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Farewell to the Dancing Man

By: Cromagnonman



In a recent story, 'A Message to Cane Toads', the cane toad mentioned that he had written several novels, this is the start of one of them. It was written some 25 years ago and I thought that I had lost it when the floppy disc that I'd stored it on decided that it wouldn't let me access the file. A couple of days ago I was going through some old papers I had in packing case from my last house move when I discovered a hard copy of the manuscript and decided to re-type in and back it up onto an external hard drive along with the other manuscripts. Apart from a few spelling and grammar changes the only major change was the age of one of the characters. When this story was written, the age of consent in New South Wales was 16 but this would not get it printed in this site so the age was raised to 18. The attitude of the girls is still pretty much those of the time. CM.

CHAPTER ONE

Summer morning in suburbia, the sunlight struggled through the leaves of the large trees that reflected the quaint Australian love of things English, even in the hot and humid climate of Sydney. This was particularly noticeable and Sydney's Upper North Shore where oak and sycamore stood cheek by jowl with eucalypts beside manicured lawns and garden beds filled with hollyhocks and pansies, lupins and a host of other brightly out of place flowers.

In the midst of the dappled light that flooded the back garden of the Swain house in Wahroonga, the red clay scar of the sewer trench had provided a microcosm of the never ending struggle for survival. The family of magpies, parents resplendent in their formal black and whites surrounded by the squalling gray and black offspring picked their way through the piles of loose soil dining regally on succulent worms. They largely ignored the swooping attack of the female peewee aggressively protecting its young in the branches of the large blackbutt above the feeding magpies. 

The magpies also ignored the crouched form of Rex, the Swain family cat. Rex was an affection feline of unknown parentage, his tabby grey coat sleek and stretched by the over indulgence in pet food, blended into the shadows cast by the trees and his tail twitched as his back feet kneaded the grass like a golfer in order that his paws did not slip when the time came to launch his attack. An attack which, like all his previous attempts, would proved unsuccessful due in no small part to the fact that years and food had taken a couple of yards of his pace and the bell his owners had placed around his neck thinking it necessary to protect the fauna.

The summer drone of the cicadas stopped. A kookaburra tilted its head to one side. It had almost located a particular juicy snack on the branches of large camphor laurel when the cicada stopped its song. The magpies stopped their search for worms in the loose soil and swirled into the highest eucalyptus and safety.

The thump, thump of the sludge pump had spelled danger for both the hunter and the hunted.

The workmen watched as the first great mass of smelly water oozed its way down the pipes of the nearly connected sewer. The process of draining the now superfluous septic tank had begun.

For half an hour the thump of the pump invaded the otherwise still of the morning. The owners of the house went about the daily routine. Peter Swain emerged from the en suite showered, shaved and primed for the day ahead he slipped to towel from his waist, throwing in casually into a corner by the door. "Do you mind, you could least leave it in the en suite." Cynthia Swain had already showered and was putting the final touches to make up, her slender body, dressed in a pink half slip and bra, seated on the padded stool in front of the dressing table was held briefly in the gaze of her husband.

"Humph." Peter grumbled as he picked up the offending towel and threw it casually in the general direction of the pink plastic linen hamper just inside the en suite.

Cynthia let out a long exasperated sigh and returned to the task of improving on already flawless skin.

"Don't start." Peter's voice was a little more than a whisper. It was as if he couldn't make up his mind whether he wanted Cynthia to hear are not. Cynthia ignored him as she was not interested in any argument this early in the morning, having decided that she would try where possible to avoid a confrontation with him. This decision was a concession to the fact that knew that he was worried about his business and had been working long hours to keep on top of the workload. She knew that he was doing it for her and the children's benefit, but she wished that he would pay a little more attention to her.

"What's for breakfast, Mum?" The tension was relieved by the voice that echoed down the hallway and arrived with a screech in the bedroom.

The Swain children, Rebecca of the shrill voice, eighteen years of age with her long blonde hair caught at the nape of her neck, her slender body showing a physical maturity beyond her years and a striking resemblance to her mother, was at the breakfast bar with Timothy, thirteen years of age and pre-pubescent in stature and demeanour, were watching the workmen emptying the septic tank, but for different reasons. They watched as one of the men raised a large sledge hammer over his shoulder and proceeded to attack the concrete lid of the tank so that they could hose out the interior before completing the demolition work.

Lumps of concrete dropped into the hole as the wire re-enforcing reluctantly released its grasp. Soon a large hole was opened and Gerry Forrest stooped to peer into murky depths of the almost empty tank. "Hey Danny, come Here!"

Danny Bailey walked over to the tank and peered into its depths, his eyes following Gerry's pointing figure. "Bloody hell!" He reacted quickly, running over to the pump and switching it off. "Let's get the rest of this lid off without dropping too much inside so that we can get a better look."

The two men worked quickly and carefully removing as much of the lid as they could before lifting the remains and levering it to one side. The sight that greeted their eyes was not pretty, it would almost certainly mean a delay in the completion of the job. Staring at them through empty sockets was the skull of a human. Other bones stretched along the full length of the tank confirmed the existence of a human skeleton.

CHAPTER TWO

Danny ran to the house and knocked on the back door. Rebecca hopped down from the stool and rushed to open the door, her eager ears waiting for whatever request her young and impressionable mind hoped that the object of her adolescent dreams would ask. "Yes, what can I get for you?" Her voice losing its shrillness as she strived to sound older than her eighteen years.

"Can I use the phone? It's urgent, I have to call the police."

"Yes of course, I'll show you where it is."

"Don't worry, I know where it is." He had used the phone before and knew that there was one behind the bar in the large family/entertaining room. He kicked off his boots and walked through the room to the bar, the air in the room picked up the heavy aroma of septic effluent that his clothes, clean this morning, had already absorbed. He turned the phone around and dialled '000'. He had to wait some time for the connection to be made. "Police please." Another wait. "Police? My name is Danny Bailey and I'm working on a sewer connection at 36 Billyara St Wahroonga, and I think you should send someone over here straight away, we have found a human skeleton in the old septic tank, and it couldn't have got there on its own if you know what I mean." He gave directions to the police as to how to get to the site.

"Have you really found a skeleton?"

"Yes and it's not the sort of thing that a young girl like you should be seeing. Could I speak to your father?"

"Sure, I'll get him for you." Instead of going to fetch her father she merely turned her head until it faced the general direction of her parents' bedroom. "Hey Dad! The plumber wants a word with you."

"I could have done that myself." Danny said to her as Peter emerged from, the bedroom and walked down the hallway, his tie looped around his neck as he finished buttoning his shirt. Peter was forty years old but his tall slim body still retained its athletic appearance despite him not having been involved in any form of athletic endeavour apart from the occasional game of 'hit and giggle' tennis since leaving school. His unlined face and clear eyes had survived years of hard work. Nature's only concession to the passing years was the touch of, as he put it, distinguished grey' at his temples that contrasted with his dark brown hair.

"What is it?"

"You'll have police swarming all over the place in a few minutes. We've found a skeleton in the septic tank."

"Any idea how long it's been there? No, I don't suppose you would have. Oh well I guess that I'll have to ring the office and tell them that I'll be late for work." Turning to Rebecca he said. "As for you young lady, you had better eat your breakfast and get going or you'll be late for school."

"Aw gee Dad, can't O stay at home today? Just think of the excitement. Just think of how jealous all the girls at school will be, I bet that none of them have ever had a body found in their garden." All attempts at maturity disappeared as the prospect of instant importance among her peers brought her back to her real age.

"No. You have to go to school and that is final."

"Mum," her voice took on a pleading tone, "Mum, can I stay home today and watch the police pull this body out of the septic?"

"What body?" Cynthia had just emerged from the bedroom, a picture of fashion magazine chic. Her blonde hair was cut just above the shoulder and curled under at the ends forming a halo around her face. She looked more like Rebecca's older sister that her mother and, while having matured early in life she seemed to have managed to halt the aging process.

"The workmen found a skeleton in the septic tank and have called the police. I have told Rebecca that she is to go to school today, she will only get in the way."

"But Peter, couldn't she stay home for one day, just think of all the trouble she will have trying to explain it all to the girls in her class if she doesn't know all the details."

"Anyone would think that popularity is more important than good marks at school. Rebecca is capable of more than basic school, Business College and marriage. I want her to have the best education that I can provide, I'm paying good money for her to go to Abbotsleigh and I'm not going to have it wasted."

"What is wrong with Business College? If I hadn't gone there I would hardly have got the job in your father's office and met you, then where would you have been?"

"Do what you will." Peter said resignedly as he walked back into the garden to have a look for himself at the discovery.

"Thanks Mum, wait until I tell Samantha and Belinda!" Rebecca disappeared in the direction of the phone to spread the excitement.

Timothy sat at the breakfast bar. "Now can I have some breakfast?"

"Honestly Timothy, anyone would think that all I have to do is wait on you. Couldn't you have got your own breakfast for once?"

"But I don't know where anything is."

"Look," She said taking his hand in hers and leading him over to the cupboards, "In this cupboard is the cereal, take your pick, over here is the refrigerator in it you'll find milk and fruit juice. The glasses are in that cupboard up there and the plates are in the one next to it. Now I have to have a word with your father."

Cynthia walked to the hole in the ground around which Peter and the workmen stood. Peering into the tank she saw the blackened skeletal remains of a human. "Peter, I can't see that you really have to stay home, I'll be able to answer any questions that the police might ask and give them any information that they might need and it will be easier for me to cancel my hairdresser and lunch with Fliss than for you to cancel your business appointments."

"I still think that I should wait around for the police to get here just in case there is something that they want me for."

Peter and Cynthia returned to the chaos that was now the breakfast room. The floor and breakfast bar were now covered with a mixture of breakfast cereal, milk and juice. "I sort of had an accident." Timothy said sheepishly as he tried to shovel the mess into the dustpan and succeeding only in spreading it further. Rex, having abandoned the chase for wildlife was helping himself to the spilt milk on the breakfast bar.

"Leave it. Go and change your pants while I clean it up. Hurry or you'll be late for school." She turned to Peter. "You will be able to drop him off, won't you?"

"If the police have finished with me in time I suppose so. If Rebecca is allowed to stay home, why not Timothy?"

"He's much too young to see what is down there and I think that he will only get in the way of the police."

"Alright, I suppose I can drop him off."

Cynthia busied herself with the making of coffee and toast while Peter made inroads into the disaster that had started out as Timothy's breakfast.

The front doorbell rang its message down the hall. "I'll get it." Rebecca's call came from the front of the house. Footsteps, the first light, followed by a collection of heavier ones echoed down the hall as she led the policemen into the family room. "Dad, Mum, this is Detective Sergeant Brownlow and Detective Constable Withers."

"Winters, actually." The younger of the two mumbled.

"Whatever." Rebecca's attention was focused on his colleague.

"Pleased to meet you." Peter held out his hand to be shaken by both men, it was. "I'm Peter Swain and this is my wife Cynthia, our daughter Rebecca you have already met although she probably didn't give you her name, and our son Timothy will be out shortly, he is just getting changed ready for school."

"Good morning Sir, Madam, Miss." The owner of the voice was tall, had broad shoulders on which, at the end of a short neck was a face that, despite looking as if it would have been at home on a rugby league field, which it regularly was, still retained a rugged charm. "Now if you can just take me to the scene of the crime so to speak we will begin our investigation."

Peter led the two men into the back garden and introduced them to the workmen. Together they peered into the tank. "No doubt about it, Sir." Constable Winters' solemn voice broke the silence. Winters was the younger by a couple of years, taller by a couple of inches, lighter by a couple of stone than Brownlow and even if his eyes were further apart he would not have been as good looking. "It is without a doubt a human skeleton."

"You constable," Brownlow could not disguise the sarcasm in his voice, "Never cease to amaze me with your uncanny ability to state the patently obvious. Of course it's a human skeleton, what did you suppose it would be, an elephant?"

"Only trying to be of help." Winters' head and voice were both lowered for his reply.

"Our next step will be to call in the Forensics boys and get them to give this the once over. Constable, will you get onto the radio to headquarters and see if you can rustle us up some experts."

"Will you need me for anything?" Asked Peter.

"Not at this stage Sir. If you can just leave a number where you can be contacted if necessary, that will be sufficient."

"My wife will be around if you need any information. If she can't help she will know where to find me." Peter left the men at the tank and went back inside. "I'll head off to work now, the police might have a few questions to ask, if there is anything that you can't answer you can give them my number. Ready Tim" I'll throw your bike into the back of the wagon." Timothy had succeeded in demolishing, in his second attempt, his breakfast. He grabbed his school bag and trotted after his father.

Cynthia experienced the usual disappointment that she felt at this time each morning. Peter had left without as much as a peck on the cheek. Their marriage she knew was drifting along in the same listless pattern as that of several of their friends. The loyal devoted wife of the young professional, complete with the mandatory two children living in relative comfort in tree lined affluent suburbia. There was the usual round of socially acceptable activities where one met other socially acceptable people. All something of a bore really.

"Honestly Sam, there really is a body in our back garden!" Rebecca's enthusiastic prattle intruded into Cynthia's thoughts. "Mummy will tell you, won't you Mum? Come and tell Samantha that the workmen found a body in the yard."

"Yes Samantha, there is a body in the garden, now hadn't you better get to school."

"Sam's not going to school either, she's waiting for her parents to leave and then she's coming over here."

"You could at least have asked if it was alright for her to come over before asking her. How many more of your friends have you invited over?" 

"Only Samantha and Belinda, after all I want to keep this as exclusive as possible, I mean, if I asked just everyone who could I tell tomorrow."

"Who indeed?" Cynthia looked out the window to see the workmen sitting down with their thermoses and cake having their smoko. "Sergeant, would you and the constable like a tea or coffee?"

"Bloody hell," Danny commented loud enough for the police to hear, "We've been here for over a week, working our butts off, and she's never once offered us anything."

Sergeant Brownlow and Constable Winters sat at the now clean breakfast bar and marvelled at the service they were getting from Cynthia and Rebecca. Cynthia poured coffee while Rebecca hovered with a plate of a particularly delicious chocolate cake with a mocha cream filling that Cynthia had bought for afternoon tea with the girls the day before and which she presented as soon as the last morsel of the previous piece had been swallowed.

"Now let me see," Brownlow was concentrating on what he had written in his notebook in an effort to avoid accepting another slice of cake. "Call received at 8:15am. Patrol arrived at scene at 8:45am. Forensics called at 8:55am. Observed what appear to be the complete skeletal remains of an adult human. Remains were found by plumbers Danny Bailey and Gerald Forrest in a now disused septic tank. Now let me see." He took a look at the scene and, taking a new page he sketched a diagram of the tank and its alignment. "That was is north so the remains were positioned along the western edge of the tank. Visual examination, without disturbing the remains, indicated no frontal damage to the skull. Position of the remains indicates that the body was intact at the time it was placed into the tank."

"How long do you think that it's been down there?"

"I think that you have been watching too much Perry Mason on television. Do you hone3stly think that I am like one of those fictional characters who can cast a cursory glance at a badly decomposed body and pinpoint to within minutes the time of death> I am not a forensic expert and I would hazard a guess and state that I have serious doubts as to whether anyone could estimate to within a year the time of death. Our best bet at this time is to try for an identification that may assist us in establishing the time that he or she went missing. As for the cause of death, if there are no signs of physical damage we may never be able to establish with any certainty the actual cause."

"What will happen if you can't find who it was?" Rebecca asked.

"Well then I suppose we will have to present what evidence we have to the Coroner who will bring down an open verdict at the inquest."

"What if you find out who it was but can't find out how he died? Will you be able to charge anyone?" Cynthia's voice reflected the concern that she felt.


Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 05-10



CHAPTER FIVE

Cynthia's Story.

I guess it had to happen. Peter had been busy with his business, building it up from the small family business that he'd inherited from his father. I can understand that, but what I can't understand is his lack of interest in family matters. Take this morning for instance, he was prepared to stay home from work to answer police questions but when he discovered that he wasn't needed he left for work without kissing me good-bye. It wasn't that he has been in the habit of kissing me good-bye of late, but it seemed to stand out today because of the disruption to the routine.

I tried last night to interest him in sex but no, he 'had too much to do'. Even when he did come to bed he showed no interest. I stayed awake waiting for him but he just went to sleep. 

I felt so dirty lying there beside him trying to get some satisfaction from my finger, don't get me wrong sex isn't everything, if it was I would have accepted one of several offers I have had from friends' husbands. Apart from my loyalty to Peter I just couldn't see myself being able to face them knowing that I had been having sex with their husband.

Then this morning along came this detective. I don't know what came over me, I actually set out to seduce him, it wasn't that he was all that handsome, oh he had a sort of rugged charm about him. At first I wasn't sure if he would be willing, he pointedly refused to call me by my first name and I still don't know his. I saw that he was nervous about being close to me and when the opportunity came up I made sure that I didn't miss it.

Firstly I had to get the girls out of the house, after the TV people had left and there was no more excitement around, it was easy. With Samantha's parents out of the house for the day, they both worked, I knew that they would take the opportunity to be by themselves. The mess the TV crew made getting their film was the perfect excuse for me to get Brownlow here. 

Once they had gone I made my preparations carefully, I put on my sexiest blouse, I felt guilty wearing it because Peter liked it, but it was the most suitable. I left my bra off, my breasts are probably my best feature, at least my friends' husbands have told me so. I checked carefully that it opened just the right amount, in the mirror I could see that when I bent over most of my breasts showed. I also checked that when I sat down the skirt fell open to reveal just the right amount of leg. I was careful not to put on too much makeup, and when I had finished I looked in the full length mirror and had to admit that the result was pretty good.

When he arrived I was pleased to see that he had come alone. I don't know what I would have done if he'd brought Constable what's his name with him. He tried hard to keep his eyes off my breasts but I could see him sneaking a look whenever he thought that I wasn't looking.

I was sure that he was a biscuit dunker which is why I chose Monte Carlos, (Monte Carlos are two elliptical shortbread biscuits with a jam and cream filling), the filling would hold it together long enough for him to get it clear of the cup before letting go and dropping the soggy biscuit back, hopefully with a suitably big splash. All that I had to do was to distract him for long enough while the biscuit was in the coffee for it to reach the right consistency. I couldn't have asked for a better result. From there it was easy.

I had a few qualms when I returned to the bedroom after taking his trousers to the laundry, but I soon overcame those, once I had him on the bed he was mine. I was surprised at the cold-blooded way that I set out to get him, but I wasn't disappointed with him. He was big, I felt when he put it into me that I might not be able to take it all, but I somehow managed. He was gentle as well as strong, moving slowly within me and I thought that I would die when we both came together.

I was enjoying the afterglow of sex with him when Rebecca's outburst spoiled it all.

CHAPTER SIX

Rebecca's Story

I was devastated! There was Mummy on the bed with HIM! They were both naked and had obviously been making love. She must have seduced him because I know that he wouldn't have done it unless she had.

When we got to Samantha's house she had gone into her parents' bedroom and got out some Playboy magazines that her father had hidden on top of his wardrobe. I didn't think that those women could be real, their skin was too perfect, and we all thought our breasts were every bit as good as theirs. Samantha took her top off, "See mine are shaped the same as hers, maybe not as big. Let's have a look at yours Bec, I bet they are better than her's." I took off my top, I felt sort of funny doing it but didn't want to be left out of anything. "See look at Bec's Belinda, aren't they better than hers? Let's have a look at yours now."

"No. This is dirty, we shouldn't be doing it."

"Don't be so wet, Rebecca didn't have any problem showing hers, did you Bec?"

"Well, no."

"But you'll laugh at mine, they're so small."

"Size isn't everything as long as they are the right shape."

"Oh I suppose so." Belinda slowly took off her top, they were smaller than Sam's, their size having been hidden by the padding of her bra.

"You've nothing to be ashamed of with them. They're cute."

Samantha's hand reached out and stroked my breast and I felt tingly inside, I know that we shouldn't be doing this but couldn't bring myself to stop her.

Belinda stood up. "I'm going home, you shouldn't be doing that and if you don't stop I'll tell on you."

"Who to? Samantha asked.

"Your mother, that's who."

"My mother wouldn't worry about that, how about yours Bec?"

"I don't think that she'd be too pleased." I used this as an excuse to pull away from Sam's caresses. "I think that I should go home too." I dressed quickly and as I left Sam said quietly, "I want to continue what we've started, but without Belinda around." I didn't say yes or no.

When I got home I left my bike in the garage and went in through the back door. There was a police car parked out in the street but I couldn't see any sign of a policeman anywhere so I went down the hall to my room, and that's when I heard someone talking in Mum and Dad's bedroom.

I opened the door and that was when I saw Mummy and the Sergeant on the bed. I couldn't help myself, I cried out before I realised it and he and Mummy sat up. They must have been as shocked to see me as I was to see them. I couldn't stay there so I rushed to my room and locked the door. I hated her! How could she do this to me, I was in love with him and she was trying to take him away from me. I'll never speak to her again!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brownlow left as soon as he was dressed. Cynthia had kissed him, "I'll call around tomorrow to check what's happening." He whispered into her hair in the general direction of her left ear.

"That'll be fine, she'll be at school and I'll be ready for you."

She walked down the hallway to Rebecca's room and tapped on the door. Rebecca, open up I need to talk to you."

"Go away. I have nothing to say to you, how could you do this to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Making love to him, I know that's what you were doing."

"I can't deny it, that's just what I want to talk to you about, woman to woman." Rebecca considered this for some time before she opened the door. "What I did today is not something of which I am proud, it just happened. When you get a little older you will understand and realise that these thins sometimes happen and no-one need be hurt by it."

"Bu Mummy I love him, and you took him away from me. How could you do this to me? After all you have Daddy, why do you want another man?" 

"One day you will understand just how this came about and why I needed to do what I did, but for now take it from me you will fall in and out of love many times before you find the right person to marry."

"No I won't! I just know that he's the right one for me."

"And last week it was one of the plumbers and next week it will be someone else ."

"How would you know, I bet it never happened to you."

"Oh yes it did. When I was your age I had this enormous crush on one of my parents' friends, I thought that he was the kindest, gentlest person that I had ever met. I thought that I would be his forever and make him the best wife that he could ever have." 

"What happened?"

"One day he told me that we could never see each other again."

"Did you?"

"Only socially and only with other people around."

"How did you feel about that?"

"I was totally shattered and thought that the world would come to an end for me. It didn't end and I met and fell in love with several other boys before I met your father. Since then there's been no-one."

"Until today."

"Well yes, today."

"You couldn't really have been in love with him, could you?"

"I thought that I was and I told him that I loved him and he said that he loved me too."

"Did you make love to him?"

"Yes. I was your age at the time and I thought that I was being so mature in giving myself to him totally. Now of course I realise just how silly I was. Don't get me wrong, he was a very good lover, but I was much too young for that sort of involvement."

"But women are maturing much younger these days."

"Physically yes, but emotionally you're under much more pressure to grow up than we were, but that's not really maturity."

"So what you're telling me is that I should be looking to boys my own age?"

"If you must associate with anyone I would prefer it to be someone of your own age, yes."

"But the boys my age are so immature."

"Don't worry that will pass and before you realise it you will become aware of just how mature they have suddenly become."

"I suppose you're right but I don't think that I can forgive you for what you are doing to Daddy."

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness, just your understanding. I would appreciate it if you didn't tell your father."

"Why, don't you want him to know if you're not ashamed of what you've done?"

"Because this is just a once off thing, there is no thought of it becoming a permanent affair that will affect my relationship with your father."

"Tell me Mummy, is your relationship with Daddy a happy one?"

"It's not unhappy."

"That wasn't the question I asked you. Is it happy?"

"Our life together is comfortable. We love each other but he spends a lot of his time earning the money that we need for life's little luxuries like food and clothes and an education for you and Timothy."

"And you've never done this sort of thing since you married Daddy?"

"Never."

"But the girls at school are always talking about the affairs that their parents and their friends are having. Do you mean to tell me that you've never done this before?"

"You'll find that a lot of talk about affairs is just that, talk. There are plenty of rumours about who is making love to who, but most of them are more wishful thinking than fact. I've even heard several rumours linking me with some of our friends, of course there's been no truth in any of them"

"How boring for you."

"Rebecca! I find that comment in poor taste. I will not have an affair with anyone simply because it is expected of me. I hope that you will never give yourself to any man or boy because your friends say that they're doing it. Before you consider doing it I want to have a long talk with you about the facts of life."

"What's wrong with now?"

"Timothy will be home in a minute and will interrupt. I also need a little time to think this through and to make sure that I'm approaching it from the right direction. Give me a week or so to sort it out and then we'll have the discussion."

"Okay, I think I can hold out for that long."

"I sincerely hope that you're joking young lady."

"Of course, Mummy."

On cue there was a clatter from the garage that announced that Timothy had arrived home and had thrown his bike down in the middle of the garage. "Hi Mum! What's to eat?"

"Nothing until you go back out to the garage and pick up your bike and put it on the rack where it belongs."

"I'll do it later, I promise."

"Now."

"Oh all right." Timothy slouched out of the room mumbling under his breath about the harsh treatment he was receiving from his nasty old mother. He told himself that he was sure that none of his friends had to put up with anything like it. On his return he was presented with a glass of milk and two Monte Carlo biscuits, the biscuits he ate quickly hoping that he would be able to get another couple. He didn't, the milk he drank with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Why can't we have coke like my friends?"

"Because we don't have any at present, you'll just have to do without for a couple of days until I get more."

"Hey Timbo, guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm going to be on telly!"

"Yeah, sure, doing what?"

"I was interviewed for the news about the skeleton in the septic tank."

"Aw gee, why wasn't I allowed to stay home?"

"Because it was not the kind of thing that we thought you should be seeing."

"But Rebecca stayed home, how am I going to explain that to my friends?"

Rebecca became an instant celebrity that evening. The TV news broadcast, apart from a brief lead in about the discovery feature, almost uncut, the interview with her. No sooner had that segment finished than the phone rang. "I'll get it!" She shouted from her position half-way between the phone and the TV set/ "Sam! Wasn't I spectacular! I can't wait to get to school tomorrow." She prattled on for the next hour discussing with Samantha what they would say and how they would turn the conversation back to the discovery if it should stray from that topic. No sooner had she put the phone down than it rang again, this time it was Belinda on the other end. The same conversation was repeated.

Peter arrived home while Rebecca was still plotting her triumphal entry into school the next day. "Hi, any dramas?"

"Jut the making of a celebrity." Cynthia nodded toward their chattering daughter.

"How did this come about?"

"There was a TV crew here this morning and she was interviewed for this evening's news broadcast. She's been busy for the past hour and a half plotting her campaign for tomorrow."

Peter and Cynthia sat at the breakfast bar while Peter ate his meal. They discussed the events of the day before Peter retired to his study to continue the work that remained unfinished from the day at the office. With much protesting Rebecca was prised from the phone and Timothy from the TV. Both were sent to bed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cynthia's Story

I sat in the family room and half watched a movie that I had seen before at the cinema. I didn't even notice or mind the numerous commercials that totally destroyed the continuity that the original might have had, it was background noise. 

In my mind I went over the day's events. I had mixed feelings about having made love to Brownlow, while the conservative part of me said loudly that I had breached the sanctity of my marriage, the pragmatic side of my personality told me that Peter had allowed the marriage to drift slowly but surely towards self destruction. My decision seemed to be whether to make the break now or to make one final attempt to salvage our relationship.

With this problem weighing me down I went to bed. After several attempts to blanket my thoughts by reading I gave up and allowed my thoughts to drift once more to Brownlow. I remembered the strength of his arms and the powerful but gentle way that we made love, I longed once more for that sensation I felt when we had reached our simultaneous climax. There was nothing perfunctory about his lovemaking but, was it really his love or the thrill of doing something that my conscience told me was so very wrong that made it a special occasion. I guess that was something I may never know. I drifted into a restless sleep anticipating our next meeting.

Peter disturbed this thought as he crept into bed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." 

"That's alright I wasn't really asleep." I rolled over to face him, reaching for him and the comfort of his closeness. Some comfort, he rolled over and lay facing away from me, he didn't even react when I put my arm around him and snuggled against his back, my breasts pressing against him. I gave up and turned away from him.

The morning brought no change to this situation. I tried to be as seductive as possible in an attempt to provoke some reaction from him, instead of sitting in bra and half slip in front of the mirror to apply my make-up, I had slipped into this wispy little black number that he liked so much in the past. It was a total waste of time. "Where are my clean shirts?" I could quite cheerfully have thrown them and the iron at him and told him to iron his own shirts in future, but instead I went to the laundry and brought back the three shirts that I had ironed yesterday. The bastard didn't even thank me.

