Task Force Black Shadow

Saturday September 9th, 1995

Ah Shit! Ben bent over to adjust his shoes and mumbled at the same time, knowing full well, his wife Debbie could hear him in the adjacent room.

What’s up? Debbie called from her room.

Nothing, just talking to myself, he muttered.

Well we had better hurry because we are running late!

Ben imperceptibly slowed even further.

If there was one thing he deplored more than any other it was the bi-monthly themed dinner parties.

The idea of ‘dressing in theme’ turned his stomach. He adjusted his striped top, pulled on his wife’s boater hat and took a quick look at the false moustache that Debbie had assured him gave him the distinct air of an Italian gondolier.

The mirror reflected a man, mid forties, rotund, thinning grey hair with a scowl of discontent.

Stupid bloody idea, he continued to mumble…just loud enough to be heard. Why did he bother complaining? If Debbie wanted to go, then off they would go, no matter what he thought about the whole stupid thing!

Debbie appeared in the doorway, dressed in a black dress, black stockings with her hair pulled back rather severely and heavy gold earrings in her tiny ears.

Well what do you think? Italian Mama or what?

He secretly thought ‘Or what’ but managed a smile and a Very nice.

Debbie stopped to admire her attempt at ‘Italian Mama’ once more in the hall mirror. Staring back from the reflection was a chubby; she preferred to call it ‘cuddly’; women in her mid 40’s, blonde hair, green eyes and a dazzling smile. She adjusted her smile with a dab more of the new matte lipstick that was all the rage and headed up the hallway of their spacious ‘Federation style’ home.

Ben went to the refrigerator and extracted six cans of Tooheys and deposited them with a bottle of orange juice, into the esky.

OK, Tim, we are off, Debbie yelled to their 5 year old son, from the doorway.

Ring us at Jenny’s if you need us Shell.

OK, have a good night, came a disembodied reply from the end of the hallway, where Tim’s aunty was playing hide and seek with Tim, to help fill in the couple of hours baby sitting.

Debbie and Ben left the house and walked the short distance to their next door neighbours.

September nights in Canberra are mild and moonlit. The sounds of night insects were the only sounds coming from the quiet, peaceful suburban street until lights shining from the windows and the sound of an attempt at Italian music in the background, alerted Debbie to the fact that they were running late…as usual.

‘Please oh please let us have a good night tonight without any unpleasantness,’ she prayed as she ran up the steps, smile in place.

The house, like Debbie’s and most of the houses in the relatively new suburb of Palmerston in the Australian Capital Territory, was modern ‘federation’ style in a dark burgundy brick with cream finials and a front verandah.

Five minutes later, Ben followed, walked inside, deposited his esky by the door and immediately grabbed a can from it one and began drinking.

It was obvious from the look on his face that his mood was not going to improve in a hurry.

Elva, tall, blue eyed, blonde and gorgeous, was in high spirits already, her loud American accent echoing throughout the house, followed by peals of laughter. It was going to be another one of ‘those’ nights.

The girls took turns parading their Italian themed couture. Jenny, medium height, dark brown hair and eyes, was dressed all in black.

Elva, the ex model, was all in black.

Having admired each other, the girls started on the men. Ben as a gondolier, David, Jenny’s husband, as a Mafia hit-man with overdone sideburns and Mat, Elva’s husband, as a ‘Luigi’ with enough gold draped around his neck to commence a jewellery shop in Dubai. The men were all gathered around various cooking pots and utensils in the kitchen, already trying to out do each other.

Loud knocking at the front door, announced the arrival of Lana, minus her husband Geoff.

Come Innnnnnn, yelled Jenny from the kitchen and Lana paraded into the room, also in black, including stockings!

Well girls here I am, at last what I’ve always wanted to wear….a widow’s outfit!

More laughter!

Where is Geoff, Lana? Elva asked.

Oh, you know the military….. he could be hours late. You know he is just about running the Defence Force! Well, in truth he is organising some of his men for a fun clay pigeon shoot this weekend, before the poker game though boys, so don’t worry!

The girls smiled at her knowingly and admired Lana’s outfit. With her petite and cuddly frame and dark hair, they all agreed, she really did look like an Italian Mama. The only give-away to her Polish ancestry, were her pale olive green eyes.

The girls immediately set to their required task; that of keeping the men supplied with alcohol whilst they cooked. The girls revelled in the reversal of roles but some of the men were not so keen.

