placed inside with Cliff
volunteering to accompany her to King Charles II hospital. “That poor woman
shouldn’t have to come-to in the ambulance by herself. I should think she’s
suffered quite a trauma.” “Do
you think she’ll be safe in there, Vicki - alone with him?” Arty commented
dryly, as the doors closed. “She’ll
be fine. He is so straight and boring she’d probably go off to sleep again
before he got around to it…” There were sniggers all round. In
the ambulance, Cliff looked down on the unconscious woman, willing her to live
through her ordeal. “I’ve never got used to this sort of thing, you know
Mike,” he said tight-lipped to the paramedic, who was still examining the
woman and trying to stem the flow of blood from her head injury. “It still
makes me sick to the stomach to see women who’ve been assaulted as viciously
as she has.” “Aw
get out Cliff,” Mike replied. “After all this time? What is it? Must be
thirty years at least. Anyway, this one’s not new to this kind of thing, by
the look of her.” “What
do you mean, Mike?” “There
is evidence of quite a lot of old bruising on her neck and legs.” “Really?
Then maybe Vicki was right after all. Maybe she is a ‘Tom’. But I don’t
know. I just don’t think she is. There’s something about her.” Mike
just looked at Cliff in disbelief. At
Standing
beside the bed, Cliff grimaced with distaste as groaning drunks, young people on
drugs and road accident victims vied for professional attention. “They seem
very busy tonight,” he observed to Vicki who had just arrived. “Yeah,
it looks more like a war zone than a standard Saturday night. Here watch it, you
moron!” she blazed at an intern who bumped her shoulder in his frantic haste. After
about an hour and a half, the woman was transferred to an assessment area where
a screen was pulled around her, while she was formally admitted. In
the beginning there was blackness permeating the void. Consciousness of
‘being’ had not percolated through the thick fog of my mind. Indeed there
was nothing. Just the black haze,
which was my entire world; enveloping me like a cocoon. My
first awareness came in the form of a pain somewhere from the left of my cocoon.
A sharp, brutal piercing, which activated me. It gave me a first sense of
direction and a division between internal and external space. Even then I
wasn’t sure of that as a fact. I just knew somehow that the pain was a
violation of my being.
With
no ID at all, the name on her chart had to be created. “We’d call her
‘John Doe’, if she was a man,” said the admitting nurse. “Maybe we’ll
just call her ‘Jane Doe’.” “I
shall call her Helene – that was my mother’s name,” replied Cliff,
emphatically. “That’s
a foreign name. What about Helen?” Cliff
nodded, while Vicki wrinkled her nose, indicating her indifference. ‘Helen’
was the name that the nurse wrote on the woman’s chart. The
nurse verified what Mike the paramedic had found. There were signs of repeated
bruising on Helen’s body. “Helen’s vital signs are reasonably normal
except that she shows no movement in her right hand or foot under stimuli,”
she said in a hushed tone. Later
a busy intern explained to Vicki and Cliff that Helen may have had a stroke
during the mugging, but it was too early to tell. “When
can we get to examine Helen’s clothes?” asked Vicki. “That’s the only
sure way we’ll be able to identify her.” She smiled slightly. “Anyway,
when she comes-to she’ll be able to tell us who she is.” Cliff
shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to wait awhile for Forensics to finish with
the clothes. Look, there’s nothing more to do here. We may as well go back to
the station. I’ll get the staff to notify us as soon as she is well enough to
be interviewed. But I must say I feel very sorry for her. It must be terrible
not to have a name…” “Oh
for Christ’s sake Clifford! She doesn’t know she hasn’t got a name. Come
on let’s get out of here.” Shaking her head in disbelief, Vicki led the way
back to the patrol car. “Victor-Lima – this is Victor-Lima-7. We’re
finished here and we’re on the way back to the nick,” she intoned into the
radio. The
radio gave off some static before Wendy answered. “Victor-Lima-7 this is
Victor-Lima, okay Vick – see you soon – out.” Meanwhile
Cliff sought out Wendy, who was in the canteen on her coffee break. “I suppose
it’s up to me to fill in the casebook, again,” he observed self-righteously. “What,
Vicki nicked off and left you to it?” Cliff
nodded tight-lipped. “Well
Cliff, if you keep on letting her get away with it, she’ll keep on doing
it.” “It’s
just that I expect professional people to act that way – professionally.” “Oh,
go on Cliff. She has got a new boyfriend, you know. Don’t you remember what it
was like to be in love?” Cliff
drew himself upright in his chair. “When I was married to “That
could well be one of the reasons why Cliff
was shocked into silence. Before he could reply, Wendy excused herself so that
Jock, who had just come in through the canteen door, could have his coffee break
as well. “No
doubt about Wendy,” said Jock as he sat down. “Always the one with the home
spun advice. Don’t take it to heart, Clifford.” “As
it happens, I always take seriously what people say. She might even be right.
I’ll give it some thought.” With that, Cliff went back to the CID office,
where he entered the details of the mugging into the casebook. This took up one
and a half pages of Cliff’s neat but tiny writing style and a bit over an hour
of his time. Later,
when Cliff returned home, he noted with satisfaction that Helen’s photograph,
suitably edited, was being shown on the News channel of the TV, requesting help
with identification. “That’s
what comes of being thorough,” he said smugly to Celeste, his constant
companion. Celeste, still smarting over his late arrival home, glared at the TV,
which was distracting Cliff’s attention away from her. She got up slowly,
yawned theatrically then stalked out into the kitchen. Click on the cart below to purchase this book:
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