I went into the kitchen and made breakfast for us all. As usual Timothy was waiting for his, Rebecca arrived sleepily and still dressing a few minutes later. I busied myself with the preparations, cereal for Timothy, Rebecca, her figure in mind, had coffee and one slice of with vegemite but no butter. "Peter, your breakfast's ready." I called to him. He arrived, as he had the day before and just about every other day as far back as I cared to remember, adjusting his tie. He had his usual breakfast of coffee and toast which he consumed behind the screen of the Sydney Morning Herald.

Rebecca leant across the table trying to read the front page story about the discovery of the skeleton while he studied the financial pages. "Hey Bec," There was a triumphal note in his voice, "You're getting butter on your uniform."

"Damn! She studied the damage. "Mummy, do I have a clean uniform?"

"Yes, it's hanging in the laundry, I'll get it for you." 

She followed me into the laundry. "Did you and Dad have a fight last night?"

"No, why?"

"Because he hasn't said anything to you all morning."

"There's nothing new in that, or hadn't you noticed?"

"I think now I understand why you did what you did yesterday."

"Hurry and get changed or you'll be late for your moment of glory." She slipped out of her butter stained uniform and, as she stood before me in her bra and panties I realised just how much she reminded me of myself at her age, her breasts stood young and proud, hidden but not hidden by the expanse of her all encompassing bra. Her stomach, flat and smooth, showed no signs of puppy fat, her hips curved and slender, had already taken on an adult shape. Before me stood a young adult. I felt a lump in my throat as I realised that it seemed like only yesterday that I was like her, and now here she was. Life was slipping by me.

"What are you thinking about now?" Rebecca interrupted my thoughts.

"I think I shall have to have that talk with you sooner than I've anticipated."

Having slipped into her butterless uniform she kissed me lightly on the cheek and skipped off down the hall, "Bye Mummy." In an instant she and the mood was gone. I returned to the family room to find Timothy finishing his breakfast and Peter gone.

"You'd better hurry." Timothy gulped down the last of his glass of milk and scampered off to get his school bag. He disappeared in a blur of grey out the back door. The silence that followed his departure descended over me like a blanket. I felt alone, really alone, in this large, socially acceptable world. Was my future to stay trapped into this perfect world as portrayed by the glossy women's magazines, or was I destined to break the shackles? What part, if any, did peter have in my future? Was lack of excitement a grounds for divorce? I had to talk to someone.

The voice at the other end of the phone was much too cheerful for this time of the morning. "Fliss here."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 05-10



"Fliss, Cynthia, I need to talk to you."

"I was just about to ring you, has the excitement died down yet?"

"In more ways than one. Can you come over?"

"Try to stop me/ Give me ten minutes, five to finish making myself look gorgeous and five to get there."

I had the door open ten minutes later, she swooped in as only Fliss can, pausing in passing to place a sisterly peck on my cheek, and settled herself in a chair in the lounge room. "Now what's the mystery? Tell Aunty Fliss all about it."

"Fliss I don't know what's happening to me, Peter seems to be getting further and further away. He doesn't even talk to me unless he has to, he seems to be always preoccupied with his work. It's as if I've done my duty to him giving him the two kids and, as long as the house is clean and the meals are ready for him when he gets home, he's happy, he doesn't seem to care about me anymore. Instead of being able to step back and say 'I created that', the garden is a reflection of the personality of a gardening service. The swimming pool is maintained by a pool company. Is providing the creature comforts all that there is in life?"

"What you need my girl, is a lover."

"Don't even joke about that."

"I'm serious. John and I were in a similar situation as you and Peter, then I found out that he was having an affair with his secretary."

"What did you do about it?"

"I gave in to the next offer I got at the next party we went to, it wasn't much as affairs go, just some furtive fumblings at hastily arranged meetings, but it was exciting knowing that I was actually having an affair. There was nothing permanent in it, ever."

"Did John ever find out about it?"

"No, and I don't think that he knows that I know about his extra-curricular activities."

"So you're suggesting that I have an affair?"

"Only if you want to do it, and don't rush into it, choose your lover well."

"What would you say if I told you that I'm already having an affair?"

"Are you really? Who with and when did this all start, do I know him and what was it like?"

"Yesterday was the first time and as for what it was like, I can't answer that just yet because I haven't really had the time to make up my mind what to think about it, in one sense it was great but in another I get the feeling that I'm just another scalp on his belt."

"So it's not got to the serious stage yet?"

"No."

"But when it does I'll be the first to know, right?"

"Of course."

"Changing the subject, what have you got to drink? It must be a good thirty seconds past opening time."

"What would you like? We have all of the usual poisons."

"How about Bacardi, with soda water and a slice of lemon." I mixed the drinks and we sat and discussed the latest gossip for half an hour and a couple of drinks before Fliss left just before lunch to attend some function or other in her busy social whirl. I lunched on a salad and coffee.

After lunch I once more slipped into the black negligee that I had wasted my time with this morning in my unsuccessful attempt to entice Peter. My reflection in the mirror only made me wonder what I had to do to attract his attention. Before me stood an older version of Rebecca, a few more lines, the breasts not as firm, the stomach not quite as flat but the muscle tone was still firm. I considered myself still to be attractive.

I was trying to find ways of improving on what I saw when the door bell rang. I looked through the curtains to see Brownlow standing at the door, alone. I didn't bother to put anything on under the negligee other than the black lace panties that went with it. His reaction when he saw me compensated for Peter's lack of reaction. I ushered him inside as quickly as I could and immediately found myself in his strong arms again.

CHAPTER NINE

Brownlow's Story

She really did look attractive and seductive. I had almost hoped that we wouldn't find ourselves in the same situation as we had yesterday, almost but not quite. The part of me that wanted it was overjoyed at what it saw, the other part, the official one, the one disappearing rapidly into the back of my mind, was horrified at the vision before me. Alarm bells warned me that what we had done yesterday, and it was obvious what we were about to do today, was wrong. What the heck, when she came into my arms the official voice retired defeated.

She was warm and tender, she clung to me as if she was afraid to let me go, as if she wanted me to stay forever. With it came a feeling that usually had me backing towards the front door as fast as I could, but in this case I felt as if I didn't want to do that. I am not inexperienced in matters of women and sex, but this Cynthia person in my arms was better than many of the younger women that have the benefit of the Brownlow technique.

I couldn't quite guess her age but having an eighteen year old daughter would put her in the vicinity of forty which was only a couple of years older than me. Her figure did not show the ravages of time or overuse, in fact it was better than many of my younger acquaintances.

I found myself wondering about her husband, did she still love him? Did he still love her? What was their sex life like? Was she just after a bit on the side or had her marriage broken down and was she looking for a way out of it?

Those questions were answered in that close moment after we had made love and she was lying in my arms, her head on my shoulder and her left arm and leg draped casually across my body. "I suppose you're wondering why we're doing this and why I'm cheating on my husband. Well," she paused for several seconds while she composed her thoughts, "well, I don't feel that I am cheating on Peter. Do you know why? Because we have not had sex for nearly two months, and satisfactory sex for over a year. He just goes through the motions of carrying out his husbandly duties, I don't think that he even cares if I have a climax or not, a few minutes of bouncing about in bed, a couple of quick lunges as he climaxes and it's all over. No foreplay, no cuddles, no love."

"Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"

"You mean are you my first lover."

"Yes."

"Since I was married, yes."

"What about before you were married?"

"I was married at twenty and pregnant at twenty. Before I met Peter I had several lovers, after all I had normal sexual urges, and wasn't encumbered by normal feelings of guilt that were placed on us by our parents' generation."

"You must have had no problem attracting men when you were younger."

"Do I have a problem now."

"Of course not, but then you must have been really beautiful."

"You saw Rebecca yesterday?"

"Yes."

"That's pretty much what I looked like at her age."

"I was right. You wouldn't have had a problem."

"You know she has a crush on you don't you?"

"Who, Rebecca."

"Yes, we had a bit of a fight over you, I won."

"I'm glad."

"Are you really?"

"Yes. I hate to think what my superiors would think if they could see m right now. I dread to think what they would say if they thought I had succumbed to the feminine wiles of an eighteen year old girl."

"Would you get into trouble if they knew what we are doing?"

"Probably, it would be seen as me prejudicing the objectivity of my investigation if I became involved with one of the key figures in it. Speaking of investigations, the person they found was male, Caucasian, probably between thirty to forty years old. The forensics people still haven't established exactly how long he has been down there and they'll probably never be able to. The best guess that they can come up with is that he's been down there around fifteen to twenty years."

The expression on her face changed. Instead of the calm, serene almost, expression that she had as we'd been talking, she now had a worried look on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, at least I don't think there is."

CHAPTER TEN

Cynthia's Story 

My heart skipped a beat when he mentioned that the body had been in the tank for fifteen to twenty years. My mind raced back to my childhood in this very house. Gary, Brownlow that is, had picked up on my change in expression but I think I had him convinced that there was nothing in it, at least I hope I have.

After he left I started to think about my life in this house.

I was an only child, my mother was beautiful and popular, my father a strong, loving man and kind to both mother and me. I was happy enough at home, mother taught me the skills necessary for me to be socially popular with the view to attracting the right man and becoming a good and loving wife, well most of them anyway, while father was concerned that I should have as good an education as possible. From Wahroonga Primary School I went to Hornsby Girls high School, one of the few public schools for girls with a reputation for academic excellence.

I was an adequate though not exceptional student in my time there, I was neither artistic or musically inclined and my grasp of languages, in particular Latin for which I could see no need, was less than spectacular. I had a large circle of friends, some form the neighbourhood, others from school. Life seemed to be moving along smoothly but all that came crashing down just after I turned eighteen.

Mother and father were both popular socially and entertained often. Father for business reasons and mother because it was expected that she should reciprocate invitations from friends. They were both members of the local tennis club although mother was the star player and played in the A grade team. I was allowed to attend my first grown up party, an end of season Tennis get together, held around our newly completed swimming pool and the guests all came in their swimming costumes. Some looked attractive while others seemed embarrassed to be seen in public in their costumes. I wore my very new one, a slinky one piece cut low at the back and not so low at the front, its dark blue colour suited my tanned complexion, it had a narrow band of light blue around the legs and neckline. Father thought that it was a little too daring for someone my age but mother said that it made me look sophisticated. For myself, I was pleased at the way that it showed off my figure.

Because I was under twenty-one I wasn't allowed to drink any liquor other than the fruit punch that was pretty tame. "Do you think that you could put a little something in my drink?" I asked this man who was standing by the table on which the drinks were set out.

"No, do you want me to get into trouble with your parents? You're too young to be drinking anything stronger than this punch. What would your parents think of me if they caught me giving you anything stronger?"

"They wouldn't find out, anyway I'm almost old enough."

"Sure you are! How long has it been since your eighteenth birthday, three weeks?"

"Three weeks? Gee it seems like forever ago. What difference does it make, I've been told that I'm physically mature for my age so I'm ready for this."

"I'm not going to be the one to give you your first strong drink."

"Then turn around while I help myself."

"You'll get me shot young Cynthia." He laughed, I knew that he was weakening so I pressed home my advantage.

"That's not fair, you know my name but I don't know yours. Whose friend are you, Mummy's or Daddy's?"

"My name is Paul Thomas, Mr Thomas to you and I came with a friend of your mother, but she seems to have abandoned me." He looked around the gathering in a vain attempt to locate the person he came with.

"So you're not really a friend at all, so there can be no real harm if I broke the rules is there?"

"Yes there can, I would be abusing your parents' hospitality if I broke the rules that they set."

"If you turned around and didn't look you wouldn't be breaking any of my parents' silly rules would you?"

"Yes I would because I know what you're planning."

"Meany." I decided to try a different approach. "What do you do for a living?"

"I have my own business. I import cars from Europe."

"What kind of cars?"

"Citroens and Renaults."

"Those funny looking things that I've seen driving around?"

"Oh so you know all about cars do you?"

"Of course, I'm not just a pretty face you know."

"You do have a pretty face, I'll grant you that. You look just like I imagine your mother would have looked at your age."

"Yes I do, we sometimes get mistaken for sisters, something that she finds flattering but I don't, I don't know whether it's supposed to mean that I look as old as she does or that she's supposed to look young for her age."

"A little of both I'd say."

"Aren't you the diplomat? How long have you known Mother?"

"I told you before, I came with a friend of hers."

"You didn't you know. I saw you come in on your own, I think you know Mother from somewhere."

"Smart aren't you. I met her at the tennis club, I'm the captain of the A grade team with your mother, we play mixed doubles together, she's a very good player you know. Do you play at all?"

"A little at school, not yet enough to make the school team, and I've still got a lot to learn, what I need is an experienced to give me lessons. How good are you?"

"Good enough to make the semi-finals of the state championships a couple of years ago."

"If I were to ask you nicely, would you give me a lesson?"

"You'd have to get permission from your parents."

"That'll be easy, I'll ask them tomorrow morning when they're not feeling well, if I help to clean up the mess they'll give me anything I want. How will I get in touch with you?"

Paul reached into the pocket of the jacket he wore over his bathers and produced a business card which he quickly passed over to me. I slipped it into the top of my costume. "I'll just slip this into my room. Don't you dare go away, I want to have a swim with you."

He was waiting for me when I got back from my room. I dived into the deep end and surface on the other side. There was hardly a ripple when he dived in. I could just make out his shape as he slid along the bottom of the pool towards me, surfacing only inches from me. "Is there nothing you can't do well?"

"Not a lot and what there is I wouldn't tell you about anyway."

It was then that my feet slipped on the bottom curve where the pool wall met the bottom and I started to slip under. Pal grabbed me to stop me slipping further, he felt so strong and safe, his arms around me, my own arms that I had flung around his neck and was clinging to him. We held each other for several minutes before some of the other guests approached the pool. "When can I have my first lesson?"

"How about next Saturday morning?"

"Okay. Where will I meet you?"

"I could meet you at the club, you do know where it is don't you?"

"Yes, in case you don't know I have been there a few times with Mother and Father."

"Or then again I could pick you up around the corner."

"If you want to."

I saw him a few more times during the course of the evening, he smiled and waved from across the garden, but I didn't get a chance to talk to him again that night. I did notice him deep in conversation a couple of times with Mother, and felt a momentary twinge of jealousy until I remembered that they were tennis partners.

I managed to sneak a drink during the course of the evening, it made me feel all sort of warm inside. I don't know why they wouldn't let me drink.

The party broke up around midnight and Mummy decided that she would leave the clearing up until morning, she was hoping that between the cats and the possums during the night and the kookaburras and currawongs in the morning, there would be little remaining in the way of food scraps.

In the early hours of the morning, while I was sneaking down the hall on my way to the kitchen to get a drink of milk, I heard Mother and Father talking, not that there was anything unusual in that, just that they seemed to be talking louder than usual.

I worked hard the next morning, clearing up the plates, wrapping what was left of the food scraps in paper before tossing it in the rubbish bin. It took a long time and it wasn't until I was helping Mother wash the dishes that I got a chance to ask her if I could have tennis coaching. "Why the sudden interest in tennis?"

"There's a chance that I can make the school team this term if I can get some coaching and a little practise." This wasn't altogether a lie, I could already, if I'd wanted to, be in the school team, it's just that up until now I wasn't motivated enough to try.

"Where are you going to get those lessons?"

"One of the men at the party last night offered to give me a few lessons next Saturday, just to see if I'll ever be good enough. He said that I should ask you first. It'll be alright, won't it?"

"I suppose so. What time do you have to be there?"

"Nine thirty."

"God, I hope that you're not expecting me to drive you there."

"No, I'll find my own way there."

"What time do you expect to be home?"

"Around eleven thirty I should think, why?"

"Because I have my own tennis march to play at two."

I rang Paul from a phone box near school the next day and arranged that he should pick me up from the next street at around nine on the following Saturday.

We were both on time. I climbed into the front seat of his car. It looked different from Daddy's, for one thing the gear lever stuck out of the dashboard. It looked smart, all black and chrome, and it seemed to hang on around corners. "Gee this thing goes around corners well." I commented.

"Traction avante." He said.

"What?"

"In English it means front wheel drive, as long as I keep the power on it just about goes where I point it." To demonstrate this he threw the car quickly through a left hand bend, forcing me to slide across the seat to his side of the car. I didn't move back after he had straightened up and he didn't seem to mind my closeness to him. Too soon we arrived at the Tennis club, there was no-one there.

I loved the lesson, he stood close behind me while I ran through my strokes, his hand on mine guiding the racquet through its sweep, making sure that my hand and wrist were at the right angle. "You seem to have the basic strokes, now let's see how well you use them." He walked to the other end of the court and hit the ball to me. I swung it back down the forehand side, his return seemed to curve away from me and it was all I could do to get my racquet on to it. I lobbed it ever so gently over his head and the baseline.

"That's not fair, you didn't hit the ball straight."

"You will one day meet a player who can swing the ball as much as that. Now to beat a player like that you'll have to learn to watch the opponent's racquet head as he hits the ball. If I was to come up on the ball like this." His racquet moved in an arc from near the ground to over his shoulder connecting with the ball on the way through. "It will clear the net and then drop very quickly, it's called a top spin. On the other hand if was to get under the ball like this," his racquet chopped down under the ball forcing it to describe a gentle arc, high into the air before dropping down and almost bouncing backwards, "that shot's called a back spin and will throw your opponent's timing out. Now you practise those shots." We hit the ball back and forth across the net, varying the shot from top spin to back spin until I could read the racquet and anticipate the bounce of the ball.

Paul drove me home, well almost. On the way I again sat close to him, I didn't need him to drive fast around the corner this time, again he didn't seem to mind my closeness, in fact his hand brushed against my thigh a couple of times. I felt the warmth of it against my skin. "When can I have another lesson?"

"Would next Saturday be soon enough?"

"I guess I can wait that long. Will you meet me at the same place?"




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 05-10



"Yes." We had arrived at where he picked me up earlier. I sat in silence for a few seconds after the car had stopped, trying to make up my mind whether to kiss him or not, he made the decision for me, leaning over, he kissed me on the lips. I returned his pressure more strongly than he had applied, and I felt his hand grasping my thigh. I did nothing to take it away.

After several minutes we separated and I left to walk the rest of the way home while he drove off. I could think of nothing else other than what had happened and looking forward to my next lesson.

"How was the lesson?" Daddy asked as I walked through the front door.

"Great! I learnt how to watch the other player to see what sort of stroke was being played, up until now I've waited for the ball to arrive before I decided what shot to play. I learnt how to put top and back spin on the ball. If I can learn quickly enough I'll have no problem making the team."

"Good, I hope you do, that's something I could never quite manage, your mother on the other hand was always good at sport, she made the school team in tennis and swimming."

Daddy went down to his room under the house where he worked on his hobby. I seldom went down there because it frightened me. Mummy never went there, she was terrified with them. At last count he had thirty seven little, furry and quite dangerous funnel web spiders. 

Mummy was in the back garden catching up on her suntan beside the pool. She had loosened the straps of her costume so that she didn't have any white strap marks to spoil her perfectly tanned back.

"Hi Mummy."

"Hi, how did the lesson go?"

"Great! I learnt so much you wouldn't believe. I've arranged another lesson next Saturday if that's alright with you."

"That should be okay, what time is it, I left my watch inside?"

"I think it's around twelve."

"I'd better get ready." She stood up without doing up her straps, She scooped the top up and, holding her hand across her chest, walked towards the house. "That'll give the dirty old bugger something to look at."

"Mother!" I was shocked to hear her swear word coming from her. I think that was the first time I had heard her swear. "What are you talking about?"

"That old bloke next door, don't look, he watches me every time I go to the pool. I see him looking through the curtains waiting for something to happen. He's probably having a heart attack about now." She chuckled to herself at the thought of it.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Ever since we had the pool put in. Actually it's exciting in a way knowing that there is someone watching you. One day I'll really give him a thrill."

"How, oh Mummy, you wouldn't sunbathe in the nude would you?"

"I might, depending on how I feel at the time. If I feel like stirring him up I will. Where's your father?"

"With his spiders."

"Ugh! I wish he could at least find a less deadly hobby. I loathe those things, they give me the heebie-jeebies." 

The week dragged by at a snail's pace, the later it was the slower it got. Friday lasted for a hundred hours at least, in the evening Mummy and Daddy went out to some dinner party or other with visiting business friends. Time dragged on and on, I heard them get in at around one thirty, mummy was giggling and Father was telling her to shush or she'll wake me, but I was still awake. After they had gone to bed I tried to sleep but was too excited.

At last! Saturday! THE day! I was ready to leave at eight but had to hang around for ages until it was time to leave. Mummy and Daddy hadn't surfaced yet so I left a note telling them where I was and what time I'd be home and left.

Paul didn't turn where he was supposed to. "Where are we going?"

"To a friend's place, he has a grass court and it's a better surface to play on that the asphalt one at the club." His friend's court was nice, all green and pretty and, because it was surrounded by a high hedge, it was also very private. I was trembling with excitement even before Paul came and stood behind me to begin the lesson the same way as the previous week.

He took me through the stroke movements and showed me how to curve the ball from side to side. We then hit the ball to each other, practising the shots that I had learned in my two lessons for about half an hour before he called a halt. "Would you like to have a shower before you go home?"

"Can I?"

"Of course." He led the way into a wooden building next to the court. He took a towel from a cupboard and threw it at me. "The shower's in there." He said, indicating a door at the end of the room.

I went into a large room, on one side was a large shower cubicle while on the other side a long bench with hanging hooks along the wall above it. I stripped off my clothes, hung them on the hooks and stepped into the shower. The water was warm, the soap beautifully scented and I luxuriated in it. The door opened and Paul walked in and he wasn't wearing any clothes, he was carrying a towel in one hand that hid his front and two drinks in the other. He put both the towel and drinks down on the bench, I was seeing for the first time, a naked man. I was both excited and afraid. "What are you doing?"

He stepped into the shower and took the soap from me. "Turn around." I turned. He lathered my back in slow gentle circular movements, it felt amazing, his hands moved up under my right arm forcing me to lift it to allow him to soap my armpit. On the way down his hand swept forward in an arc around my breast. Instinctively my arm closed on his trapping it. "What are you doing?" I asked again.

"I'm washing you, don't you like it?"

"We shouldn't be doing this, what would my parents say if they knew what was happening?"

"How would they ever know? I won't tell them, will you?"

"No, I suppose not, but what if your friend comes in?"

"My friend has gone out for the day." I found myself in the very situation that I had dreamed about all week, but now that it was happening I was confused.

I released his hand and he continued to wash my breast. I was feeling just a little weak at the knees, his other hand started on my left breast. He was supporting me as he caressed me, I felt his mouth on my neck, his breath warm against my skin. He reached out and turned off the water. He almost had to carry me out of the shower I was still so weak from his touch. He dried my back with firm strokes but when he turned me and dried my front his stroking became slower and softer, I could barely feel the towel as it moved over my body but my skin tingled at his touch, especially when he dried between my legs.

When he had finished drying me he spread the towel on the bench and, picking me up as if I weighed nothing, he lowered me onto it. Kneeling beside me, his lips covered mine, the pressure of his kiss increased along with mine, his hand moved over my breast, brushing the nipple, softly caressing it.

"No, please don't." I couldn't have sounded less convincing.

"Why not" Who is to know?"

"It's not right!" common sense was returning. I've never done this before, there must be a law against it."

"It's what you want though, isn't it?"

"Well," I didn't know what to say, he was right, but this whole thing wasn't.

He continued to talk softly to me, a mixture of pleading and reassurance. "Nothing will happen, I'll be gentle with you." His hand was exploring my thigh, my resistance was weakening. He moved his body over mine and placed his penis between my thighs, moving it to its destination and thrusting gently at the threshold of my womanhood. I cried out in pain as my defences were finally breached. He paused for a few seconds before continuing with his work.

After the first flash of pain I felt better, he moved in and out for some time before pulling free. I felt my stomach being covered by a warm gooey liquid. He lay there for several minutes, breathing deeply, his head on my shoulder, his weight pressing me to the bench. I was uncomfortable, and just as I thought that he had dropped off to sleep, he raised his head and kissed me lightly on the lips.

Getting off me he picked up his towel and started to wipe himself down. "How do you feel?"

To tell the truth I didn't know how I felt, disappointed I think. I had felt the pain of his penetration followed by the sensation of his movement within me, but that was all. He seemed to have derived some sort of pleasure from it all. "Okay I guess, I don't really know how I'm supposed to feel."

"Did you have a climax?"

"Climax? What's one of those?"

"I's hard to explain but you obviously didn't have one otherwise you would have known."

"When will I have one?"

"Maybe next time. You do want to do it again, don't you?"

"I guess so, I didn't think much of this time, maybe next time will be better."

"It will be, you'll be more relaxed."

He gave me his towel so that I could wipe the mixture of me and him from my body. "I think I should have another shower."

"We don't have time."

"But I'm still yucky."

He gave me a damp face flannel that he had soaped, "Don't be too long."

I was deep in thought as we drove home. Would it really be better next time? Did he really care about me, or did he have something to prove to himself? Was I merely a convenient new lover? He dropped me off at the usual place, kissing me good-bye, his hand once more resting on my thigh. "See you next week for another lesson." It wasn't a question, more a statement of fact.

Mummy and Daddy had just got out of bed and looked awful when I walked in. Daddy mumbled a greeting before heading for the bathroom. The noises that came from behind the door told me that he wasn't feeling well. Mummy looked no better, the look that I got from her when I dropped my racquet on the floor was one of extreme pain. "Oh please be quiet, my head feels as if there is a whole road crew inside with those jack-hammer things trying to dif their way out."

"Did you have a good time?"

"If my suffering is in any way related to whether I had a good time or not, we must have had the most wonderful time. I'm afraid I don't remember a thing."

The Christmas holidays had arrived and I worked on my tan with some friends from school. Sometimes Mummy joined us and on those occasions I caught my friends looking enviously at her figure, which, for her age , was really good. The old man next door must have just about worn his eyeballs out watching as we gradually moved our tan lines further down our bodies. 

Saturdays were still spent on my 'tennis lessons'. Paul was right, it did get better and one day I felt that I was getting closer to whatever it was that I was supposed to feel when he pulled out and emptied himself onto my stomach.

My tennis was improving in spite of the other 'lessons', I was gaining confidence by the day. "Why don't you try out for the club team?" Mummy surprised me by asking me after I got home from my lesson.

"Can I? When?"

"Why not this afternoon, there are no competition games and the club is holding internal trials to decide the gradings for next season."

There were several other players trying out for the various teams, they were a mixture of young, inexperienced, players and older players who had recently moved into the district. I was drawn against another young girl for my trial.

Jane Cripps was slim and attractive, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her legs tanned and well shaped. From the pre-game hit up I saw that her game was based on power but lacked consistency and, remembering my lessons, I had little difficulty in handling her. I anticipated her shots and, moving early, was able to cover her game, preferring to move the ball around, mixing my game up with a combination of top spin and curving balls. I constantly had her swing and miss.

I won the set to love, something that she didn't like at all judging by her reaction to my extended hand. 

"Would you like to play a game against me?" I turned to find Paul standing behind me.

"I don't think that I'm in your class."

"From what I've just seen you could beat all of the women and most of the men in this club. What you need is a hard game with the distinct chance of being beaten to put your game into some sort of perspective and to test how good you are under pressure. Your last game was too easy for you, she was a blaster hoping to beat you with sheer power, she obviously hasn't met anyone who wasn't afraid of her pace." 

"I'll play you on condition that you don't get too hard on me."

"I'll try not to be, but if you play as well against me as you did against her, I'll be the one begging for mercy."

We took the court, attracting a fair sized audience. Paul served with a lot of work on the ball and I found that by watching the racquet as he'd taught me, I was able to judge the ball well enough to get most of my returns in. I took him to thirty in the first game and just managed to hold my service after three deuces. That gave me added confidence and on his next service game I took him to deuce twice before he held serve. I fared better on my next service game, taking it to thirty.

Paul's next service games found us engaged in long baseline rallies, both probing for the opportunity to take the point. I held advantage at deuce three times before he over-hit a topspin lob and it landed inches behind the baseline giving me the service break.

He tried all his tricks on my service to break back, I guess that I was just a bit more agile than he was. He had me running from one side of the court to the other. I managed to scramble in the game, I was leading 4-2. I couldn't believe it and judging from the expression on Paul's face, neither could he.