Cans were emptied and replaced, wine glasses topped up and the latest happening from the week exchanged. In the midst of all of this, Geoff, Lana’s husband, made his appearance, looking very handsome as usual and full of apologies for his late arrival. Lana carried on her conversation, almost oblivious to the fact that her husband had finally arrived.

The girls adjourned to the lounge room and left the boys to their cooking tasks.

Gosh don’t you just love this idea? Boys cooking, girls drinking and chatting…why didn’t we think of this years ago, said Debbie

Well Darhhling because you didn’t know me years ago and it was my idea, rallied Elva very quickly.

Well I don’t care who’s idea it was, said Lana, I’m just glad we do it.

OK, come and sit down everyone, the boys are ready to serve, Jenny called from the dining room.

Shit, I hope Debbie doesn’t start on one of her long boring stories, Elva whispered to Jenny as she entered the room and took her place at the table. Why did we ever include her in this idea in the first place!

Just grin and bear it sweetie, afterall if it wasn’t for Deb, we would never ave met, Jenny replied as she pulled out a chair at the head of the table.

Hurry up boys, who ever is not serving entrée should be sitting down, yelled Elva.

With that Ben, David and Mat hurried into the dining room, pulled out their chairs and sat down. When Elva ordered, no one disobeyed!

OK, we’re ready…bring it on, called Jenny.

Geoff made his way very carefully into the dining room carrying a very large, steaming soup tureen, which he placed in the centre of the table.

He disappeared again and returned with a large bottle of champagne.

Wow, what’s this Geoff darhhling? called Elva.

Wait just wait, until I have everyone served, said Geoff.

OK, OK, we can’t wait, tell us what it is, insisted Elva.

Well, tonight ladies and gentlemen, for entrée, we have Mango and Champagne Soup!

With that, in unison, everyone let out a cry of WOW!

With a flourish of the napkin which he had placed ‘waiter like’ over his arm, Geoff proceeded to pour champagne into the tureen filled with the hot soup in the middle of the table.

Another loud chorus of Wow! went up around the table as the soup foamed and bubbled.

With that, plates were passed one by one to Geoff, until everyone had soup in front of them.

Must have the recipe Geoff, Debbie said as she enthusiastically spooned from her bowl.

Does anyone mind if we listen to the late news? asked Mat.

Yes we do! replied Elva, We are here for conversation not to watch the friggin’ telly!

Debbie blanched at Elva’s language.

Sorry folks, there is a just an item coming on that I am particularly interested in, work related you know, rallied Mat.

Well 5 minutes Mat and that is it, Elva insisted.

If it is who won the men’s tennis Mat, I can tell you that it was Pete Sampras. He beat Andre Agassi 6/4 6/3 4/6 7/5.

Nothing to do with the bloody tennis Debbie, thank you very much!

Debbie looked hurt but turned back to the other women,

Isn’t it sad, James Britten died a couple of days ago, he was only 45.

Who the hell is James Britten? Elva asked.

He was a Kiwi, very famous Kiwi, he invented a really fast bike that broke a lot of records.

Why on earth would you be interested in that guy Debbie? Jenny butted in.

He had the most beautiful smile Jenny love, I met him once. Anyway it’s a sad week, Princess Grace’s anniversary this week as well, she was so beautiful.

Debbie had finally grabbed the attention of everyone.

Have I told you the story of when I was in Monaco with the oldies on that tour bus in 1984?

Elva kicked Jenny under the table.

Ouch, screamed Jenny, to which she received a look from Elva, which would have stopped a charging rhino in its tracks.

No, do tell us Debbie, said Lana.

Well, we had all alighted at the St Nicholas cathedral where Princess Grace is buried. The oldies all toddled through the front door but not me, I like to have a look at all those old buildings from the outside. So, I went right around the back and after I had a good sticky beak, I entered through a side door and virtually straight in front of me was Princess Grace’s grave.

Hey, hang on, Jenny interposed, Princess Grace wasn’t even dead in 1984 was she?

Of course she was silly, she died in 1982 I think you will find Jenny love. Anyway, I immediately thought aha, photo opportunity and got the camera ready, snapped the shot and was immediately surrounded by soldiers!

Oh my god Debbie, what did you do? asked Lana.

Suddenly the television blasted through the dining room…

Shut up Debbie, I want to hear what they are saying, yelled Mat.

Debbie stopped mid breath and with a flushed face, turned towards the focus of everyone in the room, the television.

