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    Secret Women's Business: Ben Hood Thrillers, #22
    Secret Women's Business: Ben Hood Thrillers, #22
    Secret Women's Business: Ben Hood Thrillers, #22
    Ebook392 pages5 hours

    Secret Women's Business: Ben Hood Thrillers, #22

    By Drew Lindsay

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    About this ebook

    For hundreds of years the bones of Aboriginal women and their half cast white babies have lay buried beneath sand in caves on Hindmarsh Island, South Australia. Hiding these women's shame was called "Secret Women's Business." Ben Hood is hired to protect a white woman and her adopted Aboriginal teenage daughter who live on a property fronting the mighty Murray River on Hindmarsh Island. Death threats have been made against the woman by her ex-husband. A previously employed bodyguard was allegedly killed by a shark in the Murray River. Ben discovers that lies were fed to the Coroner as to the death of Ben's predecessor. "Secret Women's Business" can also be used to mask more recent murder. The more Ben pokes his nose into this, the more likely it will be that he may not get home alive.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDrew Lindsay
    Release dateMay 5, 2015
    ISBN9781311469052
    Secret Women's Business: Ben Hood Thrillers, #22
    Author

    Drew Lindsay

    Drew Lindsay is a dynamic Australian Novelist and Writer. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia and the world. His background includes working as a Policeman and detective, then managing his own private investigation business as well as working in Fraud Investigation Management positions within the insurance industry. Drew is a PADI Divemaster and holds a private pilot's license. He has a great love of entertaining others with his vivid imagination. His novels allow the reader to escape into worlds of romance, excitement, humour and fast paced adventure. Drew lives in northern New South Wales with his wife.

    Read more from Drew Lindsay

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      Book preview

      Secret Women's Business - Drew Lindsay

      What is a secret?

      The word can be an adjective. It’s a doing word.

      It’s also a noun. A secret is something that is kept or meant to be kept unknown or unseen by others.

      Classified

      Restricted

      Undisclosed

      Unrevealed

      Untold

      Unknown

      Some secrets are best left just as they are. Others need to be broadcast widely because the secret may be constructed from half truths and half lies…perhaps even complete lies and objective scrutiny may lay to rest a secret laced with danger. Secrets are often treasured deep within a person’s soul…sometimes cherished and sometimes festering like poison. They can be whispered to those we trust, creating excitement tinged with danger. Secrets shared are more often than not, shared outside the sphere for which they were originally intended. Then the fun begins…or the pain.

      ****

      CHAPTER ONE

      Ex Detective Sergeant Ben Hood was no stranger to the judicial system and giving evidence before various courts of law. He rather enjoyed giving evidence before Local and District courts as his razor sharp mind and unfailing determination to ensure justice was done regularly overpowered the often mindless twitter ensuing from the mouths of lawyers and barristers who not only challenged his ability to put together a brief of evidence, but also attempted to take him apart as a person who in their minds would rather lie than tell the truth.

      Ben had been summonsed to answer civil allegations that he had murdered the client of a gay hairdresser in Sydney whilst a serving New South Wales Police detective in 2009.

      Ben and the New South Wales Police Force had amicably parted company in 2010 and from that time, Ben had worked as a highly appreciated operative of a Sydney based VIP protection agency owned by Rodney Reid. The relationship between Ben and Rodney was always the subject of argument, anger, debate and on occasion…mutual agreement.

      The Glebe Court Coroner had originally found that Warren Miles Pugh, whilst under the influence of the drug commonly known as ice had become enraged with his hairdresser…Ross Dimple in relation to a hair colouring which hadn’t quite suited Mr. Pugh’s expectations.

      Pugh had refused to pay the bill and Dimple threatened to call the police. Pugh punched Dimple in the face. Dimple’s staff called the police. Detective Sergeant Ben Hood wasn’t far from the inner city hair dressing salon and responded to the call.