His next service game was close but he won after one deuce. I could see that he was trying to regain his concentration and confidence. I went for broke on my first serve, deciding to try something that I had discovered by accident and perfected by practising at home. I threw the ball high and as it came down I hit it with a lot of slice on it, but as the racquet was still moving up, it had the effect of putting a lot of topspin on the ball as well as slice. He read the slice but not the topspin and moved to his forehand side expecting it to curve away from him. It curved away as expected but, when it hit the ground it kicked back towards him leaving him going in the wrong direction. 15-0

The next serve he hit straight at my body and I fended it into the net, 15-15. The next serve to his forehand had him guessing, would I try the same or something different. I hit the ball harder than usual but still slicing it out to his forehand side. It landed right in the back corner of the service court and curved away. He took off after it, throwing himself at the ball but missing it by a couple of inches, sprawling off the court and slamming into the chain mesh fence. He lay there for some time before getting to his feet holding his wrist. "I'' have to forfeit this game, I think that I've sprained my wrist."

I had made the team, but in doing so had created a problem. "I don't think you need any more lessons." Mummy said as I walked from the court.

"But I will need lessons if I'm to maintain my place in the team."

"You'll be getting plenty of practice now that you're in the team, and that should be enough for the time being. If you have the talent to go on with the game we will think about getting you professional coaching, let's just see how you go here fist. Now let's go home."

I walked over to console Paul about his wrist and tell him the news about my lessons. "I thought it would come to this. You are very good and I feel that I have no more to offer."

"But what about my other lessons?"

"Without one I just can't see us arranging the other."

"So that's it then? Just like that, finished."

"I'm sorry. There is another reason, your mother knows about us."



Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 11-20



CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Mum, what is there to eat?" Timothy and his bottomless stomach had arrived home from school and interrupted Cynthia's thoughts.

"Get yourself a glass of milk and a biscuit." She resented the intrusion into her thoughts. She went to the refrigerator and got out salad ingredients and some lamb chops and started to prepare the evening meal.

"Not chops and salad again?" Timothy looked scornfully at the food.

"What's wrong with that? It's good healthy food."

"Why can't we have real food for a change?"

"What do you call real food?"

"Hamburgers and chips and coke, not this muck." He held up his half consumed milk.

"Listen young man, you can't live entirely on hamburgers and that sort of thing or you'll end up fat and ugly."

"But Tony has hamburgers all the time and he's not fat."

"Not yet he isn't because he plays lots of sport and burns up a lot of energy. But wait until he starts work and gives up all that exercise, he'll end up looking like his father."

"Yeah." he said thoughtfully, "I see what you mean." He gulped down the last of his milk and raced off to his room to emerge quickly in his swimming trunks heading for the pool. "Just a minute young man, homework."

"Gee, can't I do it later, after I've had a swim, I'm all hot and sweaty."

"All right but remember, ten minutes in the pool and then straight into your homework." He disappeared and a few seconds later Cynthia heard the splash of his entry into the pool, then Rebecca arrived with Samantha. "Mummy, can Sam and I go for a swim in our pool?"

"Yes, but you won't be able to stay long because you have your homework to do before dinner."

"I've done most of it, the rest I can do after dinner, please?"

"What about you Samantha?"

"I've done all mine Mrs Swain."

"When? You didn't have time after school."

"I did most of it in class, the rest only took a few minutes when I got home, and Bec helped me with it so she knows most of the answers already." 

"Alright, off you go."

A few minutes later Timothy was back inside. "I can't swim in the pool with those stupid girls, they take up all the room."

"I was just about to call you in anyway."

"Why can't they use the pool at Samantha's house, that way I could swim without them bothering me."

"I don't know, you'll have to ask them."

"I did, they told me to mind my own business."

Timothy shambled off to do his homework leaving Cynthia to her meal preparations. Her thoughts drifted briefly to earlier that afternoon. She wondered if she should mention it to Brownlow.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Brownlow's Story.

Something had been bothering me ever since I left Cynthia and I couldn't put my finger on it. Our investigations on the previous owners of the house had drawn a blank. The Swains had been in it for about four years as Cynthia had already told me, the previous owner listed for the appropriate period that we were investigating were not contactable. The house was sold as part of a divorce settlement and half of the proceeds sent to the wife in England. The remainder was left to the husband and passed on to the daughter when he died. As yet we had been unable to locate her and it would mean spending time in the offices of the Registrar of Births Deaths and Marriages, not something that I would want to do myself. 

Still, there was something that bothered me about Cynthia's reaction. It was as if she somehow knew something about this that she was not about to reveal to me. I put my thoughts out of my mind as I walked into the police station. "Any news from Forensics?" I asked Winters.

"No, they are still carrying out tests, but they say that they may never be able to accurately establish the time of death because there are no precedents for this investigation, something to do with the degradation rates caused by the bacteria in the septic tank that will require years to establish"

"Great. Have they come up with a more accurate guess than the one that they had earlier?"

"No."

"What about the cause of death?"

"Nothing from the bones to reveal contemporary damage, and nothing in what's left of the marrow to indicate an accumulative heavy metal poison."

"Where do we go from here? I guess that we shall have to try and trace the wife of that previous owner and see if she knows anything. I want you to dig up the divorce settlement records and get her last known address, then, if she's still in England, get in touch with Scotland Yard and see if they can find her and have a talk with her and see if there is anything that we can use."

"Now?"

"No. Leave it until morning, off you go." I sat and tried to organise my thoughts to make some sense of the whole mess. After about half an hour and several pages of doodling that included Cynthia's name surrounded by an intricate interwoven hearts and flowers pattern that, on reflection, disturbed me, I screwed up the paper and with practised expertise tossed it into my waste basket and left.

I resisted the temptation to have a few beers at my local on the way home, choosing instead to get a bottle from the fridge to have with my steak, onions and chips that was my staple diet on the few occasions that I dined at home alone.

After dinner and half watching the TV for an hour or so, I had a quick shower and climbed into bed. My last conscious thoughts were of the expression on Cynthia's face, it bothered me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rebecca's Story.

I could tell that something was bothering Mummy when Sam and I got home, but I didn't have a chance to ask her about it, what with Timothy carrying on about Sam and I using our pool instead of hers. Even Sam was getting on my nerves with her constant stories about what possibly could have happened.

Her explanations were getting more and more preposterous as time went on. First she insisted that the body was that of a jilted lover who had committed suicide and, rather than risk the scandal and disgrace, his family had secreted his body in the septic tank and told their friends that he had entered a monastery to devote his life to good works in darkest Africa.

From there had become a spy drama involving the Secret Service using the septic tank to dispose of a Russian agent caught spying. She kept prattling on non-stop for so long that I couldn't even get a word in edgeways. She really was becoming tiresome and if it hadn't been for the fact that her mother had been 'entertaining' a friend (male) in her pool when we got to her place on our way home from school and Sam wanted to make herself scarce I wouldn't have asked her over.

"Did he come here this afternoon?" Sam had at last gone home and Timothy was doing his homework, well he was in his room, and Mummy and I were alone at last.

"Yes he did." There was something about her voice that worried me.

"What is the latest news?"

"Not a lot. They have worked out that the body could have been in the tank for between fifteen and twenty years."

"Did you and him, you know?"

"It's none of your business what I did."

"So you did do it. Mummy, I'm worried about you and Daddy. I hope what you're doing doesn't mean that you and daddy will get divorced." I had this horrible feeling that they were heading in that direction. "I think that you and Daddy should have a long talk and look at patching up your problems."

"I'll give it another try tonight, but I don't think that it'll do a lot of good."

"I don't want to see you two split up, I love both of you and don't know what I would do if you did break up."

"I don't think that it'll come to that."

I went into my room to finish my homework, which didn't take long, and to have a think about what I would do if the situation got worse. I emerged from my thoughts when I smelt the aroma of grilling chops from the kitchen.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cynthia's Story.

After dinner Timothy sat down to watch some idiotic American comedy show on TV and Rebecca took her usual position on the phone talking to her friends discussing topics with individuals that she couldn't discuss within her group at school. I washed the dishes and tried to collect my thoughts in some way. How could I broach the subject of our relationship with Peter?

He arrived home at eight-thirty, made himself a drink and joined Timothy in front of the TV while I got his dinner for him. After the kids had gone to bed and before he had a chance to go to his office I took the bit between my teeth, "Peter, I want to talk to you."

"What about, is it important?"

"Yes it is important! I'm not happy with our relationship."

"What is wrong with it? Don't I provide for you and the kids?"

"Yes, but that's not enough."

"What more do you want?"

"Some love and affection would be nice. Let me ask you, when was the last time that you held me and told me that you loved me?"

"I don't know, it can't have been that long ago."

"It was nearly three months ago, for the last six months you have not made love to me."

"Hey! What about last week?"

"Last week we had sex, I just lay there while you went through the motions of having sex with me. Again, when was the last time we made love?"

"But I'm always too tired when I get home from work."

"What about weekends?"

"What about weekends? Weekends are for relaxing and recharging your batteries for the coming week."

"Wouldn't you consider that making love, really making love, to your wife to be a form of relaxation?"

"When love making becomes a duty it is no longer relaxation."

"That's great coming from someone who goes through the motions once a week. Peter, now I want you to answer me truthfully, are you having an affair with anyone else?"

"Good heavens no! Whatever gave you an idea like that?"

"Fliss. She found out that John was having an affair with his secretary."

"Well I'm not having an affair with my secretary, or anyone else for that matter so you can put your mind to rest on that score."

"Then why have you lost interest in me, don't you find me just a little attractive?"

"I do find you attractive and why can't you just accept that I'm just too tired. Why must we have this song and dance?"

"Because I love you, and I not only need your love, but I need for you to tell me from time to time that you love me, or at the very least that you still care."

"But I do love you. Nothing will change that, ever."

"Well dammit! Why can't you show me that you love me! Surely it's not asking too much for you to hug me now and then and even give me the occasional kiss. Maybe when you get back into the habit you will feel like making love, really making love, to me."

Peter got to his feet and took me in his arms. He held me for several minutes, his lips buried in my hair. I could feel the roughness of his woollen tie on my face, his breath smelling of stale tobacco mixed with the remains of his aftershave creating an unpleasant odour. He loosened his grasp on me allowing me to raise my face to his, his lips crushed mine in a kiss devoid of passion. He was merely going through the motions and the lovemaking that followed served to confirm that assumption. He was mechanical in his efforts and climaxed long before I even warmed to the task leaving me deflated and alone. After I heard his measured breathing I turned over and cried silently to myself. My thoughts in turmoil. Would I, could I continue this farce of a marriage for the sake of the children? Would I continue my affair with Gary to preserve my sanity in this loveless marriage? Would I leave them all and weather the scandal and social stigma attached to that action. When eventually I did get to sleep it didn't last and I was soon awake, tossing and turning. After putting up with this for what seemed like hours I got out of bed and sat in the kitchen sipping listlessly at a cup of coffee.

Rebecca came in. "What's wrong Mum?"

"I just can't sleep."

"You're worried about you and Daddy aren't you?"

"I guess so. Oh Becky, I don't know what to do."

"If you don't love him anymore why don't you leave and divorce him?"

"That's just it, I think I still love him, Anyhow, what about you kids?"

"Do we have any choice in the matter?"

"Some. Would you stay here with your father or come with me?"

"I haven't thought about that part of it yet, I suppose I would live with you, although I'd miss Daddy."

I took her in my arms and hugged her to me, the relief showing in the tears that trickled down my cheeks. "I haven't made up my mind yet about what I will do, but when I have I'll tell you all about it. In the mean time don't mention anything about this to Timothy or your father."

"I won't. Cheer up Mummy, things will get better, I'm sure that you and Daddy can work through this and stay together."

"Thanks Beck. Now off you go, there's no point in both of us losing sleep." I was still in the kitchen when Peter got out of bed. I heard the en-suite shower hiss into life. I put on the percolator to brew fresh coffee to replace the vast quantities that I had consumed during the night.

Becky was the first into the kitchen, bleary eyed and still half asleep she gave me a hug. "Don't worry Mummy, it will work out for the best."

"Thanks Darling, you don't realise how much it means to me to have your support."

Timothy clattered into the room at a hundred miles an hour, sitting at the breakfast bar he demanded cereal and milk. Becky got it for him and, after noisily gulping it down he raced off to his room to fetch his school bag. He was just racing through to the garage to collect his bike when Peter walked in. "Where did you get to?"

"I couldn't sleep so I came out here so as not to disturb you."

"Oh."

"That's all, just 'oh'."

"What do you want me to say?"

"You could at least ask why I couldn't sleep."

"I think I can guess, I wasn't very good, was I"

"Now that you mention it, no. But it's not the sort of thing that we should be discussing here and now, why don't you try and get home at a reasonable hour tonight so that we can discuss it in detail."

"I'll see what I can do, I'm making no promises." He munched his way through his toast, gulped down the scalding coffee without flinching and went off to finish his dressing. Becky was leaving just as he emerged from the bedroom and surprised us both by giving me a kiss.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rebecca's Story.

I didn't know what to make of the events, on one hand I was sad that Mummy was thinking about leaving Daddy while on the other hand I was happy that she was confiding in me, it made me feel so mature. I suppose, on thinking about it, I couldn't blame her for thinking about what she was thinking, after all, if it was so bad between her and Daddy then she was justified in thinking that. However, if Sergeant Brownlow hadn't come along when he did she might not have been so dissatisfied.

Samantha was no help. "My mother would just have had an affair and not told Daddy. In fact she's having one with a friend of theirs right now. She told me that her sex drive was much stronger than his so she needed to look elsewhere to satisfy it."

"And you don't find anything wrong with that?"

"Of course not silly. When I get married, if my husband doesn't satisfy me I'll have affairs."

"But if you love someone you shouldn't be unfaithful."

"Don't be so wet. It's common knowledge that we women have a stronger sex drive than men, so why shouldn't we have more than one man?"

"So what you're saying is that you have no intention of being faithful to your husband?"

"No. What I plan to do is to marry for money and find love on the side."

"Isn't that the same as being a prostitute?"

"How straight can you get. I thought you were as modern as me but now I see that you still have very conservative ideas. Marrying for money is not the same as selling your body like they do. I'm not going to have a cash register in my bedroom or anything like that, all I want is a comfortable home, plenty of money, maybe some children, and a lover as well."

We arrived in class before she could say anymore, which was just as well because I was beginning to feel as if I didn't really know Samantha any more. She had some strange ideas about love and marriage.

My day at school couldn't have been worse, it dragged slowly on and the more that it went on the more trouble that I got into. I just couldn't help it, I had far too much on my mind to be worrying about school work. I ended the day with detention and several hundred lines because I was unable to concentrate. Samantha waited for me to get out of class. "What was the matter with you today?"

"I kept thinking about what is happening at home."

"You mean with your mother?"

"Yes."

"Tell her from me that she should find herself a good lover and have an affair, that will cure everything."

"I can't tell her that."

"Of course you can, I'd tell my mother if she wasn't already doing it."

"Your mother and mine are two entirely different people, I wouldn't dare suggest it to her."

We arrived at Samantha's house and I went in with her. Her parents weren't at home so we sat around listening to records and talking. "Bec, has your mother seen you without clothes lately?" 

Wow! What made her ask that? "No, why?"

"It's just that Mummy and I are always going around without clothes on, it makes for a closer relationship between us, nothing to hide and nowhere to hide it." She laughed at her saying. "You should try it.

"I couldn't."

"Why ever not? You have a good figure, if mine were as good as yours I would hardly wear any clothes at all."

"But you have a good figure too."

"Not as good as yours, my boobs aren't big enough, look." She peeled off her uniform and took off her bra. She was right, they weren't as big as mine. I took off my uniform and bra. We were both standing in our panties when we heard the front door opening. "Don't panic, it's only Mummy."

Samantha's mother came into the room as I was trying to hide my breasts with my hands. "What have we here, a case of you show me yours and I'll show you mine?"

"Yes, hasn't Bec got good boobs?"

"I don't know, I can't tell what with her hands in the way. Let me have a look." She reached out, I tried to pull back but she took my hand in hers and pulled them away. "Hmm, very nice, you should be proud of them and not try to hide them." The next I knew was Samantha's mother undoing her blouse and opening it wide to reveal her large breasts. "Now that is something that most men would die for." She thrust her chest forward and pushed them together and up with her hands. "If I was on the game I could make a fortune with these."

"Don't be so crude Mother!" Samantha said.

"Oh alright, still you've got to admit that they're good."

"Yes they are." I heard myself saying. "I think I'd better be going home before Mummy starts worrying about where I am."

"You could always ring her and let her know that you're here?"

"No, it's late as it is, I'd better go, thanks all the same."

As I left I heard Samantha's mother comment to the effect that she thought that I was afraid of what was happening. I don't really care what they thought, but I'm going to have to make a decision on whether Sam and I would continue to be friends. On the one hand I liked her as a friend, but on the other hand I was disturbed by the direction that our friendship was taking. I knew that what we had been doing was wrong, but she acted as if it was a normal part of girls growing up. I was confused.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cynthia hadn't planned to discuss the birds and the bees with Rebecca just yet. She didn't know when she was going to do it and had been putting it off, but Rebecca had come home with a worried look on her face and, on questioning her concerns emerged and she now found that she couldn't delay it any longer. "What you're doing is not necessarily bad, it's part of satisfying your curiosity and becoming aware of your own sexuality. You are physically capable of having a baby and looking after it. However, society has decreed that you are not yet old enough for the responsibility of motherhood. Before you even think about taking such an important step, I think that you should know a lot more about your body and its functions. You and Samantha have been exploring each other's body, you will have notice that when she caressed your breast you felt a pleasant sensation. Your breasts are one of several erogenous zones, they can be different on different people, but are usually around the face and neck, the breasts and around your vagina."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 11-20



"When you start going with boys they will most probably start working on those areas with varying degrees of finesse on the assumption that you will lose control and give in to their advances. That is possible. I want you to be aware of what is happening to your body so that you can make a decision on whether you want matters to go beyond that point. Boys will try to convince you that it is all right, normal, for your own good, to give in to them. You may even find that to be the case, but remember, while legally you are old enough to make that decision, you have your life ahead of you and the wrong decision will affect the rest of your life. He will probably then play on your sympathies by telling you it will affect him if you don't give in. He will not suffer irreparable physical or emotional damage if you don't let him make love to you, in spite of what he might say to convince you otherwise, and allowing him to make love to you is not the only way that you can show him that you love him."

"You will find yourself having dreams about making love to different men. That is normal. It is rare for such a dream to come true and when they do, they can be a monumental disappointment. On the other hand, the most unlikely looking man could turn out to be the right one for you. Now don't take that as an open invitation for you to try as many boys and men as you can. On the contrary, you will develop a sense of who is right for you and who isn't. If you decide that you want to let someone make love to you, I want you to do one thing, I want you to insist that he wears a condom."

"A condom, what's one of those?"

"It's a form of birth control, it's a rubber thing that the man puts over his penis before making love."

"Oh, you mean a 'French letter'?"

"Yes. Be sure that he puts it on before he puts his penis inside you, don't let him try to convince you that it will be all right if he pulls out and then puts it on during intercourse, which is not a safe practise."

'Why?"

"Because some men ejaculate very quickly and before you can do anything about it you are full of his sperm. As well as that small amounts of sperm can escape from his penis before ejaculation which is a good reason for you to resist any assurances he might give you that he'll pull out before ejaculation."

"Did the Sergeant wear a condom when you made love to him?"

"Yes I wouldn't have let him do it otherwise."

"Samantha says that if you and Daddy aren't happy sexually that you should have an affair. She says that her mother has had several."

"I know about her mother. I'm different, I don't have the same sexual urges as her mother, I can survive for more than a few hours without having sex."

"Do different women have different feelings about sex?"

"Of course, that's what makes us so interesting. I don't feel the need for sex as much as I did at your age. I reached my sexual peak just after Timothy was born, now I can get by for weeks at a time without it."

"Is it because of that you and Daddy don't do it very often? What would happen if you met someone, like the Sergeant for instance, who gave it to you more often, would you want it more often?"

"I really don't know. I suppose that I would like it more often if it was there and it was someone that I loved and respected. That is the most important part, love and respect."

"What about the Sergeant, do you love him?"

"I don't know. At first it was something that I did because I was feeling rejected by your father and he was there looking as if he would be good at it. It was exciting that first time." 

"So there's been more than one time?"

"Yes, we made love twice but it won't happen again. I'm hoping to have another long talk with your father and I hope that we can improve our relationship so that I won't need to look for someone else."

"Does Daddy know about the Sergeant?"

"No, and at this stage there is no need for him to know. I hope I can trust you on this." 

"On What?" Timothy asked as he walked into the room.

"Nothing, just something between us girls." Cynthia told him.

"Oh. What is there to eat?"

"There's plenty of fruit in the fruit bowl and milk in the fridge."

"Yuk. Here we go again, isn't there any real food?"

"If you mean cake and coke, no." Mumbling to himself about how hard done by he was, Timothy went out into the back yard. The sound of him diving into the pool followed.

"I'd better make a start on getting dinner ready for you kids."

"Can't I eat with you and Daddy? Eating with Timothy is so gross, the way that he shovels food into his mouth is revolting."

"If your father is true to form it will be too late for that." A car pulled into the driveway and Cynthia couldn't think who it could be, surely not Brownlow at this hour. She was pleasantly surprised when Peter came into the room. She was even more pleasantly surprised when he took her in his arms and kissed her. The expression on Rebecca's face showed that she was just as surprised and pleased.

"This is something new." Cynthia was still in his arms hoping to extend the mood.

"Don't knock it Darling. I realise that I've been neglecting you and I've decided to see if work will collapse in a screaming heap if I don't spend as much time there, and to delegate more work to others."

"That's wonderful. Now release me so that I can prepare dinner for all of us." Turning away from him Cynthia started to gather together the ingredients for dinner.

"Here, let me help you." Peter took a lettuce and started to tear the leaves to shreds. Rebecca, seeing that she would be intruding into this new domesticity decided to have a swim before dinner.

"Darling." Peter asked.

"Yes."

"Something has been bothering me."

"What is it?" Was he going to broach the topic of their relationship or was it something else.

"Didn't you live here around twenty years ago?"

"Of course I lived here, you know that as well as I do, you know that daddy had to sell it after his divorce from Mummy and after he died he left me with enough money that helped us buy it back."

"Have you told the police that?"

"No, what good would that do?"

"It may help them to find out whose bones just happened to be in the septic tank."

"But after all this time?" Cynthia left the question unfinished.

"If there is nothing to hide, what's the problem?"

"The problem is that if they can't identify the body and can't find the murderer, then there will always be a question over the case and doubts about this family. You know that people will form their own opinions and no amount of protests will alter that."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cynthia's Story.

Dinner was an unusually pleasant affair, for the first time in I don't know how long Peter had dinner with the family on a week night. For a while it was strained until the kids got used to having him around, but the time that dessert was served Timothy was rattling along at twenty to the dozen about everything that was happening at school and his instant fame and popularity following the discovery of the body in the tank. Rebecca was a little more subdued, feeling, I think, that her contribution to the conversation were important to the success of the occasion. She chose her words carefully. "Daddy, is it really necessary for you to work back every night? This is so much better than when you're not here. I feel that even if you weren't making millions of dollars we would love you just the same, right Tim?"

"What? Oh sure. Is there any more dessert?"

"Philistine!" Rebecca put on her 'I'm much more sophisticated than you' expression, "Can't you think of anything other than your stomach?"

"I'm still hungry."

"Yes Dear," I interrupted, "there's more in the kitchen, help yourself."

The reluctance with which he trudged off to recharge his plate indicated that he had fully expected me to get it for him. "Hey Tim, get me some more while you're at it." Peter called after him.

"That's right, wait until I'm out here and then ask, you didn't think to ask while I was still there, now I'll have to walk all the way back and pick up your plate."

"Don't talk to your father like that!" I told him.

"Sorry Dad, I guess that I'm just out of practise."

"Tim!" I was just about to chastise him again when Peter stepped in.

"No, I'm largely to blame for this situation, and should shoulder the blame as well as the responsibility of fixing it."

After dinner we sat down together and watched TV until it was time for Tim to go to bed. On several occasions Tim asked questions about things that he didn't understand and Peter either answered him or told him where he could find the answer.

Rebecca excused herself and went off to bed sensing that we wanted to be alone. "You're right, I have been missing out on a lot haven't I?"

"Yes, and there's something else that you've missed out on."

"Oh yes, and just what might that be?" He was sitting beside me with his arm draped around my shoulder and his forehead resting on mine. Slowly, his lips moved to mine, the kiss had none of the mechanical feel to it that was in his kiss this morning. We held each other for some time before he pulled away. Standing he pulled me to my feet and into his arms. With his arm still around me we walked slowly into our room.

The slow tender lovemaking of our courting days returned. Peter took me in his arms and kissed me with mounting passion, his hands seeking and finding the zip at the back of my dress. Slowly it was worked down until the dress hung loosely over my shoulders. He took half a step backwards to give himself enough room and allow the dress to fall to the floor before resuming his embrace. His hands had found a new target and my dress was joined on the floor by my bra.

An hour, going on ten hours, going on a few minutes of immeasurable time later, during which I had to tell him that his lips, fingers and cock were a more convincing apology than a thousand words, we reached our first mutual orgasm in I don't know how long. It was his first and my third and as I lay drowsily in his comforting embrace he told me for the thousandth time that he loved me and that he was a stupid fool for neglecting me for so long. He promised that all of that would change.

After our morning lovemaking session, what a way to be woken, He broached the subject of me having lived in this house as a girl. "I think that you should tell the police about it because if they found out and you haven't mentioned it they will think that you have something to hide."

"Okay, I promise." Could I tell the police without speaking to Gary?

After breakfast as he kissed me and told me for the thousand and first time that he loved me Peter reminded me of my promise.

At nine-thirty I was saved from ringing the police by the arrival of Brownlow. I thought for a minute that I should hide and not answer the door bell but I figured he had probably been waiting down the road for Peter to leave and would know that I was still at home. He entered with a familiarity that I was beginning to resent. He reached for me but I avoided his touch by taking a step backwards. "What's the matter with you?"

"I don't think that we should be doing this. I'm making an effort to salvage my relationship with Peter and I don't need this complication."

"Really? Well let me tell you something, if you don't do as I ask I will make life very difficult for you."

"That sounds very much like blackmail to me. Are you planning to tell Peter of our, what is that wonderful term you people use, intimate relationship?"

"No. I have something more damaging to you than that."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. You have found out, using your considerable resources and detective skills, that about twenty years ago, and about the time that you believe the body was placed in our septic tank, that there lived in this house the Pearson family. This family was made up of the father, Mr William Pearson, the mother Mrs Judith Pearson and their adorable daughter Cynthia. Now this daughter is the very same Cynthia that married Peter Swain and along with her loving husband and two absolutely fabulous children Rebecca and Timothy are living in that very same house."

"Damn!"

"Are you disappointed because I stole your thunder, or is it because you now have nothing that you can use to force me into going to bed with you?"

"I could charge you with withholding evidence."

"Are you sure of that? After all you only asked me who the previous owners were, not who the owners were before that, or if I'd lived here before. If you'd asked me either of those questions I would have told you." 

"Now that you've confirmed that it was you that lived here, I will have to ask you to cast your mind back to see if you can remember anything that could help our investigations?"

"What sort of thing did you have in mind?"

"Anything. It may not seem important to you, but it may just be that vital clue that we need to make a breakthrough."

"I can't think of anything offhand. It was pretty normal until Mummy left us and went to England with another man and then. . . ." My mind drifted back, it was as if I was having a bad dream.

I was eighteen when Mummy left. At first Daddy and I thought that she was going over to England to visit a long lost and sick relative, but then we got her letter that must have been posted as soon as she had arrived in London that told us that she wasn't coming back and that she wanted a divorce. Daddy was distraught "Cynth." He was in tears, "Cynth, your mother won't . . . ." The letter slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor.

I picked it up and managed to read the first paragraph before I too was overcome by the enormity of the news. "But Daddy, I thought that you and Mummy were reasonably happy, you never seemed to have any arguments."

"She obviously didn't think so. She says that she has found someone who can give her a more exciting life than I can. She says she is too young to be tied down to me for the rest of her life and that I don't fit in with the image she sees for herself."

"Does she say that she doesn't love you?"

"No. That's the stupid part of this, she says that she loves me but that she's not in love with me."

"What's the difference?"

"Loving someone is a forever emotion. Being in love can be transient."

"So she's prepared to give up your relationship and marriage for something that might blow over quickly. What will she do if this fling doesn't work out?"

"Probably stick it out rather than have to admit that she made a mistake and ruined the lives of others for what can only be described as a purely selfish act. She is a very proud woman is your mother."

"But why? Wouldn't she be better off coming back and admitting that she made a mistake?"