Police today released a description of the motor bike used in the sniper attacks, which have taken the normally sleepy National Capital of Canberra by surprise and reduced ordinary Canberra residents to cowering shadows. The attacks, all of which happened at approximately three o’clock have the ACT Police in a quandary, however they do have certain facts. The bike is believed to be a Harley Davidson, painted completely in black. The bike does not carry a licence plate.

Oh DOH, interrupted Elva, As if they would have a number plate in clear view!

Shut up Elva, yelled Mat, to which his wife quickly gave him an unpleasant finger signal.

The anchor man continued…

Police suspect that the bike used in the sniper attacks has been cannibalised to make it as light and as quick as possible. We spoke to Detective Inspector Parker Lamont who is leading the investigation.

The television crossed to a crowd of reporters outside the City Centre Police Station where a tall, rather good looking man dressed in a dark charcoal suit was surrounded by reporters all vying for his attention.

Detective Lamont, can we ask if you have any clues to the identification of the sniper?

"No, at this time we have no clues to the assailant’s identification. As you are aware, he or she, dresses completely in black and makes a very fast getaway. The problem for police is that so far the attacks have been completely random, no routine times or places etc. which makes it very difficult for the police to be prepared and to anticipate his or her next move and next location."

USELESS! screamed Elva over the top of the TV presenter.

Be quiet Elva, we are trying to listen, Mat replied.

Back to the TV and another reporter shouted, Detective Lamont, what is the latest on the bike identification?

Well now here is where the public can assist us, the detective replied. According to the witnesses, the bike has a very distinctive sound, not like any other bike that we have compared it to. Unfortunately the media have released a news item stating that the bike is a Harley. We have no evidence to say what brand the bike is and therefore, I would ask the public to become our ears, to keep alert and if you hear a motorbike in your area, which sounds different in an odd way to any other bike you have heard, please call Crime stoppers on 1800333000.

What about the weapon? another reporter shouted. Do we know the make of the weapon yet?

No, I am afraid we have no idea of the weapon other than the forensics of the bullets which we are not releasing to the public or the media.

The Detective stared into the camera, his steely grey green eyes piercing the lens, We will catch this person, it is just a matter of time! I can only reiterate, anyone who thinks they may have any information which may assist the police, please call Crime Stoppers on 1800333000.

What the god good would that do, yelled Elva again, By the time they get that message relayed, he’ll be long gone!

Perhaps, said Debbie, but at least the net will get smaller and eventually they must be able to trace where the sound originates and finishes, perhaps in one of our neighbours backyards!

Well I think it is all stupid and they have no idea how to catch him and I am certainly not taking any notice of ‘approximately 3 o’clock’. If I have to go somewhere at 3 o’clock, then I am going!!.

Well I don’t agree Elva, you know this Senior Detective is amazing. He once solved a crime using horse manure as the evidence.

What? everyone turned to see what Debbie was going to say, the television forgotten.

Yes, it’s true. Apparently there was a grizzly murder of a woman and her lover about five years ago. They were found by a bush walker at some really remote camp-site up in the Bendithera Caves area.

Yes? came the chorus.

Well, the husband was questioned of course. He was the prime suspect because she was with her lover.

Get to the point, quipped Elva,

Deb was loving the fact that the attention was back full throttle to her.

Well, he had an alibi of course. He was seen in town at a time when it would have been impossible for him to have been at the camp-site as well. It was inaccessible by car you see.

Yes, do go on for god’s sake, quipped Elva again.

Well, this Detective Lamont seems to have a 6th sense or something, although he apparently has a reputation for going it alone too much and not involving his team. He was convinced that the husband was involved and so he walked into the camp-site himself and timed it, looked like the hubby was going to get away with it but then unbeknown to anyone else, the detective has discovered something when he was at the murder site.

Yes????

The room had grown silent except for the steady sound of Debbie’s voice, breathless with the excitement of having everyone’s attention but somehow the breathless quality of her voice added to the drama of the story unfolding.

He had discovered horse manure right at the site of where the bodies had been lying, fairly fresh too.

So?, what has horse manure got to do with the murder? David asked.

Well…..

I swear if she says ‘well’ once more there will be another murder, Elva whispered to Jenny.

Yes, go on Debbie, said Lana.

Well, the murdered women’s husband got a silver medal in an Equestrian event for some weird eastern block country back in the 60’s. The event was actually called ‘Eventing’ where you have to do dressage and cross country and show jumping.