      Pugh pulled a knife from inside his jacket and held it to Dimple’s throat. Dimple had been knocked to the floor but was now in a seated position with Pugh behind him. He pushed the blade against Dimple’s throat, drawing blood. Pugh demanded a re-colouring at no cost. Dimple agreed and tried to get to his feet. Pugh threatened to cut his throat.

      Ben Hood walked into the hairdressing salon with his automatic pistol drawn. Staff and customers were cowering in corners. Pugh looked up at Ben and smiled. ‘Welcome to the execution’ he said.

      Ben shot Pugh in the head. He was an excellent marksman. Pugh’s arterial blood spurted onto the hairdresser as he collapsed over the top of the seated man. Dimple suffered a heart attack which proved to be fatal. Pugh never felt a thing as he crashed head first onto the tiled floor.

      Pugh’s mother was extremely distressed when she discovered that a New South Wales police detective had killed her son. In her eyes, her son was a damn saint who may have erred here and there but was definitely not worthy of killing. She vowed to get even with Ben Hood.

      The family of the dead hairdresser also felt that Ben’s heavy handed reactions to the situation in the salon had caused the death of Ross Dimple. Law suits were threatened and the Coroner was instructed by the powers that be to re-examine the evidence.

      The Coroner initially assessed the civil allegations and read various submissions. She felt it appropriate to question Ben personally before legal action relating to the deaths of Warren Pugh and Ross Dimple were allowed to move into a criminal arena. Staff from the hairdressing salon would also be required to give personal evidence before the Coroner rather than their statements tendered by agreement.

      The Glebe Coroner’s court wasn’t a place you would frequent unless by subpoena. Most courts of law are not constructed to give you a good feel. They are deliberately constructed to make accused persons appreciate that they have hit the end of their unlawful road. The bench where magistrates and judges sit is elevated so they look down on you. They will pass judgement on you and large men in uniform will escort you from the court to be put into whatever pigeon hole has been determined at law. Surprisingly, most of the time, the offender will walk free…even occasionally, those who kill.

      Witnesses attending court also feel very intimidated by their surroundings unless they are quite used to being there. Ben Hood was extremely comfortable in any courtroom situation. He knew that personal wrongdoing hadn’t resulted in his attendance and he also knew from years of experience how to handle questions that even hinted at derogatory intentions.

      Catherine Foy was the Coroner. She was in her late 30’s, pretty, short blond hair, hazel eyes and a demeanour that left no one in doubt that if they crossed her, a price would be paid.

      Lawyers representing the deceased hairdresser and also the knife wielding Warren Pugh sat at the long timber table facing the elevated Coroner’s bench.

      ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about,’ Rodney Reid whispered to Ben. ‘Just be yourself. They’ll love you.’

      ‘Bugger off.’

      ‘I’m here to support you. Show some damn respect.’

      ‘I don’t need you here,’ Ben whispered.

      ‘She’s cute eh?’

      Ben turned and glared at Rodney. ‘Will you please just go away?’

      ‘No,’ said Rodney. ‘I’m here in case a final desperate submission needs to be made on your behalf. I’ll throw myself on the mercy of the court.’

      ‘Have you upped your fucking meds?’

      ‘Alright.’ Rodney drew a finger across his lips. ‘Not another word. If you don’t want help, I won’t go out of my way to offer it. There…my lips are sealed.’

      ‘Thank God.’

      ‘Mr. Hood,’ said the magistrate. ‘If you and your friend have finished your little chat, perhaps you could make your way to the witness box.’

      Ben stood. ‘I’m sorry Your Worship.’ He walked up two stairs and sat down in the witness box on the left hand side of the Coroner. Catherine Foy watched him carefully. Ben smiled at her.

      ‘You’ve been in the news a bit here and there since I saw you last.’

      ‘Yes ma’am,’ said Ben.

      ‘You seemed to have escaped any kind of criminal or civil proceedings. Is that the case?’

      ‘Yes Your Worship.’