"No. I, we, haven't told you this, but this is not the first time that she has left me. Years ago, before you were born, she left me for another man, it lasted about three months before she came back admitting that she had made a mistake and promising that it would never happen again. I took her back and trusted her not to go back on her promise. She has had several lovers since then, something that I have tolerated because I loved her and because she threatened on a number of occasions to leave if she didn't get her own way. It seems that until now her lovers were not interested, or didn't want a long term commitment. But this one. It appears, left his wife and wanted her to do the same thing. He has applied enough pressure on her for her to go back on all her promises."

"If she comes back again would you take her back?"

"Probably not, I don't know, you see love is based on trust and I don't know that I would ever be able to trust her again, not with her scant regard for the feelings of those she is supposed to love."

"Do you still love her?"

"Yes, I guess that I'm something of an anachronism in that I have a capacity to love that can't be dampened by anything that a person does to me. I could never hate someone, not for a moment, it would take something really drastic for me to lose the capacity to love and even then I don't think that I could hurt someone to the extent that she has hurt you and I."

"Oh Daddy." I threw my arms around his neck. "I really love you and I think that you must simply be the most forgiving person in the world."

"I don't know about forgiving, I certainly won't be forgetting this. Well kid, it's you and me against the world."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Did you ever see her again?" Brownlow's voice interrupted Cynthia's thoughts.

"What? Oh no. Daddy corresponded with her solicitor and after he sold the house he sent her share of the proceeds. She never wrote or sent a card for my birthday or Christmas."

"What about her lover, did you ever find out who it was?"

"Which one?"

"The one she left your father for?"

"Oh him, of course, it was one of the men from the tennis club, caused quite a stir at the time."

"What happened to him?"

"Our friends told us that he met her in England as planned. As far as Daddy and I were concerned that was what happened."

"Okay. Is there anything else that you can remember that happened around then?"

"No, not really."

"Can you remember if, at any time, your father had any work done on the drains or septic tank?"

"We were always having something done to the drains. The neighbours had this massive camphor laurel tree right on the fence line and its roots were forever blocking the drains. The old lady that lived there wouldn't do anything about it even after Daddy threatened to make her pay for the damage it caused. One day the plumber had this bright idea and drove several lengths of copper pipe into the roots. Three months later the tree was dead. The old lady couldn't understand it."

"You didn't like her very much, did you?"

"Not really, she was a real busybody. She used to give her poor husband a hard time for spending so much time in the back garden when Mummy was sunbathing by the pool."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cynthia's Story

That wasn't the only reason that I didn't like her, I wondered how it was that Mummy found out that Paul and I had been lovers. At first I thought that it was because he'd been boasting to his mates about making love to both mother and daughter, for I had heard that he and Mother were doing it, but later, during a very heated argument with her I found out.

"You little slut!" Mummy's voice cut cruelly through me. "What do you think you are doing making love to someone at your age?"

"What are you talking about?" I wasn't going to admit that it was true, at least not yet.

"Someone told old Mrs Watson next door that you've been getting more than tennis lessons on Saturday mornings."

"But that was ages ago, it's all over now."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I loved him and I thought that he loved me."

"I hope that you took precautions."

"What do you mean?"

"You silly little bitch! Now I suppose I'll have to arrange an abortion for you. When did you last have your period?"

"I'm in the middle of one now."

"Well at least that's something. Still I resent you making love to Paul, he's too old for you."

"What has upset you most, me making love to someone, or to Paul because you thought that you had him for yourself?"

"How dare you!" Her hand lashed out and caught me a sting blow on the face. "He means nothing to me."

"Then why the commotion?"

"Go to your room immediately. I don't want to hear any more about this."

Life with her became strained, I guess she thought that I had become a threat to her. I didn't know whether she continued to see Paul after our argument and it didn't bother me because I'd begun seeing a boy that I'd met on the train. He was gentle and sweet and as yet he hadn't tried to make love to me.

Daddy somehow found out about our argument. "Cynth, I'm, well, disappointed in you, but then you weren't really to blame. I can only assume that he seduced you, I hope he didn't rape you or force himself on you. I can understand you falling for him, after all your mother did."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 11-20



"You knew about that?"

"There's little I don't know about your mother's flings, she's fairly obvious when she's having them."

"You speak as if there's been more than one."

"Several actually."

"How can you tell?"

"All sorts of different ways, like staying out later than is normal when she goes to functions, going to more than is usual, looking all gooey eyed at them when they meet. She's not as good an actress as she likes to think she is, and she gets really jealous if they pay attention to anyone else while she's around."

"And you put up with all of this, why?"

"Because I love her, still love her."

"Didn't you say anything to her about this?"

"Yes, on a couple of occasions I had words with her about her behaviour."

"What happened?"

"She was all full of remorse and contrition for a while and even showed a lot more affection towards me, but it didn't last long before she was back where she had been. I expect she thought that by doing that she would allay any fears that I might have had that she was actually having an affair. I think that she thought I would divorce her because of her adultery."

"It seems to me that she has a strange idea about relationships."

"I must admit that I often had the feeling that her idea of give and take was 'me give, she take'. Her idea was to give only enough to maintain our marriage but not enough to strengthen it."

"This must have caused you a great deal of stress?"

"Of course. I hope that I've been able to cope with it, sometimes I'm not so sure . . . ." His voice trailed off into silence.

"If you ever need any support." There was no need for me to finish the statement. Daddy's arms came around my shoulders and he hugged me to him.

"You are wise beyond your years. He3re I was planning to give you a lecture about the birds and the bees and you end up helping me out with my problems." He kissed me lightly on the forehead and held me for a while longer before releasing me. There were traces of tears in the corners of each eye which he brushed away as if they had no right to be there.

"I love you Daddy." It was my turn to hug him, I rested my head on his shoulder. "We have each other."

CHAPTER TWENTY

"And your relationship with your parents, how was that?" I resented Brownlow's intrusion into my thoughts.

"Pretty normal I think. Sometimes I loved them, others I despised them especially when they wouldn't let me do what I wanted."

"And friends, I imagine that you had plenty of those?"

"Not really. I had only just started having boyfriends when Mummy left, so for a while I had to be there for Daddy. He didn't seem to have all that many friends that weren't friends of Mummy's, so he didn't have anyone to turn to. I filled in that gap."

"How well?"

"If you're thinking what I think that you're thinking, not that we''. I sort of became his housekeeper and confidante."

"After your mother left, did you see this Paul bloke?"

"Once, briefly."

"Do you know if your father did?"

"Yes, at the same time. You don't think that the body could be his?"

"That is something that can't be discounted at this time. Tell me all that you can about him."

"What is there to tell. His name was Paul Thomas. He was a car importer with his own business. He was successful in just about everything that he did, but he threw away his business to follow Mummy to England."

"Was he married?"

"Yes he was, although he certainly didn't act married, his sort never do."

"Did he have other lovers apart from your mother?"

"Probably. He was never short of female company."

"Non-committal."

"What do you mean?"

"Was he your lover?"

"I was only eighteen at the time."

"No answer."

"Would it make any difference if he was?"

"Probably not, I'm just trying to piece together an overall picture of what was going on around here."

"If you really must know, he was. He and I made love a number of times and then it ended."

"Did you have any other lovers?"

"Do you mean, was I promiscuous? I had a boyfriend at the time that Mummy left but we weren't lovers. Then after she'd left I didn't go out with anyone until I started business College. That year I had several boyfriends but I only made love to a couple of these. The when I went to work for Peter's father Peter and I started dating almost at once. Yes we were lovers before we got married, and no, we didn't 'have to get married'. Since then I have had no lovers until you came along the other day."

"This leads me to the next question, why the rejection?"

"Peter and I have decided to try harder to make a go of our marriage and I don't want anything to jeopardise that."

"When will you know whether it's going to work?"

"Who knows? It might take forever, I hope it does."

"I'm getting the picture. What do you think your husband would say if he were to find out that you and I. . . ."

"He will. I intend to tell him myself."

"Oh."

"Yes, so don't get any ideas that you will be able to upset our plans. What we did is in the past and Peter will understand that."

"Okay, back to work. Did your mother ever marry this Paul?"

"No."

"How can you be sure if you haven't heard from her?"

"My friend Fliss was over there last year and I got her to make inquiries. She told me that Mother lives alone but is not always alone, if you know what I mean."

"You never thought to try to contact her yourself?"

"No, like my father I want her to make the first move. I don't have the same depth of feeling for her that he had, but if she were to make the effort I would be prepared to talk to her, to meet her half way. I would even be friendly, after all she is my mother and I feel that I owe her that much."

"But she has to make the first move?"

"Yes, she walked out on us, she wasn't forced to leave. Daddy and I would have been prepared to take her back, I think, if she had asked us. He probably would have asked her for some tangible assurances that she wouldn't leave again. He loved her enough to take her back, but on his terms, although I personally don't think that she would have been prepared to stick to them. He was not prepared to grovel to her as he had in the past. He had enough of swallowing his pride for her."

"Your father sounds like he was a pretty special kind of guy."

"Yes he was. His pride and self esteem had taken a battering over the years but he still had this capacity to love, although sometimes he found it hard to swallow, especially where Mummy was concerned. She accepted his love in the same way she would a cat's purr, it was always there but unlike a cat, Father seldom had to be patted to make him purr. It was too easy for her, she could rely on him to be there to pick up the pieces when her affairs came unstuck, but when she decided to leave she gave no thoughts to his feelings at all, or mine for that matter. She was a selfish bitch, but a proud one. I will never hear from her again."

Brownlow stood up. "I'd better be getting along, I have a couple of leads to follow up. I'll contact you if I need any more information."



Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 21-24



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Cynthia's Story.

I won't hear from her again. I remember the day that she left, she seemed happy enough to be going away for a holiday on her own. As the final boarding call came over the loudspeaker she gave me a light peck on the cheek. "Look after you father won't you? Don't let him go to the pub every night getting drunk. Make sure he buys the right food for you, and don't ask him for presents all the time." She turned to Father, "Good-bye Darling, look after Cynthia won't you, don't let her go out every single night, make sure that she does her homework and look after yourself." She kissed him quickly on the lips and dashed through the gate and on to the plane.

Daddy and I walked up to the roof top viewing area and waved like idiots as the plane taxied away, like everyone else there, not knowing or caring if she saw us. We stayed until the plane, its propellers clawing at the air, roared down the runway and slowly lifted out over the coast and away. Daddy put his arm around my shoulder as we left.

That night Daddy took me out to a restaurant for my very first grown-up dinner. He was ever so sophisticated. As the menu was written in French and my command of the language left a lot to be desired, it certainly didn't run to the standard necessary, he explained the dishes to me but left the final choice up to me. He allowed me a sip of wine. I know some of the people there were looking at us strangely as if I was some little piece that he was trying to impress and possibly seduce, but I didn't care, I even imagined that was what was happening and fell into the mood of things by making believe that he was my employer and I was his new secretary that he was taking to dinner while his wife was out of town, It was fun watching the expressions on their faces when I touched him on the arm when I was making some point or other. The women looked down their collective noses and sniffed without sniffing at us while the men couldn't hide their envy at my father having dinner with such a young and attractive woman.

Father fell into the mood as well and placed his hand over mine when he wanted to attract my attention. The waiter hovered all night, whisking away dishes as soon as the last morsel left it. "The meal was to Sir's liking? Would Madam like another cup of café, and after dinner mint per'aps?" All the time I could see him trying to see down the front of my dress. I could imagine him in the kitchen regaling the staff with a running commentary on the bit of young fluff that the dirty old man at table 12 had. He over-filled Father's coffee cup when I deliberately leant forward to whisper something in Daddy's ear while he poured.

The Maitre 'd' bowed deferentially to Daddy as he paid the bill. "I 'ope Sir and Madam found everything to their satisfaction and will be gracing our 'umble establishment again soon." He pointedly emphasised the word 'madam'.

"Mam'selle and I found the meal most enjoyable and the service most attentive. The vegetables were maybe just a touch overdone but this was not enough to detract from what promises to be the start of a most memorable evening. Come along Darling.

We laughed so much that Daddy couldn't drive for ages after we got into the car. "You should have seen the looks on the old dears' faces, what they must be saying now. "Shocking Mabel, he's old enough to be her father. I wonder if her parents know that she's going with an older man? And the men, I can see them now standing in the loo, "Did you see that lucky old bastard that just left? She was a bit of all right, probably just started working for him and has been told how she can climb up the corporate ladder. I bet she gets a raise soon, if you know what I mean."

"What about the waiter, I'm surprised that all he did was over-fill your cup. He spent all his time trying to look down my dress, not that he could see all that much."

"Well not most of the time, you were a bit naughty when you leant forward when he was pouring coffee, I could have been scalded."

"Sorry Daddy, I just couldn't resist it. It felt great being the centre of so much attention."

"Don't get used to it, this is only for special occasions." Daddy drove the car into the garage and we got out. "How would you like to make us a cup of coffee before we go to bed?"

"Okay." I fussed around in the kitchen preparing coffee and cutting us each a slice of cake that Mummy had left us. "Ready." I called down the hallway. We sat in silence in the kitchen, eating our supper. Daddy seemed a little subdued now. "What's the matter, missing her already?"

"Yes, do you know that this is always a hard time knowing that there are so many things that can happen and looking forward to the day when she is back home again."

"But nothing will happen. Cheer up Daddy, in no time at all she'll be back."

"I hope so."

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

There was a message on Brownlow's desk when he arrived for work, it was from the Forensic Pathologist and asked to come down to the Path Lab as soon as possible.

The Path Lab is hidden in the nether regions of the headquarters building and access is gained by following a convoluted series of dimly lit corridors. Eventually, after several wrong turns, Brownlow found himself standing outside a door on which was as sign that read:

PATHOLOGY LABORATORY

ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER

THE GENIOUS IS IN

"Enter." The voice from within was highly pitched and clear. Brownlow entered. "Ah,you must be Brownlow, come, come, come in my boy, park it by all means." He indicated a high stool, "Tea? I'm just brewing a batch." He took a beaker of boiling water from a stand over a Bunsen burner and poured it over teabags in badly stained mugs. "Milk and sugar?" He opened the specimen fridge and removed an open bottle of milk. The sugar, and Brownlow hoped that it was, came from a beaker on the shelf that bore a strong resemblance to several other beakers on that shelf.

"No thanks all the same, I might just give it a miss this time. I have this thing about the food that I eat, I like to know where it's been."

"Tush, what a nonsense. This is all good clean stuff, no little nasties among this lot."

"I think that I might just concentrate on the business at hand, if that's all right with you?"

Doctor Richard Pressman looked at Brownlow over his half glasses. He was a tall thin man in his mid to late forties, he had that pale, grey, pasty look that confirmed the many hours he spent hovering over his table and equipment analysing bits of people to establish cause of death. His tousled hair, also grey, confirmed that his involvement in his work overruled any consideration for his appearance.

"If you really must." He took a long sip from his mug of tea and a mouthful of sandwich that he had also retrieved from the specimen fridge. He pushed the food to one side of his mouth to allow him to speak with reasonable clarity. "What we have here is a male Caucasian, probably in his thirties but I can't be one hundred percent sure of that. Cause of death, well I can tell you how he didn't die much more easily than how he did. It was not likely to have been a gunshot. I can rule out an accumulative metal poison but not an organic one. An injection either by accident or deliberate of a drug is a possibility. He was not struck over the head by any form of object due to the lack of cranial fracture. As to who he was that's a doosie, if you can locate his dentist his records will confirm his identity but good luck with that, you'll need it."

"How can you be sure that this man didn't die from any of the methods mentioned?" Brownlow asked.

"In order to answer that I would have to make an assumption. In my line of work assumptions are not good enough, beyond reasonable doubt, that's the words the judge uses to the jury. The first thing that has to be done is to find out if there any precedents that can assist me in my work. As far as how establishing the time of death there is no precedent to be had. Now we could, if it was a chemical action that caused the deterioration of the corpse, use an accelerator to establish a rate of deterioration over a short period and then project that until the we reach a condition similar to that of our friend here. Unfortunately in this case the action was bacteriological not chemical. If you wanted to wait for however many years it takes, I could set up a similar scenario, but I could very well be enjoying my retirement when we get to that point. Another fly in the ointment is that we cannot be certain if at any point in time over the last twenty years or so that the owners of the tank did not pour disinfectant down the drain to stop the smell and kill off all of the bacteria, they would take an indeterminate length of time to recover. So many variables to consider, therefore I have to say that it will be virtually impossible for me to tell with any degree of certainty, the time of death."

"As for gunshot. Usually with the gunshot as a causal factor, two things occur; either the bullet hits a bone on the way in or out of the body and there would be evidence of that, or it lodges in the soft tissue and would have been found in the residue taken from the vicinity of the body, it was not. If it was murder, and of that we can be almost certain, the victim would most likely have been shot in the head, no evidence of that. If a shotgun had been used there would have been pellets in the residue, not evidence of that."

"As for poisons, accumulative metal poisons would leave a residue in the bone marrow, no evidence of that. If it was some other form such as strychnine or a neurotoxin any evidence of that would have been lost in the bacteriological decomposition of the body, no evidence and no basis for a provable hypothesis."

"Could there be any other cause of death?"

"I can rule out strangulation because there was no damage to the bones in the neck. I can't rule out all together the use of a knife, but proving it poses a problem, again no possibility of a provable hypothesis."

"Is there anything that you can tell me about our friend that would help my investigation?"

"Oh many, many things."

"Such as?"

"Such as you can rule out robbery as the motive for his demise."

"Why?"

"Because of these." He produced a plastic bag containing several items of gold jewellery. "A vain man was our Mr P.L.T. If you look closely at this signet ring you can make out the initials PLT. Also there is an inscription on the back of his watch; 'To P with all my love J'. 'J' had expensive tastes, this is a very expensive watch."

"Interesting. I think that we have found the late lamented Paul Thomas."

"One thing you could investigate that could establish the earliest time of death."

"What's that?"

"The type of septic tank that he was found in. If, as you suggest, he has been missing for around twenty years, you could have trouble proving it."

"How?"

"Because the single chamber tanks were not in general usage at that time. The most common type was a dual chamber model. The first chamber had a series of three baffles designed to keep the solids on the surface and allow only primary treated liquids to pass to the second chamber where it passes through a rubble bed. I haven't been able to work out the purpose for this chamber. Subsequent septic tanks were of the single chamber type because it was realised that the bacteria in the liquid was what broke down the contents. While the outlet pipe was only marginally lower than the inlet, inside the tank was a tee junction with the long leg pointing down, this effectively meant that the liquid passing out of the tank was drawn from about twelve inches below the seething mass of nasties bobbing around on the surface."

"When did the single chamber tank come into use?"

"In the early sixties."

"I think that I have enough to go on for the time being, thanks Doc, I owe you a beer."

"Don't you want to hear the rest?"

"There's more?"

"I have told you that he was a male Caucasian of about thirty years of age. Now let me paint the rest of the picture, he was six feet tall and was in all probability a man of some athletic prowess. This much I can tell from the bone structure. It is likely that he served in the Second World War and received a minor gunshot wound. Appearance was also important to this man and he certainly took pride in his."

"How can you tell this from the bones?"

"It's not just the bones that we look at. While the long legs suggests the athletic ability, his signet ring was of a small diameter so he wasn't overweight. The fact that he wore it on his left hand suggests a mixture of vanity and practicality. If he was to play a sport such as tennis he wouldn't wear it on the hand that held the racquet unless he was left handed, but he wore his watch on his left wrist and lefties usually wear theirs on their right wrist. And if you look closely at the bone that ran from his left wrist to his index finger you will see that there are some lumps that suggests that at some time he wielded a hammer with more enthusiasm than skill. Now while there is a certain amount of conjecture in all of this, I am confident that it will give you a reasonably accurate picture of your man."

"What about his war service? You mentioned something about that."

"Ah yes! See here, this is the bone in the upper left arm, by the way my report will use the correct medical terminology for all of this but for you I'm keeping it simple, now if you look closely you will see a lump on the side of the bone, If this was a fracture you would see evidence of the bone having knitted together, that evidence does not exist. This indicates a gunshot wound that just grazed the bone as the most likely cause and given his age and the most likely time for that to happen would be during the Second World War."

"Could it have been the result of a hunting accident?"

"Unlikely. The most common penetration as a result of hunting accidents is for the bullet to traverse from a low point in an upwards trajectory, usually as a result of a dropped weapon. This wound had a horizontal trajectory common it a war wound, hence the suggestion of war service."

"How soon may I have your finished report?"

"In a day or two. What you will get will be proven facts. I will also give you several hypotheses based on those facts. Now you will not be able to use these as hard evidence, they will be in the report to assist you in your identification process."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Brownlow's Story

I couldn't believe it, there I was looking forward to another session with the adorable Cynthia Swain and what should happen, she puts up the shutters, that's what! 'Peter and I are trying to make a go of our marriage and I don't want anything to jeopardise our plans'. Just who the hell does she think she is? And that business about not knowing anything, huh! A likely story. She lived there, she was having it off with Paul Thomas, I'm pretty sure the body is his and she knows nothing! Pull the other leg, it's got bells on it. I'm almost certain that the remains are all that's left of him and I just know that she's in this up to her pretty little neck. Now all that I have to do is prove it and then let's see her refuse me.

I wandered back to my desk still thinking about her. Why can't I get her off my mind? My previous lovers never had this affect on me so why does she? Could it be because none of my previous lovers ever dumped me, in fact I had to waste a lot of energy avoiding them.

I put together the facts as I knew them, they were a little thin on the ground and I needed more time to get things sorted. I walked to the Chief Inspector's office to see if he would allow more time for the investigation. "No!" The was basically what I thought he'd say and I wasn't wrong. "There is no way that I can commit that much time and effort to what is essentially ancient history. There is nothing on our files that would warrant a continuation of this investigation. If this man wasn't missed then why should he be missed now?"

"How do we know that he wasn't missed?"

"While you've been wandering around closely questioning one witness, many times it seems, we lowly footsloggers have been going back through the files of that era, and do you know what we found? Nothing! Certainly nothing to justify wasting any more of our valuable time."

"Could it be that we were looking in the wrong place?"

"Enlighten me."

"Up until now we've been looking for someone vaguely fitting a not very precise description, needle in a haystack stuff. I, on the other hand have a name to attach to that body and that gives us something tangible to work on."

"Okay, against my better judgement I'll give you another twenty-four hours. Now get out of here before I change my mind. By the way, I think that you should find someone else to question."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that there must be other witnesses other than Mrs Swain. Now you are going down to Archives."

Archives would have to be the most boring place on earth. I spent the best part of two hours going over two years supply of missing persons records without any luck at all. Paul Thomas had not been declared a missing person in all that time.

"No luck?" Constable Henderson the dusty custodian of the dusty records asked her superfluous question.

"It looks as if who I thought it was wasn't missed, at least no-one reported him missing."' 

"How certain are you that it is this person?"

"Almost positive. If it is who I think it is he was supposed to have run off to England with someone else's wife."

"Then why don't you check with the Passport Office and see if he actually left the country, they would have records of any visas issued around that time."

"You are a genius, I could kiss you."

"Cease and desist Sir. What would my husband and my three adult sons, who by the way are all first division rugby union forwards, say if they that I was in danger of being kissed by you."

I didn't answer, I heard nothing that came after 'cease and desist' because I was well on my way out of the basement before she had finished what she was saying.

The Department of Immigration staff were not exactly falling over themselves to assist my investigation, but then they weren't entirely unhelpful either, they did nothing. Bloody public servants, at first they said that there was no possible way for me to have access to their records without first getting a subpoena. I threatened to not only get one but to lodge a complaint to my Minister about the way that they were obstructing a criminal investigation. 

Reluctantly I was led down this long corridor to a small office populated by a clerk who sat trying to keep awake while attempting solve the Herald (Sydney Morning Herald) crossword. "This gentleman, one of this state's finest, would like you to check back through the microfilm records to see if a visa was issued to a Paul Thomas."

"No can do."

"How so?" Talkative aren't we.

"Firstly I need a 72634 dash 5 in triplicate and subpoena before I can check my records."

"Okay, where do I get one of those 72634 dash 5 forms?

"It can only be obtained by applying to the Minister."

"And just how do I do that?"

He thrust a sheaf of papers at me with a pained sigh. "Just fill out this 72634 dash 2 which is a request for the release of information. It will then need to be signed by a Supreme Court Judge, the completed and duly signed form is then forwarded through the appropriate Department channels to Canberra. When we get the authorisation back we will contact you and arrange a time for you to view the appropriate file."

"Keep it calm, count to ten." I told myself. "Okay let's see if there is any way that we can cut through the bullshit. I am in the middle of a murder investigation, trying to establish the identity of a body that has been dead for the best part of twenty years and you jumped up bureaucrats are doing your level best to hinder my investigation. How would it be if I were to go to MY Minister and request a court order forcing you to comply with my request." It was all bluff mind you, I knew full well that State Jurisdiction did not have precedence over Commonwealth.




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 21-24



"This wouldn't be the body that was found in the septic tank would it?"

"Yes, the very same."

"Look, I am just about to go and get myself a cup of tea. While I am gone I must ask that you go nowhere near that file drawer over there. If you should want a copy of a file then you will have to go through normal channels, which I have to admit are a pain in the arse, however, if you should feel the need to take notes of a file in the drawer, that you are not to go anywhere near while I'm gone, then I would be none the wiser. One thing though, if anyone should ask where the information came from, you have never been in this office. Understood?"

I went to the file drawer that I wasn't supposed to go to and found it full of microfilm records. I looked at the index to find the right piece of film and placed it in the reader. Right in the middle of the list of names of politicians heading overseas on fact finding missions was the name of Paul Lester (I bet not too many knew that one) Thomas and right next to it was an entry for Judith Pearson. It would seem as if they applied for their visas at the same time, how cosy.

I was still there studying my notes when he arrived back, cup of tea in hand. "Any joy?"

"Yes, I found the name that I was looking for, now all I have to check is to find out if he actually left the country when he was supposed to. I don't suppose you can help me with that?"

"Sorry, you could try the airline passenger lists for the time in question, they may still have records."

I thanked him profusely and left, I would have to check the records of all of the airlines that operated out of Sydney to London either through Asia or America, not a task that I was looking forward to, to see if our man actually left the country as planned, and if he did, when did he return.

I tried Qantas first without success, the same with BOAC and PanAm. I was getting nowhere fast and my time was running out fast. Time to change tactics. Cynthia had said that she thought that Thomas had been married So off I went to the Registrar of Births Deaths and Marriages. I didn't bother with Births because I had no idea when he was born or if, in fact he was actually born in Australia. After what seemed like hours the Marriage records revealed that Paul Lester Thomas married one Jean Veronica Stapleton at the Methodist church at Lindfield on May the 22nd 1949. There were no children of the union in the subsequent Birth records, and there was no record of the marriage having been dissolved.

Acting on a hunch I decided to check the Death records further down the track and there it was. After the statutory waiting period of seven years had elapsed Paul Lester Thomas was officially declared to be deceased.

There was no record of his wife having remarried so the next step was to locate her. The phone book and then the Electoral Rolls. I began with the phone book and found several listings for 'Thomas' in the area, one listing intrigued me, it was P. L. Thomas, surely she would have changed the listing now that he had been declared dead? My check with the Electoral Rolls confirmed that Jean Thomas still lived at that address. Time to pay her a visit.

Finding her was the easy part, getting information from a person who had degenerated from a bitter and angry thirty-five year old to a bitter, angry and somewhat irrational fifty-five year old who looked to be closer to eighty years old than her real age was another matter. The years of hurt had taken their toll. "He was no good, my husband, always carrying on with those floosies at the tennis club, harlots the lot of them. He thought that I didn't know about his affairs but I knew, I knew. He thought he was being clever and hiding it from me but I was smarter than he thought I was. I could tell, I knew. He only had to flex his muscles and they were fawning all over him, and he loved every minute of it. What was it he used to say when I complained about his flirtations; 'It doesn't matter where I get my appetite as long as I come home to eat., and that was what happened, he would carry on with one of them for a while and then come crawling back begging for forgiveness and promising faithfully that it would never happen again. But it always did."

"When did you last see him?"

"The day I confronted him about that Pearson woman and that whore of a daughter of hers. Imagine having the gall to have an affair with both mother and daughter. Anyway I told him to pack his bags and leave. I told him that I was not going to share my house with a pervert any longer, and because I was not to blame he should be the one to go."

"And did he?"

"Yes the bastard. I'm sorry, what must you think of me using such language. I was hoping that he would see the error of his ways and get rid of his harem, but he didn't. . . ." Mrs Thomas sobbed quietly into a delicate lace handkerchief. "He said the most hurtful things to me. He called me a middle aged frump and said I held no sexual attraction for him. I told him that I was prepared to allow him his mistresses as long as he didn't flaunt them in front of me. He called me a pathetic old crone. 'Look at yourself,' he said, 'snivelling and carrying on like a lovesick cow, do you think I could love someone like that?' I didn't know what to say. The final insult was when he told me that he'd never loved me and the only reason that he married me was for my money and now that he didn't need that he was leaving. He packed his bags and I never saw him again." 