So, he wasa good horse rider, so what? said Elva.

Well, this detective came back from his bush walk and got busy checking out every stable within 50 kilometre radius, with a photo of the husband and before very long, he had a stable owner who could identify the husband, give him times etc. which coincided with the time of the murder.

So what you’re saying is that the husband was so determined to kill his wife that he rode a horse into the bush after her, shot them then returned to horse to the stable and that was that?

That’s right. He didn’t have time to follow them on foot but on a good horse he could do it easily and present himself in a very popular spot in town where lots of people would see him and be able to support his alibi.

What a mongrel, said Elva.

Yes, apparently the detective said that he confessed when he was interviewing him, said he didn’t even have to dismount from the horse to carry out the shootings.

Oh my god, said Lana, That is awful, so cold blooded.

Well, that’s affairs and that’s murder isn’t it, cold blooded.

A quiet hush filled the room, everyone sat back down at the table but the gay mood of the evening had evaporated.

As the night wore on and each of the men presented their dishes, it was obvious that everyone was trying hard to get the night back onto a normal footing.

Geoff, do you know you have the most beautiful smile, now don’t forget to write me out that recipe, Debbie said silkily across the table.

I’ll do it now, he replied and gave her a large smile and a surreptitious wink.

After everyone had departed in the wee small hours of the morning, Jenny started clearing the mess away.

It was only then that Jenny remembered that whatever it was that was so important, that Mat had to watch the news that night, they had not watched anything other than the item of the sniper.

Jenny also remembered that for once, they never heard the end of Debbie’s story, what was it about even, something to do with Princess Grace?

As she got to Debbie’s place setting, she noticed a slip of paper sticking out from under her side plate.

Jenny picked up the paper and read:

Mango and Champagne Soup

Ingredients Champagne, mangoes, rock melon, orange juice, lime juice, mint leaves (whole) honey and lemon juice.

Directions:

Dice up and reserve some mango and a few mint leave for decoration, place all other ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth liquid. Pour into a large soup tureen in the centre of the table, then garnish with the mango pieces and mint leaves. Pour champagne over the top with a flourish!

Underneath the recipe, in Geoff’s heavy handwriting was written;

‘We’ll meet you at the usual place tomorrow after poker’

Sunday the 10th of September, morning

Lana woke with a start, the kind of start you receive when something ominous is about to happen.

She thought about the evening before and somehow tried to make sense of where the evening went horribly wrong.

Was it Debbie’s anxiety following Mat telling her to shut up, Mat’s anxiety at having to watch the news or was it just that the themed evenings were losing their touch?

Lana reminisced about the previous themed evenings and the fun they had all had. The Hollywood evening, God she had looked so good as Liza and Debbie had really pulled Bette Midler off. Funny, she couldn’t remember what Jenny or Elva had come as. Then, what about the seaside night when Elva had come as a mermaid, she sure remembered that one! What about the murder mystery, ‘Murder On The Orient Express’ when they had all dressed in thirties style? Gosh that was so good and the boys had excelled themselves with the food on those nights.

Either way, no one had really enjoyed last night from what she had observed, although Geoff was certainly in high spirits when they were leaving to come home.

As though sensing her thoughts, Geoff gave a loud snore and rolled over towards her, a hand groping hopefully in the air.

‘Oh, Oh, I’m outa here’, thought Lana and with a swift movement, especially for a five foot nothing frame, she slid out of the bed and up onto her feet. Whooooooosh, the floor went by at a rapid pace. ‘Shit’, she thought, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have had that last couple of wines last night’. She walked unsteadily to the kitchen, turned on the electric jug and opened the cupboard to grab a mug for her morning fix of caffeine.

A quick glance at the clock showed 9.20am.

My God, where did the morning go? Lana enquired of no one but herself. The shrill ringing of the telephone on the bench by her mug made her flinch and moan, accentuating the throb in her head ten fold.

Hello?

It was Debbie.

Oh Hi Lana, have you recovered from last night?

Well sort of you old bag, how about you?

Not offended by their commonly used expression of affection, Debbie replied,

Not too bad actually but being teetotal, I probably recover a bit more quickly than the rest of you and accompanied the dig with a short laugh.

Hmm, it was a funny night wasn’t it, sort of lost our usual spark after that business about the sniper.

Yes, it did and anyway, what was Mat so interested in the news for?

"I don’t