      The lawyer representing Warren Pugh got to his feet. ‘I must protest this behaviour Your Honour. This is highly irregular.’

      ‘What’s your name?’ asked the Coroner.

      ‘Matthew Stone. I represent…’

      ‘I know who you represent,’ said Catherine firmly. ‘Bear in mind Mr. Stone. I run this court and I will do what I feel is appropriate in this court and will address people appearing before me in any way I wish. Is that clear?’

      Stone glanced at the lawyer seated beside him. He sat down. ‘Yes Your Honour.’

      ‘Can I give you some additional advice Mr. Stone?’

      ‘Yes Your Honour.’

      ‘Please stand when you address me.’

      Stone got to his feet. ‘I’m sorry Your Honour.’

      ‘You don’t do this much, do you?’

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Appear on behalf of a client in a court of law,’ said Catherine.

      Stone shuffled his feet and picked up a piece of paper from the table in front of him. ‘I have many legal responsibilities.’

      ‘Could I presume that one of your legal responsibilities would be to recognise how to address a magistrate as against a judge?’

      Stone put down the piece of paper. ‘I’m sorry Your Honour…I mean Your Worship.’

      ‘Sit down Mr. Stone.’ Catherine looked at Ben. ‘So, we run through this again eh?’

      ‘Yes Your Worship,’ said Ben, trying to hide a grin.

      ‘Why do you think we are going through this again Mr. Hood?’

      ‘Perhaps someone is after some money,’ said Ben.

      Both lawyers leapt up. Simon Plowman who represented the deceased hairdresser spoke first. ‘This is outrageous!’

      The Coroner looked at him. ‘Are you Mr. Plowman?’

      ‘Yes Your Worship.’

      ‘And you represent the family of Mr. Ross Dimple?’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘Are your clients interested in pursuing a civil claim against ex detective Ben Hood?’

      ‘Yes Your Worship.’

      Catherine looked at Matthew Stone. ‘Is that your ultimate goal Mr. Stone?’

      ‘That information is confidential at this time,’ said Stone.

      ‘Confidential eh?’

      ‘Yes Your hon…Your Worship.’

      ‘Both of you sit down. By agreement with Mr. Richards, our resident police prosecutor, I’m going to question Mr. Hood. When I am finished questioning Mr. Hood, you will all be given the opportunity of asking him questions of your own.’

      The two lawyers sat down.

      ‘I trust everyone has given long consideration to questions you may wish to put to Mr. Hood,’ said Catherine. ‘I will not allow this court to be used as a forum for pecuniary ambitions. Am I clear?’

      ‘Yes Your Worship,’ said Plowman.

      ‘Yes,’ said Stone.

      The police prosecutor, who had remained seated during the Coroner’s exchange with the lawyers, nodded and softly said yes.

      ‘I didn’t hear your response Mr. Prosecutor,’ said Catherine.

      ‘Yes Your Worship,’ said Richards, raising his voice.

      Catherine looked at a tall, thick set uniformed court constable standing close to the witness box and then at Ben. ‘Are you comfortable swearing your oath to tell the truth on the bible Mr. Hood…or would you rather do something strange just to confuse me?’

      ‘The bible is fine Your Worship,’ said Ben.

      ‘Thank God for that. Swear him in constable.’

      ****

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘I told you,’ said Rodney as he walked with Ben to their parked car. ‘All piss and wind. You were totally exonerated for the second time and the lawyers for the greedy families ended up with egg on their faces.’

      ‘Catherine likes me,’ said Ben.

      ‘That bitch doesn’t like anyone,’ said Rodney. ‘She’s good with the law. If you had been in the wrong, she would have nailed your arse.’

      Rodney unlocked his car. Ben’s Aston Martin had been left securely parked at Rodney’s home at Castle Hill, one of Sydney’s quite affluent western suburbs. Rodney slid into the driver’s seat and unlocked the passenger’s door. Ben opened it and was about to get into the car when a voice behind stopped him.