"Did you know that he was planning to go to England with Mrs Pearson?"

"No and I didn't want to know. No. That's not correct, yes I did know. I heard from a friend who was keeping me informed of his actions in case he changed his mind, that he had booked to go to America on his way to England, and that he planned to meet her there."

"Do you know if he did?"

"No."

"No you don't know or no he didn't go?"

"No he didn't go."

"How do you know he didn't go?"

"because I went to the airport to see him off, from a distance you understand, but I was half hoping that he would change his mind at the last minute. You can imagine how I felt when he didn't get on the plane and I checked that he hadn't re-booked on any other flight. I rushed home looking forward to him sweeping me off my feet and telling me that he had realised that he loved me, and how good it would be having him make love to me like he used to years ago. But he wasn't there, he wasn't anywhere."

"You didn't report him missing?"

"No. I couldn't face the prospect of the public humiliation that he had left me. I have my pride you know." She sniffed. Her nose in the air in a vain attempt to show that she was unaffected by the incident.

"And you never gave up hope of him returning to you?"

"No, never."

"Then why did you have him declared dead?"

"That was my solicitor's idea so that I could regain control over my property. It was mine you know, before we were married I bought this house from the money that my father left me when he died. My family told me that Paul was only marrying me for the house, and my money, but I wouldn't listen to them. He told me that he loved me, he told me so often enough that I believed him. When we were married I had the title deeds to the house transferred into his name. It was still in his name when he left and until it was transferred back into mine I couldn't even sell it, and I couldn't transfer the deeds while he was officially alive. You wouldn't know how it felt to love someone so much that you signed your property over to him and then find out he was having affair after affair, it was so humiliating that I couldn't tell anyone, not even my closest friends, especially not my family. I used to make the excuse that he was working very hard and couldn't take time off when he couldn't attend family get togethers."

I took the ring from my pocket and held it out to her. "Do you recognise this ring?"

"Yes, it's his. It's the ring that I gave him on our first wedding anniversary. Where did you find it?"

"Did he have it on him the last time you saw him?"

"Yes, he wore it all the time."

"He wouldn't have given it to anyone or sold it to anyone?"

"No, he knew that it would break my heart. He was a kind and considerate person."

"I understand that you've never remarried, why?"

"Despite all of his faults, I found I could love no other person, oh my friends tried tirelessly to match me up with other men, but they all suffered in comparison. After a while they gave up trying. Life has been so empty for me."

"You had no children?"

No. That was the silly part of all of this. He could carry on for all he was worth and not have to worry. He was physically unable to father a child and in a way I think that this was part of his problem."

"What do you mean?"

"He somehow felt that he was incomplete, and having endless affairs was his method of compensating for his feelings of inadequacy."

"You seem to know a lot about what it was that motivated him?"

"Yes. We had been undergoing counselling for some time about facing the prospect of never having children of our own. He took it hard because he was from a large family and it had never occurred to him that he should have any problems fathering a child. At first he didn't believe that it could be his problem, but after I had been subjected to an endless battery of tests, all of which confirmed that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my reproductive system, he had to reluctantly face the prospect that the problem was his. He refused to contemplate adoption as an alternative, he said that if he couldn't father a child of his own there was no possible way that he would think of looking after someone else's. I think that he was half hoping that one of his affairs would result in a child. None did."

"You never had any thoughts of revenge against him for leaving you?"

"I was thinking of what I would do when he came back."

"Like what?"

"Like welcoming him with open arms and then taking to him with a blunt knife and removing that part of his anatomy that made him so popular with the opposite sex, or spreading a rumour that he had latent homosexual tendencies, but then who would have believed that one? But I never did anything, I never had the chance to do anything and I don't suppose I would have any way because he wouldn't have been able to handle that."

"Why not?"

"Do you know much about love, Sergeant?"

"Some, why?"

"To me love is an emotion that transcends all others. Even after all these years, if he was to walk through that door now, but he couldn't could he?"

"Why couldn't he? Do you think that he's dead?"

"No. He wouldn't know where to look would he?"

"Why not? After all this was his home too."

"But then you're a policeman and he's not. I don't think that he could find this place if he wanted to. He must be suffering from amnesia or else he would have come back ages ago, wouldn't he? If he were to walk through that door I would forgive him. I wonder what he looks like now? He was very handsome you know, see this is his picture." She produced a framed photograph that stood on the coffee table and which showed a man that even I had to admit was good looking in a smooth way. "He looked like Cary Grant only more handsome. He was tall, strong and athletic. He had the most magnificent skin, I remember when he was courting me, we would go to the beach and I would be covered in lotions and potions to keep me from burning to a crisp and there he would be, half an hour in the sun and brown as a berry. He had the most magnificent teeth, and he smiled, he would flask me a smile and it was almost blinding, especially when he was tanned. He was ever so kind, he would remember my birthdays and our anniversaries. . . ."

"Anniversaries?"

"Oh yes. The anniversary of our first date, when he proposed, our first argument, and our making up after it, our wedding anniversary, my birthday. He was so thoughtful and would always send me something special and unusual. For one anniversary he sent me flowers and a card that was supposed to have been from a secret admirer and when he got home that evening he pretended to be jealous and took me out for a special dinner to woo me back to him. It was ever so romantic, and typical of him."

"How long after you were married did he start having his affairs?"

"Affairs? He never had any affairs, he would never do anything to hurt me. He was the most wonderful person a woman could ask for in a husband."

"But you have just told me that he was having an affair."

"No I never. I don't want to hear any more lies about him having affairs. If you mention that again I will be forced to ask you to leave. Why are you asking me all this, what business is it of yours?"

"I am a police officer."

"He hasn't done anything wrong has he? You didn't catch him speeding again?" He was always a little fast when he drove."

"No, Mrs Thomas, he wasn't caught speeding. We have found the skeletal remains of a man. The ring that I showed you was found on that body. You have identified that ring as one belonging to your husband, that you gave to your husband. Now in order that we can positively identify the body as that of your husband we need some things from you like the name of his dentist and, if possible, one of his suits so that we can compare sizes. Mrs Thomas, we have reason to believe that we have found the remains of your husband Paul Lester Thomas."

"How could you have?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's not dead. He was here a minute ago, you must have passed him as you came up the driveway, he just stepped out to get a packet of cigarettes." 

"But you haven't seen him for the best part of twenty years."

"What are you talking about. I have just told you, he was here just a few minutes ago."

"But I've been here for over half an hour, more than long enough for him to have bought a packet of cigarettes and got back here, and I've seen no evidence of him having been here for some time. Could you show me some evidence of him being here now?"

She led me to her bedroom where she opened a wardrobe full of suits and trousers. There were shirts, socks and underwear in the drawers of a dressing table and I was almost at the point of admitting that I might just have been mistaken when I realised that the clothes would have been the height of fashion twenty years ago. I gave up, this was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. I took one of the suits from the wardrobe. "Thank you very much Mrs Thomas, you have been a great help with our investigations."

"That's all right. Oh by the way, if you should happen to see that bastard of a husband of mine, you can tell him from me that he can keep his tarts and keep right away from me. I never want to see him ever again!"

I retreated quickly for Mrs Thomas. She was so unstable that it would take forever to sort fact from fantasy, I had the impression that there was more of the latter than the former. I was getting nowhere, I was sure of the identity of the body, but where was the proof?

"I knew that this wasn't going to be easy." I was again in conference with the Chief Inspector. "Not even Sherlock Holmes in his prime would be able to positively identify this body."

"You could hardly say that you were in the same league as Sherlock Holmes, could you." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Sherlock Holmes, now that gives me an idea."

"I won't ask what stroke of genius you've come up with this time."

"The power of deduction. Analyse the evidence and establish the known facts and the rest will fall into place."

"Sure, I believe you, now get out of here, your time is running out."

I got. The dentist that Jean Thomas told me had treated Paul Thomas was incapable of treating and more patients, having been dead for some ten years. He sold his practise shortly before he died and the new dentist had disposed of all records that had not had any action for at least five years. Paul Thomas' file was one of those.

My next port of call was more fruitful. The records of the Kuringai Council showed that permission had been granted way back in 1947 to a Mr William Pearson to install and test a ne3w and revolutionary single chamber septic system. This system was based on an experimental system being tested in the US, and as far as the council were concerned, after several years of trouble free operation, it would become the model for all future installations. This meant that the time that the body was in the tank could have been twenty years and not fifteen which was the maximum possible if I had been bound by the time frame dictated by standard septic installations of that time.

Then I went to Victoria Barracks on the assumption that they would have records of soldiers serving in both World Wars. I was right.

"Do you know how many thousand soldiers were injured during the Second World War?"

"I can guess, I do however have a name for you to work on."

"All right, give me the name, I'll see what I can dig up." He wandered off to return half an hour later. "This is an interesting one. Paul Lester Thomas you said?"

"Yes."

"Paul Lester Thomas served, which is a loose description of his performance, in New Guinea. He was stationed in a Supply regiment at Milne Bay. He didn't exactly cover himself with glory, for that matter he was lucky not to have been court martialled."

"Why?" I think I know why but I had to ask.

"Cowardice."

"How can someone in supply be charged with cowardice?"

"Let's see. Yes, here it is. It seems that he rigged up his rifle so that he could shoot himself in some safe part of the body, in this case his upper arm, and claim that it was the result of enemy fire. He wasn't as smart as he thought, because there was no way that he could possibly have been anywhere near a Japanese sniper on that day."

"What happened to him?"

"He was shipped out to Port Moresby for treatment. During his convalescence he tried to get his return to active duty delayed for an extraordinarily long time. He even went as far as to seduce one of the nurses so that she could doctor his charts to indicate complications to the wound. It didn't work."

"That's not entirely out of character , but what is so strange about this?"

"Our report is that she was one who was safe in a hospital full of recuperating soldiers starved of female companionship, if you get my meaning."

"I get it. So he seduced her, what of it?"

"It was unusual enough to be brought to the attention of the CO. The lady in questioned informed him of their plans to ask for permission to marry as soon as he was well enough. She was absolutely besotted with him and he played on that."

"And did her return her affection?"

"Far from it. While in her company he was attentive and considerate, behind her back he openly laughed at her and referred to her as the 'Old Cow' and other similarly endearing terms of endearment."

"How come you know so much about this case?"

"There is a full report on the incident in his file, it makes interesting reading. The CO was gathering evidence to submit to the Advocate General for the commencement of court martial proceedings."

"They were never stated?"

"No. For some reason the file was closed before action could be taken."

"What happened to him after the war?"

"He was repatriated to his home city, in this case Sydney, and given job training so that he could re-enter the workforce in some productive capacity."

"What as?"

"Would it come as a surprise to you if I were to tell you that it was as a carpenter?"

"Yes it would. I have no evidence to suggest that he ever followed that trade, although that explains. . ."

"Your evidence is correct. He was trained as a second fix carpenter, given a job working on houses which he stuck to for a whole week before leaving, after getting his first weeks pay of course. We found that he had got himself a job selling menswear in a department store."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 21-24



"You have nothing after that?"

"No. Our file was closed as at the time he left the job for which we had trained him. We had no further interest in him."

"I don't suppose your file mentions which department store he worked at?"

"It was Mark Foys I think, yes it was."

"That's no good to me, all their records would have been lost in the fire. Thanks anyway for all your help." I left. I had now established that Paul Thomas was the kind of person that you wouldn't take home to mother, but unless I could positively establish that he didn't leave the country as planned and that he somehow met with foul play, I was rapidly reaching a dead end. The more that I found about out him, the more people I felt could have wanted to do him a mischief.

I checked and re-checked the evidence and, while being certain in my mind, I came to realise that the only way I was likely to get anywhere was to get a confession. I had to trap that smug bitch into revealing her knowledge and complicity in this. I would have to back her into a corner from which she was unable to escape unless I let her and then I could do a deal, her freedom in return for her body. I was getting excited just thinking about spending time in the bed of Cynthia Swain, so much so that I had to count slowly to a hundred before I could stand up and leave the room.

How to do it? I could tell her that I had irrefutable proof and if she confessed I would drop the enquiry in return for her favours. If she chose not to confess I would proceed with the prosecution. I even came up with a possible story that would explain the presence of the body in the tank without implicating her in any way.

I was still trying to get my body into a condition that would enable me to walk without embarrassment when the Chief Inspector called me into his office. "What is the current status of your investigations?"

"I have established conclusively the identity of the body, all I need now is the cause of death."

"You are a hundred percent sure of the identity?"

"His widow has identified the ring that was found with it."

"How close are you to the cause of death?"

"It will be difficult. Forensic have come up with a couple of ways that he wasn't killed."

"How much more do you think that you'll find out in the next twenty-four hours?"

"If it's answers you want then you can have them now. If it's proof you want then I'll just slip down the corridor to an empty storeroom and put on my superman suit."

"I want proof that will stand up in court. I don't want any half baked story unless it's sustainable."

"And if I can't come up with proof in twenty-four hours?"

"You will be re-assigned."

"But I have to see this through."

"Look, I've told you before that we have a backlog of cases as long as your arm that require urgent attention. I can't have one of my detectives stooging around in the forlorn hope of stumbling onto the answer of a twenty year old mystery that will probably never be able to be closed. The Coroner will probably bring down a verdict of 'Death by Misadventure' or at the very most, 'Murder by person or persons unknown'. I don't think there is any possibility of any other verdict and for that reason I am not prepared to waste any more of our valuable time on it."

"Would a confession help?"

"Do you have someone in mind?"

"I have strong suspicions."

"Suspicions will not be enough. And the last thing I want to hear is accusations that you beat a confession out of someone."

"You know me better than that. How much leave do I have up my sleeve?"

He rang Personnel and after a few minutes of 'yes I see's' and uhuh's he hung up. "You have three weeks left."

"Okay, as of now I'm officially on leave. I will find the proof in my own time."

"If that's the way you want it that's fine by me. I couldn't think of anything worse than spending my vacation time doing what I do at work, not my idea of a holiday at all. I think it only proper to warn you that you will have no more legal powers than the man on the street. If I hear of you overstepping those boundaries I will personally sign your arrest warrant. Do you understand?"

I understood only too well, he was pissed off at what he saw as my disloyalty to my job, and intended to make it hard for me. Alright, two can play that game.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Rebecca's Story

Timothy had arrived home before me and had enough time to demolish a glass of milk and several biscuits, while complaining all the time about the standard of afternoon snacks. I arrived and straight away Mummy could see that there was something upsetting me. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"There's something wrong, isn't there?"

"Well yes, but it's something that I'd rather not talk about just now." My eyes flicked towards Timothy who was rummaging in the refrigerator for something else to eat.

"Timothy, I want you to go and do your homework."

"Aw gee Mum, do I have to?"

"Yes. I want it all done before dinner."

"What time is dinner?"

"As soon as you father gets home."

"Oh." He shuffled off.

"Now. What's the matter?"

"Well, it's Samantha, or should I say it's her mother, no it's both of them."

"Calm down and take your time. What happened?"

I called into Sam's place as usual on my way home from school to help her with her homework. We had been there for several minutes when her mother came into the room. "You two hard at it?"

"Yes Mummy, we're just about finished."

"Good, would you like something to drink?"

"I'll have a coke thanks, what about you Bec?"

"That will be nice, thank you."

Sam's mother returned a few minutes later with drinks and biscuits. "Don't work too hard now, you should relax a little."

"Okay Mum."

Sam and I finished our Maths. "Hey, did you see Old Mother Wilson giving Belinda a hard time. Anyone would think that she doesn't love her anymore."

"What do you mean""

"Haven't you noticed how she used to ask her all the questions and get her to do all of those special little jobs?"

"So, what's wrong with that?"

"Come on, she's had a crush on Belinda for months."

"She couldn't have, it's not right."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with it as far as it went, they haven't actually done anything, Belinda's too wet for that. Anyhow they're not as close as we are." Samantha moved closer to me. I took a sip of my coke, it tasted funny, but I gulped it down. Her hands reached out for me and I found myself drawn to her and allowed her to undo the buttons of my uniform. Soon her hands were holding my breasts, moving slowly, caressing them. I was feeling a little dizzy and I couldn't help myself. My hands reached for her and I undid her uniform and took her breasts in my hands. Sam leaned towards me and her lips brushed mine.

She signalled for me to stand up. I did. She slid my uniform over my head and dropped it on the floor. She shook herself out of hers and undid her bra and let that drop. Her panties followed and she stood before me, naked. I stood quietly while she removed my bra and panties.

"You're beautiful." Her voice came softly to me. "Sweet, sweet Rebecca, I love you."

I heard myself through the mists of my emotions. "I, I like you."

"Come sit down." We sat on the sofa and she kissed me again while her hands caressed me. "Do you ever masturbate?" Her hand was caressing my between my legs.

"Yes,"

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like if someone else was to masturbate you?"

"But that's wrong." Wrong or not her had reached the top of me legs and was caressing there, a finger rubbing the inside of my vagina.

"Would you do it to me, I've wanted you to do it for so long." She opened her legs and, taking my hand she placed it between them pushing a finger inside her. "God, that feels so good."

I had to admit that the sensation of her finger inside me was getting me so excited and my hips were moving in time with her thrusts.

The door opened. "That was really good, if you can do that again we can make a fortune."

Reality came flooding back. "What do you mean. How did you know what we've been doing?"

"Look at this." Sam grabbed my hand and led me to the next room. On the either side of it there was what appeared to be a window. In the centre of the room and pointing into Sam's room was a movie camera.

"What is this?" I was horrified.

"Two way mirrors. From here you can see into my room or Mummy's room. I have a great time watching her and her friends going at it."

"You knew all about this, how could you?"

"What better way to learn about love?"

"That's not love. It's dirty." I ran back into her room and started to scramble into my clothes.

"Come on Bec, it won't hurt you."

"Get away from me! I though you really liked me. How do I know that you having just been using me?" I didn't stop to hear the answer, as soon as I was dressed I ran from the house and didn't stop running until I reached home.

"So that's what happened?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do? Samantha has been my best friend for years. I don't want to stop being friends, but I feel so used and dirty."

"You're going to have to decide just how much you need a friendship with someone who can have so little regard for your emotions. I wonder what the police would say if they ever found out about what has happened?"

"No! Don't go to the police, please."

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't."

"Because I'm involved in this."

"Yes you are, as you say, involved in this. You have been taken advantage of. You made the right decision in leaving before things got really out of control. What Samantha and her mother were about to do is against the law and they should be punished for it. If we do nothing the same thing might happen to someone else and the only way to stop it is to expose them."

"Was what Sam and I were doing against the law?"

"There is a law against homosexual acts and that's what you were doing. If her mother had filmed what you were doing that would be pornography, also against the law. But if we were to look at it a different way, what you were doing could be described as normal sexual experimentation. Samantha has taken advantage of your closeness and introduced a new element into it. What was the innocent experiment between two girls entering into adulthood and exploring each other's bodies was debased and turned into pornography by her mother watching it, something that she and Samantha see nothing wrong in. There is nothing wrong with you exploring your body and the emotions that go with that, there is nothing really wrong with doing it with another person, it's part of finding out who you are. I suppose that you touch yourself while you're in bed at night?"

"Yes." My head drooped in shame.

"Hey! There's nothing wrong with that. It is perfectly normal. What you and Samantha did is also normal, it might not be legal, but it's normal. If you were to have allowed a boy to do that sort of thing to you, while it's the same thing, it's accepted behaviour, the difference being that these actions between girl and girl is considered homosexuality while between boy and girl it's not. In my day it was called heavy petting."

"But what about what Sam's mother had in mind?"

"That's very much against the law and it seems as if she's been doing this sort of thing for some time. The sort of behaviour that you've been involved in , if you aren't caught actually doing it, is normal. If on the other hand it was photographed or filmed, then that's pornography and punishable by law. There's a market for that sort of thing and just being in posession of pornographic images can see you end up in gaol."

"But you condone what Sam and I were doing?"

"I don't actually condone it, but then I accept it as normal. I hope that you've learnt something from all of this?"

"How can I stay friends with Sam?"

"That's you decision to make. I suggest that you talk to her and let her know that you like her and for you to remain friends it is to be on your terms and that means not going to her place, Now how about giving me a hand with dinner?"



Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 25-29



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Cynthia's Story

Dinner turned out to be a pleasant but uneventful occasion, the talk centred on what each of us had done during the day. Rebecca's of course was heavily censored, but Peter's account of his day had both children interested and for the first time in I don't know how long I felt that we were close as a family.

After dinner we sat around continuing the conversation without the benefit of the TV blaring in the background. Peter and I went to bed not long after the children. "Darling." I said softly to him as he lay beside me caressing my body. "Before you get too carried away, I have a confession to make."

"Can't it wait?" There was a note of urgency in his voice.

"No. Now stop that." I slapped his hand, not too hard mind you, as it crept between my legs. "I have a confession to make."

Somewhere from my hair came a muffled voice. "I suppose that you're going to tell me that you've been having an affair with that policeman."

I recoiled in shock. "How did you know?" How did he know?

"I didn't know for sure, but I had my suspicions. Now that you've confirmed my suspicions, I guess I'll have to tell you that I'm not overjoyed with the news, but in fairness to you I asked for it, I haven't been much of a husband to you for some time. I might be disappointed, and a touch jealous, but I can't really blame you. I must say that you having decided that our marriage was worth fighting for and making the effort to get it through my thick skull was the best thing that could have happened to me. Now I'm going to concentrate on being the best husband in the world so that you won't be tempted to jump into bed with the first muscle bound hulk that comes along." His hand resumed its exploration. "Now where was I?"

"As far as affairs go it was something of a disappointment to me so I've ended it, it brought back memories of my first love affair both of the men were athletic, passably handsome but totally self obsessed." I would have kissed him but his mouth was otherwise occupied so I opened my legs and enjoyed the best loving yet.

We lay in each other's arms in the afterglow of our very satisfactory love making. "Darling."

"What is it this time, another confession?" He sounded tired, understandably.

"It's Rebecca, she's got a problem and needs our guidance."

"What is it, school?" He was awake now.

"Yes and no. It's her friend Samantha, it seems that they have been experimenting with sex."

"You don't mean to tell me that she's pregnant."

"No, it's nothing like that. They've been doing it with each other, Rebecca and Samantha, but that's not the worst part."

"It gets worse?"

"Yes, well almost. It seems as though Samantha's mother has a set up at their house that enables her to have film and photographs taken of what people are doing in the next room without them knowing. She put a proposition to Rebecca and Samantha that they should indulge in girl to girl sex for the camera."

"Bloody hell! I hope Rebecca didn't go along with this scheme?"

"No, she came straight home and told me after she found out about it. What do we do now?"

"My first reaction is to go to the police, but by the time that they get around to investigating she will probably have had the evidence removed. I could always go to see her and confront her and order her to leave Rebecca alone and not involve her in this filth."

"Would you? That would probably be the best solution. If she is aware that Rebecca has told us what happened and she understands that there are secrets between us she will probably stop."

The next morning, while I made breakfast, Peter rang Samantha's mother to arrange to have a talk with her on his way to work. We told Rebecca what we planned to do and gave her our reassurances the we understood what she had been going through.

I held Peter at the door as he was leaving. "Be careful. I hear she eats men up and spits them out when she's finished with them."

"Don't worry about me, I can handle her." He bent and gave me a kiss that told me that he was very much my love again.

A few minutes after he'd left there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Brownlow standing there. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

I stood back to make way for him but as he moved past me his hand grabbed me around the waist and he tried to pull me close. "Stop that! Now!"

"Why?" His hand only slightly relaxed its grip.

"Because I don't want you to touch me anymore and if you continue to do so I will contact your superiors."

"What I do in my own time is of no concern to them."

"Your own time?"

"Yes. Officially I'm on leave."

"Does this mean that you are no longer investigating this case?"

"Officially, yes."

"Then get out of my house, you've no right being here!"

"I'll go, but I want you to think about something. I know that the body is that of Paul Thomas. I have proof of that. The Department wouldn't give me the time that I need to confirm the cause of death so I've taken some leave that was owing to me so that I can continue the investigation."

"What has that to do with me? Why are you persecuting me?"

"I don't like being rejected."

"Oh, so that's what this is all about. If I was to continue to allow you to have sex with me you wouldn't bother me?"

"Well."

"I bet that I'm the first woman to break off a relationship with you?"

"Yes, you are the first. In my previous affairs it has been me that has broken it off."

"So because I've had the hide to call it off, you're going to harass me?"

"If you put it that way, yes."

"And if I were to allow you to continue this affair you'll stop?"

"Maybe."

"You're not making any guarantees then. I suppose you're planning that when you get tired of me you'll discard me like all of the others?"

"If it happens that way, most likely."

"How dare you come in here and put forward this preposterous scheme that in return for my continuing to allow you to have sex with me, I wouldn't honour this by calling it 'make love', and to risk my marriage and my family you will stop harassing me. You have the gall to sit there and think that, under those circumstances I would actually get some pleasure from that? I'll tell you right now that the very thought of you touching my body makes me flesh creep. Now do you really want to make love to me?" I shouted the question at him, my face no more than six inches from his.

"Well." He was at a loss for words, this was a new experience for him.

"Go to hell! If I so much as see you hanging around here I'll take out a restraining order to prevent you making contact with me or any member of my family. I'm not afraid of you or anything that you can do to me. I've told Peter everything that happened between us and he has given me his total support. Now get out! I held the door for him and, as he turned to say something I pushed it closed as hard as I could with my foot. The cry of pain from the other side told me that he hadn't quite managed to get out of the way before being hit. I watched through the front window as, handkerchief covering his bleeding nose, he walked to his car.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Peter's Story.

I arrived at Samantha's house shortly after she had left for school. I was deep in thought as I walked up the path to the front door, what would I say? The door opened and I was confronted by an apparition. She was about my age, but who can tell these days, blonde, probably not natural but again, who can tell, wearing a filmy housecoat, if you could call it that, over a filmy nightdress, if you could call it that, that left nothing to the imagination. I swallowed hard. "I'm Peter Swain, Rebecca's father and I think that we have something that we need to discuss."

"Come in won't you." The voice was husky, she stood back, but not far enough so that as I walked into the room I was forced to brush past her. "Have a seat." She indicated a two seater lounge. I chose a chair. "Now how may I help you?"

"I don't really know how to put this, I've been rehearsing it on the way over and it isn't an easy topic to discuss, so here goes. I am led to believe that Rebecca and Samantha have been indulging in what can only be described as sexual activities."

"So what?"

"You don't find this disturbing?"

"Should I?" She was seated opposite me and as we spoke she drew her legs up under her, causing her housecoat to fall open leaving a clear line of sight, which, combined with the short nightdress, had the effect of revealing vast quantities of her to me. If she had anything on under the nightdress it wasn't obvious whereas my agitation was. She smiled at my discomfort. "Look Mr Swain, may I call you Peter? You must call me Rhonda, I find nothing to do with sex or lovemaking disturbing."

"But it isn't natural."

"Who is to say what is natural and what isn't? Are you being dictated to by some elderly celibate in Rome? Are you being dictated to by what some wowser in parliament says should or should not happen between to people? Let me tell you right here and now, some of those who protest the loudest have the strangest perversions."

"But what they are doing is wrong."

"What you mean is that it doesn't fit into your idea of what is right. Is it because it is not heterosexual, or do you have some other hang-up?"

"Partly. They are too young to know their own minds, and in the eyes of the law any homosexual act is illegal."

"Did you ever masturbate before you reached the age of consent?"

"What does that have to do with this?"

"In some circles masturbation is condemned as an indecent act, and it is a form of sexual activity."

"But that's completely different."

"In what way? By the way, would you like something to drink?"

"It doesn't involve another person. I'll have a cup of coffee thank you."

"That's not what I had in mind."

"I know, but it's much too early to be drinking anything stronger."

"Rubbish! That's your conservative upbringing talking, let yourself go for a change, it's never too early or too late for a drink, or sex."

"I can see that we'll have to agree to disagree on our attitudes to this subject."

"I don't know why?" She asked over her shoulder as she wafted off to make some coffee. When she returned she had changed, a little. She was carrying a tray on which were two cups of coffee and a plate of small caked. She had taken off her housecoat and was wearing only her short nightdress. She had large breasts that swayed as she walked, her nipples clearly visible through the sheer material. The tray was held in such a way as to obscure her from the groin to the waist but, as he put it down on the coffee table, I could see that she was now wearing no panties. She was not a real blonde.