      ‘Mr. Hood. Can I have a word?’

      Ben turned. The woman was tiny and dressed immaculately in a blue business suit. She was probably older than Ben, with flawless white skin and short jet black hair. Her hazel eyes had an almost magnetic appeal and Ben was compelled to maintain eye contact with her. She held out a business card with Ben accepted without glancing at it. ‘You can have a word,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘Patricia Pepper. I’m a lawyer.’ She extended her right hand.

      Ben accepted her firm handshake. ‘I don’t know you.’

      ‘I was in the courtroom for another matter. I listened to your evidence.’

      ‘How can I help you?’ asked Ben.

      Rodney leaned across the centre console in order to miss nothing.

      ‘I have a client that may require your services.’

      ‘I’m about to have a bit of a holiday,’ said Ben. ‘I’m having a break from work.’

      ‘No he’s not,’ said Rodney. ‘We’ll be happy to talk to you. I’m his manager.’

      ‘You’re not my manager,’ said Ben.

      ‘I arrange his work schedule,’ said Rodney, leaning further over the centre console. Rodney stared at the woman and went silent for a long moment. ‘Hello.’

      ‘Hello yourself. It’s been a long time.’

      ‘Yes, said Rodney, sitting back behind the steering wheel.

      ‘So perhaps you will call me later?’

      ‘We have your business card and I will be in touch with you very shortly,’ said Rodney.

      ‘No he won’t,’ said Ben.

      Patricia leaned down slightly to look at Rodney again. She then straightened up and looked up into Ben’s blue eyes. ‘I’ve got some Aboriginal blood in my veins.’

      ‘Is that so?’

      ‘Do you think I’m lying?’

      ‘You’re a tad white skinned don’t you think?’

      ‘I’m a few times removed,’ said Patricia.

      ‘You’re more than a few times removed,’ said Ben.

      ‘You have a reputation for associating with Aboriginals,’ said Patricia. ‘Mind you…it seems you have a preference for associating with beautiful Aboriginal women with high profiles, but then again, you can mix it up with rather ordinary indigenous people when required.’

      ‘What the hell are you talking about lady?’

      ‘I have a rather special client that needs your help.’

      ‘No.’ Ben dropped into the passenger’s seat.

      ‘She has a secret that she may communicate to someone she feels she can trust.’

      ‘She’s your client,’ said Ben. ‘She has obviously shared her secret with you.’

      ‘Well she should have…but she didn’t,’ said Patricia.

      Ben looked up at her. ‘I’ve had a tough day lady. You’re screwing with my head.’

      ‘Her secret may get her killed Mr. Hood.’

      ‘I don’t care,’ said Ben. ‘Get me out of here Rod.’

      Rodney started the engine. The small woman stepped away from the car and Ben closed the door. Rodney reversed into the laneway behind the Coroner’s court and headed towards the freeway through Glebe which led to the western suburbs.

      They drove in silence for almost 10 minutes.

      ‘Don’t say it,’ said Ben eventually.

      ‘I wasn’t going to say anything,’ said Rodney.

      ‘The hell you weren’t.’

      ‘You’ve had a difficult day. I wouldn’t dream of adding to your problems.’

      ‘You delight in adding to my problems!’

      ‘I think it would be a good idea if I spoke to the woman who gave you her business card and see what’s going on there eh?’

      ‘You both seem to know each other.’

      ‘Brief business relationship many years ago,’ said Rodney.

      Ben looked at him.

      ‘What?’ asked Rodney. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

      ‘How brief?’

      ‘How the hell would I know? It was years ago. I hardly recognised her. Give me the business card.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Give me the card damn it!’

      ‘I’m going to throw it out the window,’ said Ben.

      ‘Then I’ll stop the car and you can walk home.’

      ‘I’ll give you her business card when we get to your place. I’m not taking the job. You can talk to her all you like.’

      ‘Okay.’

      ‘I’m not taking the job.’

      ‘You’re repeating yourself. You might need to get that checked.’

      ‘I’m seeing a professional,’ said Ben. ‘Repeating myself isn’t of major concern.’

      ‘Letting go of Miss Swimsuit Australia recently should obviously be on the top of your list.’

      ‘Nikki and I have an arrangement,’ said Ben.

      ‘Yeah…She goes that way and you hide away in your little farm at Windsor.’

      ‘I don’t want to talk to you anymore,’ said Ben.

      ‘Fine.’

      Ben pulled the business card from his shirt pocket. ‘Her name is Patricia Pepper. Familiar?’

      ‘Yep…like I said, a long time ago.’

      ‘Is she a fruit cake?’

      ‘Yes and no.’

      ‘What’s the no bit?’ said Ben. ‘I’m not interested in the yes bit.’

      ‘She’s a bit of an Aboriginal activist.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘She was very prominent in an action against the Government in relation to the construction of a bridge from mainland Fleurieu Peninsula to Hindmarsh Island in South Australia. She’s still trying to lobby the Government to tear the damn thing down.’

      ‘What else?’

      ‘That’s all I know,’ said Rodney as he almost rammed a Chinese family in a small Toyota who obviously had no idea of rules governing roundabouts.

      ‘Is she high profile?’

      ‘She was,’ said Rodney. ‘All that who ha was a long time ago.’

      ‘Why do you remember it?’ asked Ben.

      Rodney didn’t answer.

      ‘You had something going on with that chick, didn’t you?’

      ‘No,’ said Rodney.

      ‘Did you have an affair with her?’

      ‘She came to the car to talk to you,’ said Rodney. ‘She didn’t know who I was.’

      ‘That’s because you’ve grown older.’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

      ‘Slow down,’ said Ben.

      ‘Don’t tell me how to drive.’

      ‘You’re upset. Slow down. Cripples shouldn’t be allowed to drive anyway.’

      ‘I’m not a fucking cripple.’

      ‘You don’t have a right foot…remember?’

      ‘It’s an automatic car. I don’t need a right foot. I use my left foot. You’re just being nasty because you’re in a bad mood over not sleeping with Nikki for the last few nights.’

      ‘Nikki has her own life to lead and it’s unlikely to be with me.’

      ‘Why not you?’

      ‘I’m not right for her,’ said Ben.

      They didn’t speak again until Rodney moved slowly up the cobblestone driveway and manoeuvred his car into the lock up garage. ‘I’ve never been inside your garage,’ said Ben.

      ‘I keep surprises up my sleeve for special friends,’ said Rodney.

      ‘You have a jet ski?’

      ‘So?’

      ‘I didn’t know you had a jet ski?’

      ‘Two seater. Rose loves it.’

      Ben looked at him. ‘I was out of line with the cripple thing.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Why are you sorry? You’re never sorry about anything. I suppose you want to borrow my damn jet ski.’

      ‘I don’t want to borrow your bloody jet ski.’

      ‘That’s because you don’t know how to ride one, do you?’

      ‘A five year old could work one of those gadgets,’ said Ben.

      ‘You wouldn’t even know how to start it, would you?’

      ‘You can stick the damn jet ski up your arse,’ said Ben, climbing out of the car and slamming the door.

      ****

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘I’m sorry to be ringing you at this late hour,’ said Patricia Pepper.

      ‘Who gave you my number?’ asked Ben.

      ‘That’s not important. What is important is that you listen to what I have to say and tell me you will help my client.’

      ‘Jesus lady…’

      ‘Just listen to me for five minutes and if you still remain as stubborn as a mule then I’ll find someone else.’

      ‘I’m not stubborn! I’m just looking for some time out. I don’t need another job.’

      ‘This is not a job Mr. Hood. It’s more like a mission.’

      ‘Oh great.’