She leaned forward to pass me the cup, allowing the neckline of her nightdress to droop open, allowing me to see most of her breasts. "Do help yourself, to cake that is." There was an even huskier sensuality to her voice and the distraction was causing me a great deal of trouble focussing on what I'd come here for.

"No thank you. I really can't stay, thank you all the same." I got up to leave.

"Don't rush off just yet, we have so much more to discuss." She stood in front of me. I tried to step around her but she stood her ground and refused to let me pass.

I reached out to move her aside, "If you don't mind, I would like to leave."

"Oh but I do mind. I'm feeling most offended by your coming here to inflict your puritanical views on me and now you're wanting to leave." Her arms moved towards me and I tried to duck under them. As it turned out this was not a good move on my part. She was quick, and before I could get out of the way I found myself on the floor being pinned down by her body and being examined by her hands. Her mouth moved swiftly to smother any attempt at protest. She'd straddled me with her legs and was rocking back and forth as if she was riding a horse. "Come on, admit it, admit that you want me, admit that you find me attractive and haven't been able to take your eyes off me since you arrived. Come on lover, come on, come on." Her rhythmic chant matched her movements and I was being betrayed by my penis. 

It was time for action. I heaved her off me and stood up. The look that she gave me was a mixture of surprise and hatred, I don't think that she was used to being defied.

"Thank you very much for your hospitality." I said with what I hoped was a degree of politeness and finality.

She scrambled to her feet. "Before you go I have something to show you." She left the room to return a few seconds later with a photo album. She held it open for me to look at. I was shocked at being confronted by photos of Rebecca and Samantha in what could only be called compromising positions. I had to admit to myself that they were well done and of good quality, but the emotion of seeing my own daughter removed any feelings of voyeurism.

"What are you planning to do with these?"t depends on you. If you do as I say I will destroy them, if you don't, there are several underground publications that will be only too happy to use them. It's up to you."

"Can I get back to you on this? I'll need to discuss with my wife and Rebecca."

"What's the matter Lover, can't think for yourself?" She taunted me.

"If it was just myself I had to think about, yes. But there are other people involved in this and I need to talk to them about it."

"Do you want me to come with you, I'm sure that I can talk your wife into my way of thinking."

"No! You keep right away from Cynthia and Rebecca. If I hear of you talking to them I will take my own action."

"That sounds very much like a threat."

"You can take however you like. The fact remains that there are certain actions that I have at my disposal that will make life very uncomfortable for you."

"If you have any thoughts about going to my husband I would suggest that you look a little further into the album."

I flicked through pages of couples coupling, women and men, men and men, two men and one woman, women and women until I came upon a series of photos of two women and one man. Samantha and her mother were featured in several photographs in several positions with a man. "I suppose this is your husband?"

"Of course, we are a close family." 

"But this is illegal, it's, it's incest."

"Don't tell me that you've never had sexual thoughts about Rebecca?"

"No!" That wasn't entirely correct, I had seen her in her bikini and wondered what she would look like without it, but had banished the thought from my mind just as quickly as it had entered it.

"Actually, technically it's not incest because my husband is not Samantha's father although he doesn't know that. I'm taking a risk showing you these photos, but you will never be able to use them because I can destroy the only copies of these if you go to the police. It would be a pity to have to do that though, they are great photos."

"What about the negatives?"

"Ah the negatives. They are well out of your reach."

"This is blackmail."

"Of course. Now run along and talk it over with your little wifey and let me know what you decide."

I would have liked to have had the final word but I couldn't think of anything appropriate, so I left. I was deeply disturbed what I'd seen and her attitude to the whole affair, I felt that relationships meant little to her and that sex and her sexuality were merely tools to be used to achieve her goals, whatever they were.

I also felt pity for Samantha, she was being brought up in an atmosphere where so little value was put on friendships and relationships that she would find it difficult to make a commitment to any one person. In a may I was pleased that Rebecca was Samantha's friend because through her she could see the other side of the story. But then I was uneasy about the relationship between the two of them, it could go either way. It was up to Cynthia and I to continue to reinforce our values and support Rebecca on what she's going through. I also felt guilty, I blamed myself for not being available to guide her through the difficult transition from childhood to womanhood. I rationalised that there was probably little that I could have done under the circumstances but that didn't soften the guilt.

Deciding what to do next took up the remainder of the drive into the city. I couldn't remember much of the trip, I hoped that I paid the bridge toll, I can't remember doing it, or being shouted at by the toll collector, but I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around me. What would Cynthia and Rebecca say? Had I let them down? Had I failed in my role as a father in this situation?

By the time I reached the office I was starting to put together a plan to counter someone so totally amoral, so immoral, so lacking in the basic human decencies. She had left me with the feeling that she would not hesitate to use any means at her disposal to not only prevent me going to the police, but that she would press Rebecca into complying with her demands to pose for more of those photos and, presumably, films.

I rang Cynthia from the office to tell her about my unsuccessful meeting. "She has this album of some of the most depraved photographs I have ever seen. They include pictures of Rebecca and Samantha in some compromising positions. She has threatened to have them published if we make trouble for her."

"Can't we stop her?"

"Not without creating a lot of publicity for Rebecca that could affect her for the rest of her life. I feel, for the moment at least, that we should let things stand as they are until we have had time to collect our thoughts. I know that if I was to try to act now I would do something that all of us would regret for the rest of our lives."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Brownlow's Story.

My day had begun badly. Cynthia's reaction to my ultimatum wasn't what I'd expected and my nose didn't stop bleeding for some time. She's going to pay for that let me tell you. 

I had the idea of tracing Thomas' business associates in the hope of finding out why none of them had reported him missing. I had thought the police archives a tedious place to search, but it had nothing on the Companies Office. For a start I didn't know the name of his business so I had to look through the list of motor dealerships before I found it. To confuse matters further, the two people listed as Directors of the company at the time in question were him and his wife. If I had to go and talk to her again I'd probably end up blowing my brains out, or hers.

I took a punt and looked at the records of seven years after he had disappeared to see what had happened after he had been declared dead I found that up until that time Paul Thomas was still listed as a Director. Shortly after he was declared dead the business was sold. The amount for which it changed hands led me to believe that there was something not entirely right about the transaction. This was confirmed when I found that the person to whom it was sold was an employee of the company. The business still operated from the same location so I decided to pay it a visit.

Car dealers are notoriously reticent about discussing their business de4alings with the police. Nigel Thornton was no exception. "You bought this business from the estate of one Paul Lester Thomas for what could only be described as a pittance. Did you happen to work with him prior to that time?"

"Why are you asking these questions, there was nothing illegal about that transaction."

"Did I say there was? The reason that I'm interested is that we have located the body of Paul Thomas and there are some unanswered questions surrounding his death."

"Oh." He was visibly relieved. "So, in what way can I help you. It's been at least twenty years you know."

"Why didn't you report him missing? I've gone back through the missing persons files and he has never been declared a missing person."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 25-29



"There were two reasons initially. The first was that I didn't know. Before he left he told me that he had booked to return in one month, but could vary that date if necessary. He told me not to be surprised if he stayed longer in England and the Continent. The second reason was, after he hadn't made contact in over two months I asked his wife if she knew where he was and she said that she didn't. I asked her if we shouldn't report it to the police and she said 'non', so I didn't. I was sure that she must have had her reasons for not wanting the police to look into it."

"I have interviewed the late Mr Thomas' widow and I feel that even then any reason that she might have had may not have been very rational."

"She did say that there was some form of legal reason why she didn't want his disappearance made public. I got the impression that, as a director in the company, any adverse publicity could focus attention on the business at a time that would not be of benefit to its profitability. She stood to lose a considerable amount of money if anything happened to the business because it was very much her money that financed it in the first place. I don't think that she had been insisting on him repaying the loan. She also said something about a will."

"So you took over the running of the business? In what capacity?"

"Officially I was the Manager. Unofficially I was the Managing Director until I bought the business, and then I became officially the Managing Director."

"And you took over all of his duties, did you get friendly with Mrs Thomas?"

"You've seen her and yet you still ask that question?"

"What I've seen doesn't give me any idea of what she was like twenty years ago. The years and the strain have taken their toll. What was that you said before about a will?"

"It seems that he changed his will and was only leaving a small percentage of his assets to her with the bulk of it going to Judy Pearson."

"So she knew about them?"

"Pretty hard for her not to have known, he was playing her for all he was worth. I guess he felt that if he was to divorce his wife he should at least have someone that looked good as well as having a reasonable amount of money. Judy Pear4son filled the bill on both scores."

"I wasn't aware that Judy Pearson had any money."

"Well she didn't, but her husband did and the way they had it planned was that she would stick him for as much as she could get out of him. From what I heard he would have paid up big if she asked for it. I also heard that she had a separate bank account and for some time had been siphoning money from the housekeeping and depositing it in that account."

"Did he mention her daughter at all?"

"Yes. He was having an affair with both of them at the same time. He said that she was pretty hot. I took her out once but she seemed like a cold fish to me so I ended up dumping her for someone else that night."

"You were aware that she'd only just turned eighteen when he was having his affair with her?"

"Was she really?" His answered sounded as unconvincing as if he was talking about one of the cars in the lot. "She looked a lot older than that."

"She doesn't look her age now, she looks younger."

"You've seen her recently?"

"Yes. You've heard about the skeleton that was found in the septic tank at Wahroonga recently?"

"Yes. You don't mean? No, not after all of these years."

"Well, we have very strong evidence that the body is that of Paul Thomas, your former associate. Not only that but the present owner of the property is none other than the former, very mature for her age, Cynthia Pearson. What do you think of that?"

"Do you mean she is still living in the same house?"

"Yes. Her father sold it to pay the divorce settlement and several years ago, in the middle of the property slump it came onto the market and her husband bought it."

"I went to a party there."

"When was that?"

"It was not long before he left. It wasn't a party as such, it was a sort of flow-on from the Annual Tennis Club dinner dance and trophy presentation."

"Did anything happen that night that was unusual?"

"Nothing that I can remember apart from the fact that Cynthia gave me the cold shoulder so I left with someone else."

"You couldn't very well leave with her could you?"

"No, but she could have been a little more friendly, there were plenty of opportunities for us to become more than just good friends." 

"It would seem to me that you were lucky that your plans didn't work out."

"I suppose so although I didn't think that at the time, I was pissed off."

"Were there any arguments between Mr Pearson and either his wife or Paul?"

"Not that I can remember although there was a bit of trouble when he switched on the pool lights."

"Why should that have been a problem?"

"There were several couples swimming in the nude at the time."

"And I suppose that Paul Thomas and Judy Pearson were among them?"

"Now that you mention it, yes they were."

"This could be the break that I've been looking for."

"You don't think that he could be responsible do you?"

"If she wasn't directly responsible for it I bet that Cynthia Swain knows a lot more about this than she is letting on. Thank you very much for your time."

The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were slowly falling in to place. There was every possibility that Paul Thomas had been killed for having an affair with either or both of the Pearson women. I would surmise from the evidence that Cynthia's father was the most likely suspect, but I'm still convinced that she knows more than she's letting on. My plan now is to gather as much evidence as I can and confront her with it in the hope that she will break down and implicate herself.

My next port of call was the current secretary of the tennis club to see if there is still a list of members for the year in question.

I came away with a list of thirty women's and twenty six men's names. The men were relatively easy to trace, I checked through the electoral rolls until I had the address of sixteen of them. The single women were a different kettle of fish entirely. I had to start with the Registrar of Births Deaths and Marriages again to trace the married names of as many of them as I could. By the end of the day I had twenty eight people to call on over the next few days. It was time for a couple of beers before going home to bed.

In the hotel I bumped into a woman that I had been with a couple of months ago. She sat next to me at the bar and we started talking and by closing time she had invited me to her flat for a night cap. I was onto a sure thing and from memory she just might be able to get my mind away from Cynthia. She handed me her keys as we walked along the corridor from the lifts, in doing so her hand held mine until we reached the door. I opened it and held it for her to go in, she had other ideas and her arms snaked around my neck and she kissed on the lips. "I thought that you'd forgotten all about me."

"How could I forget someone like you?"

"I was beginning to wonder about that, it's been three months, one week and four days, but who's counting. I was good for you wasn't I?"

"Of course you were. It's just that I've been very busy lately."

"Solving all of those nasty crimes around the place."

"Of course."

"A regular little sleuth aren't you, what are you working on at the moment?"

"You know very well that I can't discuss any details of cases that I'm working on. I could prejudice weeks of sensitive investigations."

"I just bet that it's the skeleton in the septic tank case."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that."

"I bet that I can make you."

"How?" By this time we were seated on her bed and she was still working on me, she had the buttons of my shirt undone to the waist and she was rubbing her hands softly over my chest. "I have my ways." She kissed me hard on the lips, I would have returned the kiss but my heart just wasn't in it. "Come on lover, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Your mind is a thousand miles away, what are you thinking about? It certainly isn't me or us."

"I can't tell you. If you keep this up I'll get up and walk out."

"If you don't put some effort into it you might just as well go now."

"Okay." I stood up to leave.

"I was only joking." Her voice had taken on a pleading tome and it was then that I remembered why I had dumped her before. She was average in bed but she just wouldn't stop whining, well hardly ever, before lovemaking, after lovemaking, it was whinge, whinge, whinge, it was only during lovemaking that she stopped and I just didn't have the stamina to keep her quiet for any length of time. I wasn't prepared to put up with that all over again so I left. Even after the door had been slammed shut behind me I could still hear her carrying on.

Trying to piece together the last days in the life of Paul Thomas was proving to be a long drawn out process. The first man on the list remembered nothing of him other than change room talk about how he had made love to just about every woman in the club and how Judy Pearson seemed to have lasted longer than most. Other than that he remembered nothing. He hadn't attended the dinner dance that night so wasn't a guest at the Pearson's afterwards.

It was well into the next day before I found someone who was at the party. I was still working my way through the men without a lot of success until I spoke to John Farrow. Farrow was now a successful businessman and insisted that anything he said was only to be used as a last resort. "Paul Thomas had everything going for him, good looks, a talented natural athlete, women found him irresistible and he used that to his advantage. He was never short of female companionship. On the night of the dinner dance he and Judy Pearson were getting pretty involved which confirmed the rumour that had been going around the club that they were having an affair. Little was said among the other guests at the Pearson's post dinner party and one got the impression that everyone else was waiting for something to happen or something to be said, after all they were being obvious about it. The only indication that her husband had even noticed was when he turned on the pool lights while we were skinny dipping. She was furious and we all beat a hasty retreat before anything heavier happened."

"Did Thomas leave with the rest of you?"

"Yes. It was as if he was avoiding a confrontation. I was one of the last to leave and up until then nothing had been said about it."

I left him with doubts in my mind about Cynthia's father. He had been playing it pretty close to the chest. Did he feel strongly about it to kill Paul Thomas? At this stage I would have to answer that with a qualified 'no'.

The first of the women on my list that I spoke to was reticent about speaking to me for a different reason, she had been one of his lovers and, as she was married at the time, she didn't want her husband to know. "My husband was a member of the club as well and knew nothing of the affair, if you could not mention it because it wasn't really a full blown affair as affairs go, more like a short indiscretion and I want to keep it that way. I want nothing to happen at this time that would jeopardise my marriage."

"Whatever you tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence and only used if absolutely necessary and then only after getting your permission."

"Do you think that it'll be necessary?"

"Probably not. I don't think that we will ever be able to prove anything one way or the other against any particular person. Now what can you tell me about the Pearson family?"

"Where would you like me to start?"

"Wherever you like." "In a lot of ways I was jealous of Judy Pearson."

"How come?"

"Well there she was with a great husband, a comfortable house and she was having affair after affair. He was one of the most patient men I have ever met."

"Did you know about the affair she was having with Paul Thomas?"

"Who didn't? Even her husband must have known about it. I got the impression that he was waiting for it to blow over like the others. It didn't seem as if it would. The only friction in the family was after she found out that Paul was having a fling with their daughter. What was her name now? That's it, Cynthia. I don't think the husband knew about the daughter or he might have done something about it. They were close, Cynthia and her father, she was much closer to him than she was to her mother."

"Did anybody else know about it?"

"Jean Thomas must have known about it. I think he used to taunt her with his successes. He had absolutely no compunction about paying attention to his current lover even while she was around. There were some very tense Saturday afternoon tennis matches, I don't know why she never got rid of him, after all it must have hurt her deeply to see him carrying on like that. Hey! That's a thought! Maybe she's the person that you should be looking at."

That was indeed a thought, but one that I had to dismiss for a number of reasons. Even if she had done it, how did the body get into the septic tank? Was she in league with Pearson? I think not, even if they did work together, I doubt if she could have maintained her silence for so long. 

Also, if it were possible for her to have done it, getting a prosecution now would be impossible due to her unbalanced mental state. We would have a great deal of difficulty convincing a jury of her reliability.

"Were you at the Tennis Club dinner dance that year?"

"Yes, my husband and I were also at the Pearson's after the dance."

"Do you remember any incident that might have prompted someone to kill Paul Thomas?"

"There was the incident when he switched on the pool lights. The air was pretty tense about then, but nothing much was said apart from a few protests about the lights. The party broke up soon after."

"Were you one of the people skinny dipping?"

"Is this important?"

"Not really, just searching for reactions from other people."

"Yes I was, and my husband was with me. I think he was sort of relieved because he only did it after I pleaded with him not to be so straight laced. He was one of the first dressed after the lights went on."

"Were you also one of the first to leave?"

"Yes, and we had words on the way home in the car. He protested that he had never been so humiliated in his life and it was only after I convinced him that he was as well endowed as the other men that he let up on me."

"So you didn't recall any incident involving Paul Thomas and Pearson?"

"No. One thing I did notice was that Paul and Judy seemed to spend more time together after that night."

"How long was it between the dinner dance and when she left for England?"

"A couple of weeks, I thought it strange at the time that they should be seeing each other as much if she was going away. It wasn't until after she had gone that I heard the rumours that he was going to meet her and that she was planning to file for divorce as soon as possible after she got there."

"Did you hear anything about his filing for divorce?"

"No, I assumed that he would, but there was no mention of it at the time."

"Was anything said when neither of them returned?"

"No. We all assumed that the rumours were true. His wife acted as if nothing had happened. I do remember that her husband seemed quite devastated by the whole thing and Cynthia left the club. I also heard that she dropped out of school to become his housekeeper for a while. After that the house was sold and I lost track of them."

"Would it surprise you to know that she is back in the same house?"

"No! Really? I would never go back to a house that had so many bad memories for me, unless. . ."

"Unless what?"

"Nothing, just a thought."

"Tell me, it might be important."

"It's just that . . . how better to keep an eye on the place than to move back in? There's something else."

"What?"

"Why was it that the Swains were the last house in the street to have the sewer connected? The mains had been laid for months before they were connected and it can't have been for financial reasons, they are very well off financially."

I left her with several trains of thought spinning around in my mind. There were now many more questions that needed to be answered. I rang the Water Board inspector for that area to find out if the Swains were the last to have the sewer connected.

"Yes. We had to serve notice on them to have it done. They initially wanted to retain the septic system and pay the sewer rates but we wouldn't have that even though they had one of the very first single chamber septic tanks in Sydney and it was efficient, you see the reason that we spent so much money installing the sewer mains was because of poor absorption. I concede that there were no indications that they ever had any problems with their system, we just couldn't allow them to retain the septic."

"Was there anything else unusual about the connection?"

"No, once it started it was pretty straight forward until the police stopped progress, except, yes that was interesting, Mrs Swain asked if the tank could be retained. She thought that it would be a good container to make liquid manure for the garden."

"What was wrong with that idea?"

"Two things, one was that we insisted on all septic tanks being pumped out and the waste disposed of properly and the tank removed, and secondly, it struck me as strange given that the garden didn't look as if it needed all that much fertilizer to maintain it."

"You said that tanks had to be pumped out and the waste disposed of properly, the plumbers were pumping it directly down the sewer, is that the correct method of disposal?"

"No, but it is one that we put up with. We didn't like it because the six inch mains that we had installed weren't built to cope with that sort of volume. The other pipes on that branch main had the potential to back up while that was happening."

"You did nothing about it?"

"We didn't bother all that much about it. We couldn't be there all the time you know, and once the final inspection was completed we only went back after about three months to make sure that the grounds restoration was carried out in the approved manner. These particular men were reliable, so I didn't see much point in hanging around once I'd given the clearance to fill in."

I went back to Nigel Thornton. "After the dinner dance did Paul see much of Judy Pearson?"

"She was here all the time, the spent most of their days together."

"Did he mention anything to you about getting a divorce from his wife?"

"No, actually he told me once that he could never do that. We all thought that it was possibly that he had too much to lose by divorcing her."

"Earlier you said that he planned to marry Judy Pearson after her divorce."

"He did mention once or twice that if he were ever to marry another woman it would have to be someone like her because she had everything he was looking for and needed."

"You mean looks, passion and money?"

"Yes but not in that order, money was the most important as far as he was concerned, she could have been the most fabulously attractive nymphomaniac but, unless she had enough money to allow him to buy Jean out of her share of the business, she would be useless to him."

"You got the business at a very reasonable price, couldn't he expect a similar deal?"

"Hell no! As far as he's concerned if she sold to him it would be at a high price, sort of 'think of a number and double it' figure. As for the deal she did with me, part of it was a payment for fronting the business until he was declared legally dead, and partly because I didn't cross her in any way. Hell hath no fury like Jean Thomas scorned."

"Do you think she could have killed him?"

"With her anything is possible, I've seen her throw a huge tantrum over a trivial matter and then shrug off something major. Unpredictable would be the best way to describe her."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 25-29



"Was she ever friends with William Pearson?"

"Not that I'm aware of. They may have spoken after Paul and Judy left, but I think that he had sought consolation with Cynthia."

I rang Cynthia and told her that I would be around in thirty minutes and I wanted her to be there. She was, but she wasn't alone, with her was her friend Fliss. "I want to talk to you alone."

"Fliss stays here."

"I don't think that you will want her to be here, I want to ask you some personal questions."

"That is why I want her to be here, I want our meeting to be strictly business."

"How would it be if she stays in this room but out of earshot?"

"That should be all right." Fliss moved to the bar and poured herself a Bacardi and Coke that was more Bacardi than Coke. 

"Okay then. Were you aware that in the weeks between the dinner dance and her leaving your mother spent most of her time with Paul Thomas?"

"No. As far as I was aware she spent her time organising the trip."

"I have found out that she spent most of her time with him. Were you also aware that he didn't plan to divorce his wife?"

"No I wasn't, but it doesn't come as any great surprise. I suppose there's more."

"Paul Thomas did not go to England to meet your mother as planned."

"So he left her in the lurch, but the letter that we got from her said that she was meeting him there."

"She probably had the letter already written and posted it as soon as she got there. The plan was for him to arrive three days after her. How many days after she left did you get the letter?"

"Three or four, I can't be sure."

"You see, there wasn't enough time for her to have written it after he had arrived and have it delivered in that time."

"You're right. So he didn't meet her, how did he get into our septic tank?"

"That's something that I was hoping that you'd tell me."

"I have no idea."

"Are you sure?"

"I have told you that I have no idea, isn't that enough?"

"Was your father friendly with Jean Thomas?"

"Not that I'm aware of and I knew of nearly all of his friends."

"Did your father have any women friends after your mother left?"

"No, of that I am positive. Father loved Mother to the day he died. He told me that just before he died."

"Did you see Paul Thomas after your mother left?"

"No. That affair was well and truly over."

"What would you say if I was to tell you that I know that you're lying?"

Her reactions went through several changes in a matter of seconds, from initial fear to panic, then she must have started thinking because finally her face resumed its normal composure. She was an assured woman.

"What do you mean that you know that I'm lying. I hope that you have some proof to go along with your allegations because, if you don't I'll have you in court so fast your head will spin. I'll be talking to my Solicitor with the view of getting a restraining order applied to you and your harassment. Now get out of here and leave me alone!"

"Before I go let me explain a couple of things to you. One, I don't have any hard proof just yet but I'm close to it and it's only a matter of time. Two, it'll be your word against mine because your friend there didn't hear anything that I said to you. Three, you will be well advised to talk to your solicitor because I will want to talk to you again."

"Be sure that I will be getting legal advice before I let you inside this house again!"

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Cynthia's Story

My mind was racing. How much did he really know and how much was pure guess work? I couldn't be sure, but I needed to talk to my Solicitor before too long just so that I knew exactly where I stood. Fliss was curiosity itself. "What did he want to know? I saw you getting angry with him, was he trying to get you into bed again? He is sort of cute, it's a pity that he's such an out and out bastard."

"Stop it please!" I shouted at her before I could stop myself. "Sorry Fliss, I didn't mean to take my anger and frustrations out on you, but if you don't mind I think I need some thinking space."

"I'm sorry, look I'll get you something to oil your brain cells." She moved behind the bar and got very generous with Peter's best Scotch. It tasted awful but left a warming sensation inside me for which I was grateful.

"He accused me of lying to him, which I suppose in a way I was, but what I told him will make absolutely no difference in the long run, it's too late for that. I know he's not happy that I didn't volunteer information that he later found out about, but that's not lying, it's just not telling him things that I didn't want him to know."

"What did he say you were lying about?"

"He wanted to know if I'd seen Paul Thomas from the night of the dinner dance to the time Mummy left. I told him that I hadn't which was true but what he didn't ask was had I seen him at all after the dinner dance, I had. I didn't kill him Fliss, believe me, I didn't."

"I think that you should speak to your Solicitor."

"You're right. I was just about to ring him." I picked up the teledex and found his number. "Jason's been more of a friend than a Solicitor. He and Peter went through high school together, hang on, Hello, would it be possible to speak with Mr Ward please? Mrs Swain, yes I'll hold." I turned to Fliss, "Snooty bitch, anyone would think that she was married to him the way she carries on whenever a woman rings him. Jason, Cynthia here. What do you mean you were expecting my call?"

Jason's calm voice came soothingly through the phone, "I read about the skeleton that was pulled from your septic tank and wondered when you would get around to ringing me to find out where you stood legally."

"I need to talk to you as soon as possible, do you have any appointment slots free this afternoon?"

"Better than that, I was looking for an excuse to get out of the office for a while. I'll see you in half an hour."

I felt relieved just knowing that he was there when I needed him. I rang Peter. "Darling, Brownlow has been here again and I think that you and I need to talk over what I'm going to do. I've just spoken to Jason and he's coming here, he's on his way over now. Can you get away from work?"

"Of course. I'll leave right away, let me see, I can be home in about forty minutes. Don't start without me."

Fliss poured us each another drink, hers more generous than mine. I needed the stimulation of the whisky as I was beginning to get the shakes. "Hey calm down, it's not the end of the world just yet."

"Sorry, it's just that so much has happened in the last few days that I'm having trouble coping with it."

"What you need my girl is lots of moral support. I'm here whenever you need me. Now, this Solicitor of yours, is he married?"

"Down girl, No he's not, but you are so keep your talons away from him." I knew that I could trust Fliss to come up with something to break the doom and gloom that I was feeling.

"Hey I know that, but it doesn't stop me from having fun, after all what's sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, don't you think?"

"What do you mean? Don't tell me that John's having another affair?"

"He is you know. Someone should invent the ugly secretary.

"There probably are some out there, but they can't find work because men want decoration as well as efficiency."

"I wouldn't mind so much if he didn't flaunt her so openly. I was in town the other day and saw them strolling through David Jones like a couple of newlyweds. He bought her Chanel number 5 and she already had several other packages. The bastard must have it hot for her to spend that sort of money on her after all Accountants are notoriously tight fisted when it comes to money. Do you know what hurts most?"

"It's not so much the affair he's having but the fact that he bought her Chanel when the best I ever get is Arpege, and I don't even like the stuff."

Jason arrived and the glance that Fliss gave me when she saw him for the first time told me that I would have to watch her or else she would devour him.

"Now tell me, what's happening?"

"Where do you want me to start?"

"I guess somewhere near the beginning would be the best place."

"You know that a skeleton was found in our septic tank. Well it appears that it belongs to Paul Thomas who was one of my mother's lovers. The police sergeant who was investigating this now says that I have lied to him about how much I know about it."

"Have they any proof?"

"He says that they have proof that the body is Paul's and he knows roughly how long it's been there because Paul wasn't seen since he was supposed to have gone to London the meet up with Mother, so he has a rough date. He doesn't know that cause of death and he'll probably never know but he's left me in no doubt that he will be trying to implicate me in some way."

"Will he be able to find out more?"

"I don't know, but I do know that he won't let up on me."

"Why would he do that?"

"You might as well hear the rest of it. Peter and I have been having a few problems lately and, well Brownlow came along looking sort of appealing and to put a not too fine a point on it, I went to bed with him. Now that I've told him that I don't want to continue he won't accept that decision. That is the reason that he's giving me a hard time."