      ‘Forgive me,’ said Patricia. ‘Perhaps I mistook you for someone who cared.’

      ‘I’m good at caring,’ said Ben. ‘I sometimes almost get my head shot off for caring but I’m still good at it.’

      ‘Then you can’t refuse my offer.’

      ‘I’m trying to sort out a few domestic issues at the moment. I need time out.’

      ‘My client needs someone like you Ben. Her life has been threatened and also the life of her teenage daughter. They are both near breaking point.’

      Ben was silent.

      ‘Have you heard of Hindmarsh Island?’

      ‘Yes…quite recently,’ said Ben.

      ‘My client has a beautiful house with magnificent views over the Murray River. You will have your own first floor apartment in their home overlooking the river.’

      ‘What have the police done about the threats against your client?’

      ‘There is no police presence on Hindmarsh Island. That may change in due course but at the moment it is Goolwa police who attend to matters over the bridge to the island. Goolwa police are not renowned for a speedy response to anything.’

      ‘Spoken like a true lawyer,’ said Ben.

      ‘There are lots of secrets on Hindmarsh Island,’ said Patricia. ‘Indigenous people won’t speak about them and that has created one hell of a problem.’

      ‘Oh yes,’ said Ben. ‘Secret women’s business.’

      ‘Do I detect a note of sarcasm?’

      ‘The Indigenous women tried to stop the construction of the Hindmarsh island bridge years ago. I read about it. Their allegations were tossed out of court and the bridge went ahead.’

      ‘The witnesses felt constrained in revealing the secrets.’

      ‘Who constrained them?’

      ‘Tradition…shame…fear.’

      ‘Fear of whom?’

      ‘I thought you might be able to unearth that piece of information.’

      ‘It’s a police matter,’ said Ben.

      ‘The police won’t help,’ said Patricia.

      ‘I do VIP protection,’ said Ben. ‘I need to keep my job simple.’

      ‘Am I wasting time with you Mr. Hood?’

      ‘Yep.’

      The phone line was silent for a few moments and then she terminated the call.

      Rodney Reid’s majestic white weatherboard home in Castle Hill was well hidden by extensive gardens at the front. Video cameras were placed on high posts and were meant to be visible. The high metal gate at the driveway slid open and Ben moved his Aston Martin DB9 – Mansory, slowly along the driveway and up to the reception area. Rose was waiting for him at the front door, as usual. The throaty growl of the engine reluctantly died and Ben locked the car with the remote and walked towards her.

      ‘No wonder they flock around you,’ she said.

      ‘No one flocks around me,’ said Ben. ‘The car does it every time.’

      Rose put her arms around his neck and kissed him on each side of his face. ‘No buddy…it’s you.’

      ‘Is grumpy pants in a better mood than this morning when he rang me?’

      ‘No…he’s still grumpy but he’s aiming to change your mind about the Hindmarsh Island job. If you are favourable to his proposal, he might cheer up.’

      ‘So he told you all about that one?’

      ‘Just bits here and there,’ said Rose as she moved through the front door.

      ‘Why am I detecting a certain tone in your voice?’

      ‘What tone?’ asked Rose.

      ‘The tone which makes me feel my actions will make your life easier with Mr. Grumpy pants?’

      ‘Because they will. They always do.’

      ‘Why don’t you take him on a cruise or something?’

      Rose turned to face him. ‘He hates cruises. You know that.’

      ‘Can’t blame him,’ said Ben.

      ‘Nikki called me last night.’

      ‘Oh…’

      ‘She’s in Paris you know.’

      ‘No, I didn’t know,’ said Ben.

      ‘The swimsuit contest people sent her there for a promo shoot.’

      Ben didn’t reply. He followed Rose down the long hallway to the sunroom at the rear of the house. Rodney was propped up in his frangipani print chair with a laptop computer sitting on a table in front of him.

      ‘I’ll get you some refreshments,’ said Rose.

      ‘I’ll have

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