"What, revenge for you dumping him?"

"No. He wants to continue the affair, if you can call it that. He thinks that he can force me to submit to him if he has something over me."

"Does Peter know about this affair?"

"Yes, I've told him everything and he's accepted that it was a momentary indiscretion on my part. To give him credit, he has really been trying hard to make our marriage work, we both have, and at the moment I think that it is the strongest that it has ever been."

"Now let's look at the other problem. How well did you know this Paul Thomas?"

"He had been having an affair with my mother for some time before she left to go over to England. The plan apparently was for him to follow a few days later and meet her there. I also had an affair with him."

"Was that before or after your mother?"

"It was during. He was giving me tennis lessons and one thing led to another and he gave me lessons of a different kind. I was very young and impressionable."

"Did your mother find out about it?"

"Yes." "What did she say or do?"

"She called me all sorts of lovely names like trollop and slut and whore and then she slapped my face. She wasn't very happy."

"She obviously didn't let it affect her affair. Did your father know about you and Paul?"

"Yes." 

"What was his reaction?"

"He was more disappointed than angry. He didn't find out about it until sometime after it had finished. I think he may have acted differently if he'd found out about while it was still going on."

"Do you think that he would have been angry enough to kill Paul?"

"About that, no."

"What about the affair with your mother, did he know about that?"

"Yes. He had resigned himself to that fact that she could never be true to any one person. He would just wait until the affair finished and help her to pick up the pieces. He had plenty of practise at that over the years."

"He sounds like a very special kind of person."

"Yes, to me he was."

"Enough for you to protect his memory?"

"What do you mean?"

"If he was the one who killed Paul Thomas, would you lie to protect him?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in my answer.

"And are you?"

"Do I have to answer that now?"

"You'll probably have to answer it soon."

"Can I leave it until that time comes?"

"Okay, but any time that the police are questioning you I want to be there so that we can decide whether you should answer such questions." 

"Can't I just not answer it, aren't there rules on self-incrimination?"

Peter walked in. "What have I missed?"

"Not a lot. Brownlow was here again today and accused me of lying to him. He can't prove that accusation but he has let it be known that he won't give up trying. Oh and by the way, did I tell you that this is not part of the official investigation and that he's on leave and doing all of this in his own time."

"Enthusiastic little man isn't he. This puts a different slant on things." Jason said. "If he comes here in future you are to order him from the property. He has no official rights and anything he finds out has no legal standing unless he turns it over to the police to investigate or until he resumes his duty."

"But if he's already working as a private individual what's to stop him continuing?"

"There is a limit as to how far he can go as a private citizen, he can't for instance arrest you. By the same token, he is not bound by the rules of police practises."

"What do you mean?"

"The police have a strict code of practise and if they move outside that code any evidence gained may not be admissible in court, they may also be liable to disciplinary action."

"Now where do we stand?"

"You do not have to admit him to your property or answer any of his questions. He can follow you around and generally make life difficult for you without being bound by work constraints."

"Can't we take out a restraining order?"

"So far he's done nothing to warrant an application and, until he does you won't get one because restraining orders will only come into play after he has done something, they are designed to prevent a re-occurrence of that."

Fliss had manoeuvred herself so that she was seated next to Jason. Jason, can you give me a lift home?" She asked him while looking helplessly into his eyes.

"Of course, when do you want to leave?"

"Anytime that you are ready." Meaning of course, it had better be soon.

"I'm just about ready to leave. Cynthia, do you understand what you can and can't do as far as Brownlow is concerned?"

"I think so, thanks Jason, I'll keep in touch and let you know what's happening."

"Good, come on Fliss. If you want a ride you'd better come now."

"Masterful isn't he." She sighed dramatically as she followed him from the room.

"Poor bloke, he doesn't stand a chance." Peter observed.

"She made it pretty obvious, didn't she?"

"What would John say if he knew?"

"From what she told me today he's hardly in any position to complain."

"Like that is it?"

At that moment timothy came clattering into the room. "Hi Mum, gee Dad, didn't you go to work today?"

"Yes I did, but your mother needed me here so I came home. I hope that's alright with you?"

"Sure Dad, it just takes a little getting used to, that's all." He helped himself to a glass of milk and some of the cake left over from afternoon tea. "Who was here this afternoon?"

"Fliss and our Solicitor, that's all."

The door opened and Rebecca walked in. "You're early Bec." Commented Peter.

"I didn't stop at Sam's after school."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, fine. It's just that I can't bring myself to go into that house again."

"We understand, it's probably for the beast." Peter said.

"What's this all about?" Timothy's voice was muffled by the mouthful of cake.

"Nothing." Rebecca replied.

"Sure, but you wouldn't tell me anyway because I'm not old enough to know these things. I can't wait to be old enough." He wandered out in the general direction of his room.

"Samantha didn't say any more about what happened did she?"

"No, I think that she's just as embarrassed about it as I am now that she knows what my attitude is towards that."

"There's hope for her yet." Peter said. "What she needs to happen is for Welfare to take her out of that environment."

"Do you think that likely?"

"If those photos ever got around it is."

"But that means that they will come after Rebecca as well." Cynthia was concerned for what would happen to Rebecca if she was considered to be in danger by the Welfare authorities, could she convince them otherwise?

"I think that we can handle that if and when it comes." Peter reassured them both.

"I feel sorry for her, I really do." Rebecca said. "I wish there was a way that we could help her, couldn't she live with us?"

"I doubt very much if we would be allowed to have her."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Brownlow's Story

I left the Swain house with renewed purpose. From her reaction I just knew that Cynthia was involved, how deeply she was involved I had yet to prove, but prove it I will. I'll have to tread carefully now that she was going to her Solicitor, maybe I was a little premature in going to her, but I just couldn't keep away, it was beginning to affect my sex life. There I was last night, with an easy screw and what happened? Nothing, absolutely nothing, I couldn't get it up. If the word ever got around that I couldn't get it up my reputation would be shot to pieces, I've worked hard building up the image of a hard playing, hard loving bachelor and I wasn't about to let some jumped up North Shore bitch ruin it.

I continued to interview the people on my list and apart from the fact that Paul Thomas had screwed almost every woman on it, there was little either new or interesting to emerge. I was beginning to question my motivation.

I approached what was a large, modern house set back from the street. It was on an elevated block and I got the impression that the occupants were used to looking down on the world from the lofty heights that their money and status had allowed. The appearance of a maid in response to the deep, subdued tone of the doorbell confirmed this impression. Good morning, would it be possible for me to speak with Mrs Tomlinson?"

"Who shall I say wishes to speak with her?"

"Detective Sergeant Brownlow, Chatswood CIB."

"Very well, would you please wait in the study." She led me down the expensively carpeted hallway to a large room that was definitely not what I'd expected. While the outside of the house was a modern flat-roofed style, not unlike a large box, the room in which I stood was large and comfortably finished with mahogany panelled walls and desk behind which was a large leather chair. Facing the desk were two smaller, and lower, comfortable looking leather chairs. Two walls were lined with book shelves and a closer inspection revealed them to be legal tomes of varying vintage and subject matter.

"Tools of the trade." I hadn't heard the door open. She was cool looking but the most stunningly beautiful woman in her mid to late thirties. "Are you interested Sergeant?"

"Only as far as my job is concerned. Are these your husband's"

"I'm not married, not any more that is. I don't know why everyone that comes in here automatically assumes that they belong to a man. No Sergeant, those books belong to me, some I inherited from my father who was a QC, you may have heard of him, Sir Randolph Cripps."

"Yes that name is familiar to me." Too right it was, he had been one of the most successful QC's ever to defend criminals, much to the frustration of the Police Prosecutors. "So you've taken over his practise have you?"

"I'm a senior, if I can use that term, partner in the law firm of Stuart, Fenwick and Cripps."

"Your, um, late, or is it ex husband, was he also a lawyer?"

"Yes he was. I am a widow if you must know. My late husband was considerably older than I, and has been dead for some three years. Before you jump to conclusions, he was a wonderful, caring man and I loved him dearly. Now in what way can I help you?"

"Around twenty years ago you were a member of the Gillespie tennis Club were you not?"

"Yes I was."

"I am going to ask what you know of several people. Firstly Paul Thomas."

"I knew him vaguely, more by reputation than anything else. He had a terrible reputation and my father made sure that he never got anywhere near me."

"How about Judy Pearson?"

"That was the woman that he was supposed to have run off with, wasn't it? It caused something of a scandal at the time."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 25-29



"Cynthia Pearson?"

"Now that is one person that I remember well. I was just beginning to think of myself as a good tennis player, after all I had been given the very best coaching ever since I was old enough to hold a racquet. My coach had convinced me that I should try for the Gillespie Club teams and he had me certain that I could make the A1 team without any problem, then along came Cynthia Pearson, calm as you please and proceeds to make a total mockery of me and all of that expensive coaching. If she wasn't so unaffected by it all I probably would have hated her. Now that I remember it she also beat someone else that day who didn't take it nearly as well as I did."

"Who was that?"

"Paul Thomas. Rumour had it that she had been getting private coaching from him and, if you were to believe the rumours, the coaching didn't stop at tennis. Then she, after comprehensively showing me what a talentless player I was, she goes out and has him chasing the ball all around the court. The game was called off when she was leading 4-2 when he was supposed to have sprained his wrist. I felt much better after that."

"Have you heard from her lately?"

"No. She left the club just after her mother left. I left not long after that to concentrate on my studies. Why the sudden interest in what happened twenty years ago?"

"You've probably he3ard of the skeleton that was found in a septic tank at Wahroonga the other day. Well it was that of Paul Thomas. Cynthia Pearson is now Cynthia Swain and she is again living in the same house she was living in as a child."

"Now that you mention it I can remember seeing that on TV and thinking to myself that the young girl that they interviewed looked familiar. If they had shown her mother I would have remembered straight away."

"How was that?"

"It must be something in the genes, the girl, what was her name, Rebecca? She looked exactly like Cynthia did at her age. If I was to see Cynthia now I would find that she looks the same as her mother did twenty years ago. I wonder if Cynthia has had a long series of lovers like her mother is alleged to have had?"

"She says not but I'm not so sure."

"If I didn't know better I would suspect that you have more of a professional interest in her."

"I try not to mix business with pleasure."

"You surprise me Sergeant, from what I have heard, New South Wales' finest are not above a little extracurricular action whenever they can, and you definitely do not look the celibate type to me. Do I shock you?"

I decided that protestations of innocence would not fool this astute woman. "I only said that I tried, I didn't say that I succeeded."

"Touché. Now will that be all?"

"Just a few more questions. You obviously have a good memory and are very observant, did you see Paul Thomas at any time after Judy Pearson left for England?"

"I don't think so."

"What was said around the club after his disappearance?"

"Everyone said that he'd gone to England to be with her, everyone that is except for his wife and the Pearsons."

"His wife believes that he is still around, there are moments when she actually believes that he is still, living in her house. The Pearsons, what was their explanation?"

"The story that they told was that she was visiting relatives in England. As for him, they just ignored the fact that he wasn't around."

"What did they say when she hadn't returned as expected?"

"Cynthia had already left the club my then and he was never a member."

"Wasn't he?"

"No. He always gave the impression that he was, he came to all the matches especially after Cynthia joined. He supported all the functions, but he never joined, and I don't know why."

"The relationship between Cynthia and her father, how would you describe it?"

"I think I know what you're getting at, but no, at most it was a very warm father/daughter relationship and one that was the envy of a lot of people."

"Including yourself?"

"My relationship with my father was different, but yes, I was jealous of theirs."

"Do you think that it was close enough for her to lie to protect him?"

"Again I know what it is that you are inferring, but again, no. From what I saw of him, the one thing that he demanded of her, and she gladly gave him especially after he found out about her and Paul Thomas without making a federal case of it, was total honesty, at least to him."

"Now that he is dead do you think that still holds true?"

"If you expect me to say the she would lie to protect him now you are mistaken. To do that would require me to make a supposition. While I might think it privately, you will never get me to say so."

"It was worth a try. If you think of anything else would you give me a call on this number." I wrote my home number on a slip of paper and handed it to her.

"What's this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You told me that you are a police officer investigating a murder and you give me a phone number that is not a police station number. What is going on?"

"I am not officially on this case anymore. You see they wouldn't give me time to investigate properly so I took some leave that I had coming to me and I'm doing this in my own time. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"You are placing yourself in a difficult position and if you want some free legal advice, I would tread very carefully if I were you."

"I'll bear that in mind. How did you know that the number wasn't my direct line?"

"I know the prefixes of all the police station numbers and the numbers of most and that is not like any of the police numbers."

"I would still like to hear from you if you think of anything. Thank you for your time." The interview was more interesting than fruitful. I had just about exhausted my sources of information and was no closer to getting solid evidence, or Cynthia Swain.

I called into the office on my way home to check if there were any messages. The Pathologist's report was on my desk so I skim read it. There was little of significance so I dropped it into the file on my desk. As I was leaving I noticed a group of detectives in the lunch room looking at a series of photographs. "What's so interesting?"

"Have a look at these photos. One of the guys in Vice left them for us to have a look at."

I flicked through about twenty of the dirtiest photos that I had ever seen before coming to some that were different. "Can I have a copy of these?"

"I always knew that you were fond of girls mate, but two young ones together, now that's really kinky."

"I would still like a copy of them."

"Take them, I'm sure the we can get more."

I didn't call into the pub on the way home for fear of running into a certain woman, instead I bought some fish and chips and sat down in my kitchen with my meal and a beer and stared at the photos. "Now my pretty lady, I have you right where I want you, you will do exactly what I say or else these photos will be sent anonymously to some sleazy publication.

I was just about to go to bed happy with my prospective victory when the phone rang. "Sergeant." The voice was smooth and sophisticated and recognisable as one that I had heard not all that long ago. "Jane Tomlinson, I have been giving your particular problem a great deal of thought since you left. Can we meet somewhere?"

"Sure, you name the time and the place."

"Do you know the Acapulco restaurant?"

"Yes, the one at the St Ives Shopping Centre?"

"Yes, can you meet me there in half an hour?"

I was there in twenty-five minutes. I told the waiter that I was to meet Mrs Tomlinson and was escorted to a small table in a dark corner. "You were quick."

"Privilege of position."

"What I have for you may be important and then again it may not, I'll explain later, but it still may be worth following up. A friend of the family used to live next door to the Pearsons. Her father was something of a voyeur."

"You mean a peeping tom."

"As you wish. He kept a pair of binoculars handy so that he could keep an eye on what was going on, things like skinny dipping late at night and nude sunbathing. Well he remarked one night that something unusual had happened."

"What was it?"

"Someone, and this person had been a regular visitor during the day when Judy Pearson was home alone. This person arrived late at night and by taxi. That in itself was unusual because he used to always come by car. But what was even more unusual was, he was not seen to leave."

"I don't suppose that you could pinpoint the date by any chance?"

"Roughly, yes. It was about two weeks after the last of the Pearson parties. He particularly remembered because he was the man that was having an affair with Judy Pearson and she had left a couple of days before this happened."

"How come he could still remember all of this?"

"Because it was unusual enough for his memory to retain it."

"You said something that suggests that we may not be able to use this."

"Yes, you see he is in a nursing home and he has senile dementia which means that while he can remember things that happened a long time ago his short to medium term memory is virtually non-existent, he can't remember things that happened yesterday. Any competent lawyer will know that this is not unusual in the elderly and, by asking questions about recent events, cast doubts as to the accuracy of his testimony."

"Just what I need, some evidence that isn't evidence."

"The reason I gave this to you is that it is part of a circumstantial body of evidence that, if it is strong enough, can be used to establish a Prima Face case. Now let's forget about this case for a while, waiter." He hovered. "I would like a bottle of champagne to go with the meal that I have ordered but not yet consumed."

Over the bottle of champagne I told Jane something of myself and found out a lot about her. She had not had any male companionship since her husband died and had thought that she had been too busy to be lonely. "That was until you arrived on my doorstep today," she whispered over the rim of her glass, "I realised then that I have been so desperately lonely."

I would love to have stayed in her company, but I had to leave. "Look, the thing that I want to do most is at this very moment is to take you home and relieve your loneliness, but unfortunately duty calls. Some other time, soon." It was all I could do to drag myself away from her sad eyes.

"I'll hold you to that, soon. I'll call you tomorrow, good night."

The vision of her competed with the pictures I had got from the station. I took one final look before turning off the light. There in front of me were the exquisite and naked forms of Rebecca Swain and her friend Samantha. 



Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 30-32



CHAPTER THIRTY

Brownlow rang the Swain house at 9:15am, a time when he could be reasonably sure that Cynthia would be home alone. "I want to talk to you, alone."

"I don't think that would be a very good idea."

"I don't think that you are in a position to dictate terms. If you have anyone with you when I get there I go straight to the station and present my evidence. I have enough to have you, at the very least, brought in for questioning about the death of Paul Thomas, but I also feel that there is enough evidence to have you arrested. I'm just asking for the opportunity to show you what I have before I decide whether to go public with it."

Cynthia thought it a little unusual but decided to go along with it, but she wasn't going to let him anywhere near her bed. "You can come on the condition that we meet in the back garden. When you get here you will find me by the pool."

"Fine, I'll see you in half an hour. Remember, anyone else around and I'm off to you know where."

Cynthia was by the pool running the vacuum over the bottom ridding it of its overnight windfall of leaves when Brownlow approached her. He stood and watched her until she switched off the vacuum and stood leaned it against the pool edge. "Now this is more like it."

"Like what?"

"Like the way that we should be behaving. I don't want to do anything to hurt you and, to prove that I still love you, I will outline the evidence that I have. If, when you've heard it, you agree to my terms I will go back to work admitting defeat. If, however, you don't agree to those terms I will be forced to present my evidence and have you arrested."

"You seem very sure of yourself, don't you?"

"Yes. Now, you know that we have established that the skeleton was that of Paul Thomas, a former very close friend of yours."

"Yes, you've made that very clear."

"Now you claimed that you did not see him from the time of the dinner dance. I have a witness that puts Mr Thomas in this house at a time when you were there, three or four days after the date of your mother's departure to visit relatives in England. The witness will testify that he saw Thomas arrive but he was not seen to leave."

"So, you have someone who will testify that he was here after the last time I said that I saw him, but what does that prove?"

"It proves that you lied to me. It proves that you had the opportunity. The fact that he was lover to both you and your mother, and I have evidence that it was him that broke it off with you, will prove motive. The only thing that I haven't got is method. I think that a jury will convict on body, motive, and opportunity without us having to establish method."

"What are these terms that you want me to agree to?"

"Now we're talking.. The continuation of our relationship, on my terms."

"Which are?"

"You will do as I ask, when I ask it as long as I ask."

"You arrogant pig! Do you think that there could be any pleasure in a relationship that is based on coercion?"

"Before you decide, there is one more thing that I want you to see." He took an envelope from his jacket pocket and passed it over. "I think that will be enough to convince you."

Cynthia looked at the pictures in her hand. Rebecca and Samantha, naked, on a bed in a position that could only be described as pornographic. "Where did you get these?"

"Vice arrested the principals of a pornography syndicate and these pictures were among those confiscated. I recognised Rebecca and her friend Samantha and took them from the file. If you agree to my terms I'll get the negatives and turn them over to you so that you will know that they have been taken out of circulation. What is your answer?"

"You are lower than I've given you credit for. You know that I will not give into to you to protect myself, so now you want a minor indiscretion on Rebecca's part to blackmail me into submitting to your totally selfish demands. You also know that the only way that you can blackmail me is to threaten to go public. I already know about these things that Rebecca and Samantha have been doing so I'm not as shocked as you might have thought, in fact we have been trying to get the photos back ourselves. The thought of other people seeing them would normally be enough to force me to submit to you."

"Normally?"

"Supposing that I do agree to your terms, how long do you intend to continue with this arrangement?"

"As long as it suits me." Brownlow's voice was gaining in confidence, victory was within sight.

"And if this relationship should ruin my marriage?"

"Tough! As long as I get what I want I'll be happy. If I don't get what I want you can kiss good-bye to your precious family anyway. I will destroy them."

"I need a little time to think this over. It's getting warm out here and I've no intention of allowing you inside, at least not until I've reached a decision, so could you give me a hand to drag the umbrella out from under the house to give us a bit of shade and then I'll go in and get us a cool drink. Then we'll talk some more." She led the way to the store room under the house and pointed to a large umbrella laying in the corner. He picked it up and carried it out to the pool area. As she left the store room Cynthia picked up a glass jar from the shelf. 

Brownlow stood the umbrella pole into the hole at the centre of the table and reaching inside it, he pushed up to open it. As he did so, Cynthia opened the jar and emptied its contents in to gap between his collar and neck.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Cynthia's Story

It was my first grown up function, the end of year Tennis Club Dinner Dance and Presentation Night, and I felt so sophisticated in my very first ball gown. It was blue chiffon and had absolutely yards of tulle under skirting that made it stand out so that I seemed to float in a blue cloud. My hair was done in the latest formal style, a far cry from my usual casual, caught at the back of my neck style, and my makeup was professionally applied at a local beauty salon.

Mother looked as usual in a very elegant black dress, her hair piled high on her head and set off by a single strand of pearls interwoven into it. Around her neck she wore a three strand pearl choker that set off her long, swan-like, neck to perfection.

Daddy was very smartly dressed in a black dinner suit with a white shirt that had ruffles down the front. He wore a black bow tie, a red cummerbund and matching carnation in his button hole. We were the handsomest family there.

I was escorted by a handsome but shallow young man that Mother had arranged for me. Nigel Thornton was tall, had dark hair, piercing blue eyes, tanned complexion, a great smile and absolutely no personality. In short a plastic replica of a man and a used car colleague of Paul's.

I danced with both Paul and Nigel. Both of them held me closely and talked of nothing but themselves. Both of them tried to outdo the other with their prowess on the dance floor. Paul partnered me for the tango, we strode purposefully, cheek to cheek, across the floor until we reached the other end, as we changed direction, Paul threw me back until I was sure that I would end up on the floor. The first time he did it I squealed in surprise and this spurred him on to greater feats. 

Nigel asked me to dance the waltz. His spins were exuberant to say the least, we seemed to be joined at the hip, he standing upright and me bent back till it almost hurt. I felt a hardness in him as we twirled our way between the other dancers. Paul and Mother were doing their best to better us, both men were concentrating on their dancing and not saying much. I was glad when the dance was over, but Nigel wanted to hold me for a while longer so that the bulge in his pants could subside. I was tempted to walk away from him and exposing his embarrassment for the rest of the people to see. I glanced across to Mother, and Paul seemed to be having a similar problem.

I had a dance with Daddy who held me less closely and allowed me to talk about anything I wanted. The orchestra of sorts played the latest dance numbers, you know the smoochie kind, and under the influence of that and the copious quantities of champagne, couples oiled their way through about three quarters of an hour until the meal was served and the presentations began.

During the meal I politely listened and gave appropriate responses to Nigel who talked continuously about himself and stressed that I should feel honoured that he was my escort for the evening. He left little doubt as to what he considered an appropriate reward for that privilege.

I paid little attention to the proceedings until I heard the MC announce, "The next trophy is for the Best New Player. This young lady has shown us that with good coaching and dedication as well as some small amount of natural skill to begin with, a player can achieve a consistently high level of performance. The winner is, drum roll please, Cynthia Pearson!" There was sustained applause as I walked up onto the dais to collect my trophy.

As I took the trophy from him, the MC indicated the microphone and told me that I had to say something. "I, I would like to thank," looking around the room I could see what appeared to be thousands of eyes looking straight at me, "the club for this trophy, I didn't expect this. I would also like to thank Mr Thomas for the coaching, my parents for their support and, and, just about everyone in the club. Thank you." I got off the dais as quickly as I could. 

Daddy stood as I got to the table and gave me a huge hug. "Congratulations Darling."

Mother looked at me and smiled quickly. Paul stood and came around and stood behind me, he leant forward, kissed me lightly on the cheek and whispered in my ear, "Where would you be without my coaching?" I turned quickly, there was amusement in his voice and probably in his eyes as well, but I couldn't see them because he was looking down the front of my dress and from his angle little would have escaped his gaze.

During the dance Nigel had his mouth attached to my ear and, in between trying to blow into it he whispered, "Paul tells me that he's taught you everything he knows. I think that I should check it out to see if his lessons have sunk in." His hand pulled me tightly to him and he used his strength to grind his hips into mine. It was uncomfortable and I couldn't get away from him and it was a relief when the dance was over and I could sit down again. He had obviously been having lessons himself because, as he held my chair solicitously for me to sit down, I was conscious of his gaze that was fixed on my cleavage.

Paul seemed to alternate between Mother and me. He danced the slower dances with her, holding her tightly, his cheek pressed to hers, both of them oblivious to the attention from Daddy and some of the other club members. They whispered to each other continually as if they hadn't seen each other for some time, something that I knew not to be the case.

During the next dance Daddy asked me. "How is it going? You've been kept busy but I feel that you aren't really enjoying the attention."

"The night is great, it's just some of the people."

"Paul and Nigel?"

"Yes, is it that obvious?"

"Not really, but I get the feeling that you are not enjoying their company."

"I just wish that would stop ogling me. All they seem to be doing is looking down the front of my dress and trying to blow in my ear. I wish now I'd not given in to Mother about this dress, I wanted one that showed less but she said that I was all grown up and should take advantage of my assets."

"I'll speak to her about it and, if you want me to, I'll have words with Paul and Nigel."

"No Daddy, no, please don't make a scene."

"As you wish. I could have a quiet word in the gents."

"No, I'll be fine, thanks all the same."

I tried to avoid Paul and Nigel by accepting invitations to dance from several other men to dance with them. While we were stumbling around the floor I was conscious of Paul's eyes watching my every move. I was sure that I had hurt his feelings by not allowing him to dance with me. This was more or less confirmed when, as I was being seated by my partner at the end of a painful foxtrot and another young man was homing in on me. "My turn next Sonny." The note on condescension in his voice made the unfortunate young man to cringe away. "I insist on the next dance."

Mother's look would have caused a less self-centred man to change his mind, but I could see that Paul was avoiding here gaze.

The music swelled into life in a slow dance that was clearly designed to allow couples to get to know each other very well. I can remember someone describing this type of dance as 'the vertical expression of a horizontal desire'. "I asked the band to play this especially for you."

"Why?"

"This is your night, and so that I can hold you close while we dance."

"Won't Mother be angry?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, because of that thing that you have going on between the two of you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You must be the only person that doesn't. It's common knowledge that you and Mother are having an affair."

"I'm sure that she'll understand that I don't want to be seen monopolizing her."

"Will she?" He held me close, his hands down low on my back leaving me with no option but to place both my hands around his neck.

"Doesn't this feel good."

'I suppose so, but we shouldn't be dancing like this."

"Why ever not? It is acceptable for partners to hold each other closely for this dance."

At last the dance ended and as Paul, led me back to my chair I could see the dirty look on Mother's face. Like it or not. Paul was letting himself in for a lot of trouble.

I danced with a couple of other young men as well as the club President who claimed 'President's Privilege' Despite his attentions it was a relief to get away from Paul and Nigel for a while. By midnight most of the people were very merry and joined hands to sing 'Auld Lang Syne'. There was a lot of drunken jostling and bumping going on. It seemed that every time the circle closed I would have some drunken man hit me full on and leering at me before staggering away. I was glad when it was all over.

But it wasn't over. Mother had invited several couples to our house for a continuation of the festivities. I didn't think I would ever get there. Nigel tried to kiss me as soon as we got into his car, one hand pulling me to him, the other reaching for my legs. "No! Just take me home!"

"Aw come on, just one little kiss to show me how much you enjoyed tonight."

"So you think that I enjoyed tonight do you? Well I didn't" I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "There, are you satisfied?"

"Is that all I get?"

"Yes. Now take me home." 

He drove fast and not very well, the car slewed its way around corners, almost hitting several telegraph poles and parked cars. On the first left hand corner that we came to I slid across the seat until I was pressed against him, his arm came around my shoulder, holding me to him. My left hand felt the seat and from the smooth slippery surface I gathered that he polished the passenger's side of the bench seat to effect the result that it had.

"Isn't this better?"

"If you are trying to impress me with your driving skills, you've failed miserably. I'm not impressed so slow down!"

That was the wrong to say to him, his ego badly bruised he sped up, laughing at my fright. "Doesn't this make you feel good?"

"If you don't slow down I am going to be sick." To emphasise the point I covered my mouth and leant towards him. He slowed down.

"Don't be sick in here, I've only just cleaned it from the last person who was sick in it. Cleaning is costing me a fortune."

"Surely that should tell you something."

"Hummph!"

There were several cars outside our place when we got there and Nigel had to park about fifty yards away. His arm went around my waist as soon as we got out and, rather than struggle, I allowed him his small concession but when he tried to kiss me I turned my head away. "Come on Baby, just one little kiss."

"No. You are revolting."

"I'm only trying to be friendly."

"I don't want that kind of friendship."

"But Paul said. . . ."

"What did Paul say?"

"Nothing."

"Out with it! Paul told you that I was a pushover and asking for it, didn't he?"

"No." He said with all the sincerity of a used car salesman.

"Take me inside. Now!"

We entered to find the house full of people. Some were standing around drinking, some were sitting, drinking while others were drifting around the living room to the silky sounds of a dance record, while still others were out in the back yard taking advantage of the semi-darkness to take advantage of each other. Daddy was nowhere to be seen but I knew where to find him. He was in his private retreat under the house. "Hi Daddy."

"Hi Sugar, did you enjoy yourself? No, you don't need to answer that, how could anyone enjoy themselves with that rabble?"

"Most of them are okay, come on, you can't stay down here all night." He reluctantly followed me out into the yard. He had little opportunity to resist because I had grabbed him firmly by the hand and dragged him from the room. 

Mother was in one of the couples locked together in the living room. Father poured us both a glass of milk. "Drink this, I find at this time of the evening a glass of milk is refreshing after all that alcohol."

"But you're not drunk."

"No, but I still like my glass of milk."

Daddy was watching Mother and Paul 'dancing'. They stood in the centre of the floor, their feet hardly moving, whispering to each other. I was angry at Mother for being so blatant about it. Daddy's hand grasped my upper arm firmly. "No Darling, it's alright, leave them alone."

"But Daddy, I don't think that she has any right to behave in that way."

"That is where she would disagree with you. One day you'll understand."

I would have left them to it and gone to bed but I knew that I would have no chance of getting to sleep until the party broke up, so I just drifted around trying to avoid a confrontation with Nigel, who seemed at last to have homed in on someone else.

At about two in the morning there was a loud splash from the back yard as someone jumped into the pool. Noticing that Mother wasn't around, I went outside to find several people, including her and Paul, skinny dipping in the pool. There was a lot of splashing going on but I couldn't help but notice the two of them at the far end of the pool, locked in each other's arms and kissing. I also noticed Daddy standing in the darkness watching them. "Come inside." I led him inside. At the door he paused and reached for the switch that turned on the floodlights that turned night into day around the pool.

"Turn it off! Angry voices came from the pool. Also from the pool cam and angry Mother, the water soaking through the dress that she had hastily put on to cover her nudity. Wet fabric covers little. "Why did you turn on the lights?" She demanded through clenched teeth.

"If you want to make an exhibition of yourself, why don't you go all the way and do it in full view of everyone. Why hide it?"

"Ooooooh! You infuriate me!" She stormed off. 

"I don't that she's very happy."

"No she isn't. But it is about time she thought about other peoples' feelings."

"I'm sorry." I hugged him.

"Why should you be sorry?"

"I'm sorry that you've been so hurt. I love you Daddy."

"I know." He gave me a paternal hug as angry people began to drift in from the back yard, dripping their way through the house and out the front door. Mother was one of the last to come in, strategically some time after Paul. She burned Daddy with a searing glare. It had no effect on him. He was doing his congenial host impersonation, thanking them all for dropping in and hoping that they enjoyed themselves.




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 30-32



Just after Nigel left grafted to some flimsy little blonde, I heard his car start, do a three point turn, bouncing off the curb and another car, before accelerating rapidly down the road. I heard squeals coming from his companion and wondered if he had at last found a soul mate.

After the last guest had left, Mother and Father faced off. "How could you?" Mother hurled at him through still clenched teeth.

"I don't think that this is the time or place to be discussing this." His eyes flicked in my direction, his voice calm in contrast to hers.

"You've made me a laughing stock!"

"No, you made yourself a laughing stock. You are the one who was carrying on in front of all the others, you are the one who invited them all here, you are the one who went swimming in the nude with your friend. If anyone should be aggrieved by your behaviour, it's Cynthia and me."

"Ooooooh you're impossible!" She stormed off. We could hear her clattering about in the bathroom as we cleaned up and washed the glasses and platters.

"I think it'll be safe for me to go in now." Silence had descended on the house at last. Daddy and I were sitting in the living room, doing and saying nothing, just feeling close to each other, sorry for each other. "I think it's time that I plucked up the courage to go to bed. Thank you for your support, you don't know how much that means to me."

The sun burst into the morning in stark contrast to the fragility that I was feeling. I hadn't had all that much to drink last night, or had I? I seemed to remember that one Coke that Nigel got me tasted funny. But fragile as I felt, it had nothing on Mother who surfaced late and slowly. Daddy looked much better, I suspected that he'd had little to drink and little sleep, he was subdued. "Did you two have words?" I asked him as I made him a cup of coffee.

"You might say that. She said a lot, I said little. She apologised for her actions and I made the mistake of pointing out that we'd had this particular conversation before, many times, so she apologised harder. She kissed me and promised that it would never happen again. She snuggled up to me and we had sex of sorts in a desultory manner which she thought would solve the problem. I haven't told her otherwise, but I find it difficult to bother anymore."

"Then why bother?"

"Because, despite her behaviour, I still love her. We have had a good life together, we have combined to produce you. I'm sad that there couldn't be any more children but that's finished. In her own way I know that she loves me, I think that she has needs that she feels that I can't fulfil. The excitement has gone out of our relationship for her and she thinks that she needs the stimulation of an affair. I guess that she needs to be reminded by someone other than me that she is still an attractive woman."

"Why doesn't she divorce you?"

"She needs the safety net of her marriage in case something goes wrong with her affair."

"Then why don't you divorce her?"

"For the same reason, she needs the safety of her marriage to retreat to. I love her enough to maintain that."

Three days later, while we were at the dinner table, Mother made the announcement that was to change our lives. "I have decided that I want to go to England to visit relatives.":

"Why now?" I asked.

"It seems as good a time as any."

"When do you plan to leave?" Daddy asked.

"In ten days. I've booked to fly out in ten days."

"How long do you intend to stay there?"

"I don't know. I have an open ended return ticket. I might not like the place and come straight home, then again, I might like it and stay for months."

"Oh." Daddy said quietly.

"Don't worry I've used my own money for the fare, I don't want you to think that I would ask you for it."

"Money doesn't enter into this at all. You know that you would have only to ask and I would have given it to you."

"I know, but like I said, it was my money I used."

"What about clothes, will you have enough to buy warm clothes?"

"I thought that I might buy myself some over there rather than carry heavy clothes with me on the plane."

"But you still have to bring them back." Daddy let the statement drift off into the unheard.

Little was said over the intervening days. At least little was said publicly, but I got the impression that some behind the scenes negotiations were taking place. Daddy tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, but I could tell that he was deeply hurt by her leaving, even if it was only for a short time.

Mother spent most of her time running around the countryside getting everything organised.

All too quickly the day arrived when Mother was to leave. The dawn broke clear and bright, shattering the dreams of many aided by the clatter of those birds that use it as an alarm clock. Daddy went quietly about his task of making sure that everything was packed and that Mother's suitcase was stowed in the car. She spent much of her time making sure that her make-up was perfect and there was not a hair out of place. She looked crisp and business-like, in contrast to Daddy who was casually dressed in slacks, an open necked sports shirt and sports jacket. I wore a simple dress designed to unobtrusively show off my figure, after all you never know who you might meet at an airport.

Neither of them spoke as we drove to Mascot. I tried on a couple of occasions to start a conversation but gave it up in the end as a failure. Mother said nothing to me until we got to the departure lounge. "Look after your Father for me won't you? Don't let him go to the pub every night getting drunk."

Around mid-day four days later, I heard Daddy speaking to someone on the phone. "Yes Paul, I would appreciate it if you would come over this evening. Will eight o'clock be suitable? Good, I'm looking forward to seeing you then."

"Why are you inviting him over?"

"I just need to discuss something with him. Nothing more."

"I hope that you haven't got anything silly planned."

"Don't worry Darling. I know what I have to do and everything's under control."

Paul arrived promptly at eight. "Come in won't you."

Daddy Stepped back to allow Paul to come through the front door. "You know Cynthia don't you? How silly of me, of course you do, how could I forget all the valuable coaching you gave her."

I got the distinct feeling that he was up to something. He poured out drinks for both of them and a glass of fruit juice for me. "Why don't we have our drinks by the pool. It will be much cooler out there." He led the way to the poolside table. "How's your business? I hear that Citroen are bringing out a new model soon, and from what I hear it is something out of the ordinary."

"Why yes it is. Are you interested in cars?"

"As a form of transport only. I can't see the point in going into raptures over something that is essentially used to get from point A to point B."

"But you see this new ID Citroen is like nothing else produced anywhere else in the world. It has a suspension system that raises and lowers the car at the push of a lever."

"What use is that to me? I drive to and from work and occasionally to the beach, why would I bother about having a car that goes up and down like an elevator?"

"It will be the thing of the future. I can see the day when all cars will have something similar in suspensions."

"Surely that system will be complicated?"

"Not really. I'm going over to France tomorrow to learn more about it."

"I know." Daddy said quietly.

"What!" Paul was incredulous.

"I said 'I know'."

"But how, why?"

"The how was easy. I rang all the airlines to confirm your booking until I found the flight that you are booked on. The 'why' should be obvious to you. I know that you are planning to meet Judy in London." Paul's face started to take on a look of fear. "I also know that you have no intention of staying in London despite what you've promised her."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do! Admit it, you've been planning this for months. The two of you applied for your visas on the same day, your tickets were bought on the same day but for different flights and with different airlines. The difference is that Judy has an open ended return ticket while you have your return booked. You did have an open return as well, but changed it didn't you? The booking was changed yesterday."

"You think that you're smart don't you. Doing your Sherlock Holmes bit?"

"No. It took no great intelligence to piece together the clues and reach the conclusion."

"If you're so smart, how long have I been fucking your wife?"

"She, Judy that is, has been fucked, to use your expression, by you or someone else for many years. You don't honestly think that you can upset me with your crude statement do you? You weren't the first and you probably won't be the last."

"What about Cynthia? I had her as well."

"If I were you I wouldn't be too proud about having seduced an impressionable young girl."

"You knew?" Paul was now shocked. "How?"

"Cynthia told me. I can't say that it came as any great surprise, given your reputation. It only confirmed the impression that I already had of your morals, or lack of them."

"Now I understand why Judy wants to leave you. You think that you are so smart and all the while people have been laughing at you behind your back."

"I feel sorry for you, you are so wrapped up in your own selfish little world that you had no time to consider how many lives you have ruined, just as long as you get what you want. Do you remember when you were stationed in New Guinea during World War II and how close you came to being court martialled for cowardice? Who do you think pulled the file, stopping the proceedings and saving your worthless hide?"

"You?"

"Yes me. I was 2IC of the supply regiment you were attached to. Do you want to know why I did it?"

"I suppose that you're going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not."

"It was to save the feelings of that nurse you were leading on. She was an extremely competent and valuable member of the Nursing Corps and it was easier for us to quietly ship you back home following your self-inflicted injury than have her go through the pain of seeing you brought before a military court, we couldn't afford to lose her, you were expendable."

"If you know so much about me, why didn't you try to stop Judy from seeing me?"

"I could not, nor would I try, to stop her from having her little flings."

"What are you going to do about it?" He was putting on a brave front, but I could see that what Daddy was saying to him was worrying him. "Are you going to the police? I'll just deny everything and it will be my word against yours and I have some very powerful friends in the police force."

"I'm sure you do. But why would I go to the police? You haven't actually broken any laws, have you. I have something planned for you that will be much more fitting."

"You can't hurt me! Nothing that you can say or do will have any affect. You can even tell my wife for all that I care!"

"I don't think that your wife would take any notice of anything that I told her, and even if she did, I think she has given up on you. Have you not noticed the hurt on her face at the Tennis Club? Of course you haven't, you are too interested in satisfying the carnal needs of Paul Thomas to let the feelings of others to intrude into your private little world." Daddy rose from his chair. "Come with me." It was more an order than a request. He led the way into his room under the house, we followed, puzzled. He moved to the work bench and opening the drawer, took from it a huge pistol. "I believe that you know what this is. It's a US Service Colt 45. Here, I'm giving you the opportunity to either finish off the family that you have already destroyed, or do the honourable thing and take your own life."

Paul took the gun and pointed it Daddy's head. "You're mad you know, do you honestly think that I would kill myself?" He pulled the trigger. As the hammer fell on the empty chamber Daddy hurled the contents of a jar at Paul's face. "Good-bye Paul. I hope that when you return in a later life you are on the receiving end of a selfish relationship."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

"Atrax Robusta, more commonly known as the Sydney Funnel Web spider. Fascinating creature this." Cynthia and her father sat looking at the now still form of Paul Thomas, the agony of his death showing in the distortion of his face and body. "One bite like that would kill a couple of Paul Thomas's. He deserved everything that he got."

"What will you do now? Are you going to go to the police?"

"No."

"Then what? How are you going to dispose of the body without anyone taking any notice?"

"I have a plan."

"Won't he be missed?"

"No. He has told his wife that he's leaving her, he has told his colleagues that he could be gone for at least a month. By the time anyone gets around to missing him the trail will be cold. Even if the body is found, the cause of death can never be established." He picked up the jar that once more contained the spider, and held it close to his face. "Beautiful. He has done his job well. By the way, if you ever need to handle one of these be sure to catch it the way that I did, don't ever put the jar over it and attempt to flick it over, you'll be most likely to end up with an angry spider on your hand. This is a male and despite what it is said about the female spider being more deadly, the male funnel web seems to be much more aggressive than the female and they certainly inject more venom." To illustrate this point, he shook the jar and the spider immediately reared up onto its rear legs and into its attack pose, with its two needle sharp fangs pointing forward and venom spurting from their tips."

"How can you tell the difference between the male and the female?"

"The females tend to be bigger than the males and if you look closely at this one you will see it has a spur on each of the second pair of legs. It uses these to hold the female's fangs when it is mating. Now go inside while I take care of things down here. It will probably be better if you go to bed and to not take any notice of any noises around."

Atrax Robusta. More commonly known as the Sydney Funnel Web. It's venom is extremely potent and usually fatal and there is no antidote for it"

Brownlow looked at Cynthia through pain dimmed eyes. "So that's how you did it."

"I didn't, as you put it, do it. The most that you would ever have been able to charge me with would be as an accessory although I had no part in his death or disposal of the body, How does it feel to have the knowledge but be unable to do anything with it?"

Cynthia left him for a while and then went inside to call the police. "Hello, my name is Cynthia Swain and I have to report an accident involving one of your people, I fear that he's been bitten by a funnel web spider."

"Atrax Robusta." Dr Benjamin Simpson looked at the jar in his hand. He shook it and the spider inside reared into its distinctive attack pose, venom spurting from its fangs. "A fine specimen this, a large male, its venom is extremely toxic and unfortunately, although we have been trying for several years, we are no closer to finding an antidote than we were when we started." Dr Simpson was a research scientist with the Commonwealth Serum Laboratories and had been called in as an expert witness at the Coronial Enquiry into Brownlow's death.

"Can you explain how the spider could have been around during the day, I was under the impression that they were largely a nocturnal beast."

"It's habitat had most likely been disturbed by the sewer connection, we find that they are more prevalent as a result of earthworks like that. One of our best sources of spiders is from plumbers digging trenches. Some of them consider that a regular supply of spiders could lead to the breakthrough we need to find the antidote that may just save their lives. We had one plumber who caught twenty seven spiders in six feet of trench only a couple of streets from the Swain house."

"You seemed to be interested in the sex of this spider, can you explain why?"

"The research we have conducted up until now would suggest that, unlike other spider species, the male funnel web is more aggressive than the female, particularly during the mating season. This one is certainly more aggressive than most of the spiders we see. A particularly fine specimen."

"Out of curiosity, having seen several of these creatures in my garden, how do you determine its sex?"

"If you look closely at this one you'll notice a spur on the second pair of legs, he uses these to keep her fangs out of the way during copulation."

"Is there any difference in toxicity between the male and female spider or is it just the amount injected?"

"That's something we haven't been able to ascertain, you see, the traditional method of obtaining antibodies that we can use to produce an antidote just don't work, so we have no way of measuring the actual toxicity of the venom. The venom gives every sign of breaking down within minutes of injection so the standard method of first aid in the case of funnel web bites is to immobilise and sedate. The reasoning is that it will give the venom a better chance to break down and dissipate."

"So most spider bites prove fatal?"

"That's another mystery, not all funnel web bites are fatal but we can't understand why."

"What are the symptoms of funnel web envenomation?"

"The venom seems to be a neurotoxin which we suspect attacks the central nervous system. There is a great deal of pain centred around the bight area and the victim trembles uncontrollably. I have explained the standard treatment, this is designed to slow the metabolism and blood flow to allow the toxin to dissipate. Timing is important, and to be effective treatment must begin immediately."

The police Pathologist, Dr Richard Pressman gave evidence that confirmed that Brownlow had indeed been bitten by a funnel web. "We had the statement from Mrs Swain and the spider that she had caught that indicated strongly that Sergeant Brownlow had indeed been bitten by a funnel web spider. Under microscopic examination of the body we confirmed the location of the bite, and because it was so close to the spine and brain, it would have meant that he basically had no chance of survival, the affects of the venom would have been instantaneous. Nothing that Mrs Swain did could have saved him. The location of the bite also confirms Mrs Swain's assertion that the spider had probably sought refuge inside the umbrella after its habitat had been disturbed by the earthworks, and when the umbrella was opened the spider dropped down onto Sergeant Brownlow's neck, where it bit him. Sergeant Brownlow was doomed from that moment."

The cicadas droned fitfully in the noon closeness. The black and white magpies ventured briefly from the trees to seek lunch in the garden. Cynthia looked up as the female peewee swooped aggressively over the magpies, protecting its chicks that looked on from the safety of the nest.

Five people sat around the table by the pool, their closeness matching that of the humid air, but they were subdued nonetheless despite their reason for being there. It was a celebration of sorts.

"Well that's over then. In the matter of Brownlow's death the Coroner has brought down a verdict of accidental death. As for the case of the death of Paul Thomas, because the Coroner in that case has brought down a verdict of 'murder by person or persons unknown' the police have decided that because there has been no evidence of motive or of cause of death established, the file will bve left open and, according to the police, that's where it will remain." Jason was bringing them up to date. "Another thing, I've spoken to Samantha's aunt who has told me that she will have no objection to your offer to foster Samantha for the time being while Welfare decides what to do. Now that the excitement is over we can all go back to our dull and boring existences."




Farewell to the Dancing Man Ch. 30-32



"Speak for yourself," Peter hugged Cynthia, "We will never go back to that."

Cynthia kissed him. "I hope not."

Rebecca looked at her parents with a satisfied expression. "Please don't."

Cynthia and Peter hugged her to them.

Fliss grabbed Jason by the hand. "I get the impression that we are interlopers in this sickening display of domesticity. Let's leave them alone, would you like to come with me to my place for a drink, or something?" 

*

Author's note on Farewell to the Dancing Man.

The inspiration for this story came as a result of two observations I made many years ago when I was a plumber in Sydney. The first was when I was pumping out a septic tank after connecting a house to the sewer. There were bones (not human) in the bottom of the tank that showed no bacteriological degradation from being there. I figured, as one would, that the perfect place to dispose of a body would be to put it in a septic tank, there would be no smell associated with a decomposing corpse and after a short period of time the bacteria would have totally degraded the soft tissue. Placing the body in the tank would not be a major undertaking for a determined murderer.

The second came from my observation of the behaviour of funnel web spiders, the most lethal of the world's spiders. I used to catch them for the Commonwealth Serum Laboratory which was seeking to produce an antivenin (Yes I was the plumber that caught 27 in a short trench). When this story was set little was known about the Sydney funnel web spider (Atrax Robusta) and it had long been assumed that the bite of both male and female were equally lethal. I had noticed that the male seemed more aggressive than the female and that, when disturbed (one got really pissed when I shook the jar that he was in) seemed to produce much more venom. 

It was because of these observations that in this story William Pearson, fortuitously for him, chose to use a male spider on his victim and Cynthia Swain to copy her father's choice.

Since that time more is known of the Sydney funnel web and its habits. Its habitat is a small area of the East Coast of Australia stretching from Nowra in the south to Newcastle in the north and Lithgow in the west. Other funnel web species are common around the east coast but are not lethal to humans.

They tend to live in broken ground (rockeries) or under logs and are particularly active when their habitat is disturbed. The female will spend most of her time down a web lined burrow waiting for some unfortunate beast to touch one of her trip lines. The male tends to wander freely, especially during the mating season. If disturbed it is extremely aggressive and assumes its strike pose with needle sharp (up to 8mm long) fangs pointing forward. These fangs will easily penetrate a finger nail and will inject on average 140mg dry weight of venom and it is this venom (Atraxatoxin) that is interesting. Atraxatoxin is a presynaptic neurotoxin and this is lethal to humans, other primates, new-born mice and nothing else. There is a protein in this toxin (MW4854) that is the active ingredient.

When bitten there is none of the stinging sensation associated with other insect stings and antihistamines have no effect on reducing the pain caused by the penetration of the skin by the fangs. Unless appropriate first aid is quickly administered, compression bandage to the whole of the bitten limb combined with immobilisation, the funnel web antivenin, and large doses of sedative (usually benzodiazepine) and an anticoagulant, death is almost certain and very painful. The venom attacks the synapses and can cause loss of autonomic function. Another of the symptoms is extreme hypertension that can lead to severe and lethal brain swelling. 

With the timely administration of first aid followed by treatment and hospitalisation recovery time can vary depending on speed of administration and location of the bite, but can be up to a month. If first aid is not commenced within 15 minutes the prognosis is significantly reduced.

Traditional methods of finding an antivenin didn't work because the Atraxatoxin doesn't affect sheep or horses that were commonly used to develop antibodies, and it wasn't until the individual components of the venom were separated in a centrifuge (after this story was set) that an antivenin became possible. Since then there have been no fatalities from funnel web bites. 

CM



Farewell to the Dancing Man



"Not unless the indications were that someone had very strong motives for killing that person. Even then we may never be able to provide enough proof to convince a jury."

"Gee isn't this exciting?" Rebecca could hardly contain herself. "I can see it now, I'll arrive at school tomorrow and literally hundreds of girls will flock around wanting to know all about it."

"You might think that it is exciting but I think it is all just a routine investigation, after some of the more gruesome murders I have had to investigate this one is pretty dull. I remember about a month ago I was called in to investigate a murder involving the victim being killed with a shotgun at close range. The killer cut off the victim's fingers so that we couldn't identify him by his fingerprints and what was left of his face was beyond recognition. I'm used to stuff like this but that particular one turned my stomach."

"I think that will be enough sergeant." Cynthia had a distinctly green tinge to her face that had nothing to do with makeup and Rebecca looked as if she was just about to head for the toilet.

"I wonder what's keeping forensics. Constable would you go for a walk out to the street and see if you can spot a grey Holden that looks as if it's lost. You may have to talk it in just like the control tower at Mascot." Winters shambled slowly out to look for the car containing the forensics team.

"Would you like more coffee?" Cynthia asked.

"No thank you all the same. I will have to train extra hard to work off what I've had already." Brownlow held his hand over his coffee mug to prevent her pouring any more into it.

"What do you train for?" Cynthia asked above the animated chatter of Rebecca on the phone.

"I play league for Manly seconds. I could be in the first team except that I can't guarantee to be able to get to training enough to maintain my place in the team."

"Did you ever wish that you could have made the first team?"

"Sometimes. Glory does have its rewards you know."

"Such as?"

"More money, you get much higher match payments in first grade, and you also get to meet more interesting people and it does have a certain attraction for members of the opposite sex."

"I shouldn't think that you'd have any problems in that regard, would you?"

"I have no complaints."

"I can imagine." Cynthia couldn't believe that she was flirting so openly with this man, she had in the past indulged in minor flirtations with other men in response to their openings, but this was the first time that she had actually initiated the process. It bothered her a little that she should be doing this while at the same time she felt somehow pleased that a younger, but not much, man should be interested enough to fall in with her mood. A mood that she was missing more than she cared to admit, a mood that was very much a part of the early years of her marriage top Peter.

"I don't know what you mean." The note of outraged innocence was a little overdone.

"You know exactly what I mean. You would only have to snap your fingers in a hotel and you could have your pick of the women."

"How true she is, had she been at the Greengate last Friday night?" His mind went back to that night and the pick of the women. She had been attractive, rich, and pliable, and above all there were no strings attached, she hadn't even asked for his phone number saving him the problem of giving her a false one. It was as if she had realised that the sexual attraction and release could not make up for the difference between them, a difference that was further emphasised by the cars in his driveway, his oldish Holden and her new Jaguar.

Brownlow was the first to admit that he was relieved when she had left, after all the last thing he wanted was anything other than a superficial relationship. There were too many fish in the sea and they were all waiting to land him.

Brownlow's reputation among his police colleagues and football mates was such that questions were asked if he saw the same woman twice. It was a reputation that he had taken great pains to cultivate and maintain since joining the police force. He didn't care where he found them as long as he could conveniently lose them when he had finished with them. He had been warned by the Station Sergeant on a couple of occasions for 'pulling' traffic tickets in return for sexual favours.

CHAPTER THREE

Brownlow was still suffering from over-attention when Winters returned with a middle-aged man wearing a grey dustcoat and a distracted expression and a young man sporting a promising beard, an intense expression and a pair of black-rimmed glasses that looked as if they had recently seen service as the bottoms of milk bottles. Winters introduced them as Doctor Pressman the forensic pathologist and Aaron Solomon, a medical student who was planning to specialise in forensic pathology. "We'll Sergeant, what have you got for us today?"

Brownlow led the way to the septic tank. "As you can see we have what appears to be a complete skeleton of a human. From here, and I didn't want to risk disturbing it by getting in there for a closer look, I observed that there did not appear to be any fractures of the visible bones. From the position of the bones it appears that the body was complete at the time it was placed into the tank. I have all that written down in my note book."

"Very good so far. Now I suppose I have to get myself dirty." Freeman actually liked this part of the job, this getting in amongst it and fossicking for evidence, much more interesting than carving up cold clammy cadavers. He donned a pair of fisherman's waders and long rubber gloves, and then gingerly lowered himself into the tank. "Sergeant would you be do kind as to take notes. Mr Solomon would you pass me the items that I will require from time to time when I call for them. Let us commence, preliminary investigation of skeletal remains discovered in disused septic tank on the property situated at number something or other, would you fill in the boring details for me?"

"Position of the bones is with the head towards the northern end of the tank and adjacent to the eastern wall. There are no visible fractures to the skull." He raked some from around the neck. "There is no evidence of fractures to the cervical vertebrae. Could someone get a hose so that I can wash some of this gunk off the body? What about a pump or something to remove some more of this evil brew?"

There was a pause in the festivities while Gerry passed a hose down so that the residue could be flushed off the skeleton. He got into the tank with the nozzle of the sludge pump and moved it around sucking up the remainder of the sludge taking care not to disturb the bones. 

When sufficient had been removed the examination continued. "Body was clothed at the time of placement, could I have a specimen bag please?" He carefully probed among the bones with a pair of long tweezers that had emerged from one of the many packets in his coat, picking up several objects. Having satisfied himself that there was little else to be gleaned from this area he sealed the bag and passed it out to Solomon for labelling. "No fractures of the limbs in the thoracic region, I would say that whoever this was did not seem to have met a violent death. Could someone pass me my camera?"

He proceeded to take several shots of the remains and then stood to one side while other shots were taken to establish the skeleton's position in relationship to the rest of the tank. "Mr Solomon, would you pass me that large bag?" He then gathered the bones and placed them carefully into the bag which was then passed out to Solomon for labelling also. "Is there such a thing as a square mouthed shovel?" He asked. One was handed in to him and he scooped up as much of the thick sludge as he could from the immediate vicinity of where the skeleton had been and emptied it into a bucket. After a final look around he clambered out.

"What are you going to do with that?" Danny asked.

"I am going to take it back to the lab and run it through a very fine sieve and see what jumps out at me. He emptied the contents into a plastic container and sealed it.

"When will we be able to finish up here?" Danny asked.

"If you mean fill in the tank, not for a day or two at the very least, we may have to gather more residue for analysis. As for the trench, I can't see why you can't fill it in."

"What do you hope to find in that lot?" Danny asked.

"Probably nothing, but then it's our job to sift through all of the evidence for clues."

"Okay. Come on Gerry there's nothing more that we can do for the time being, you people have our number, if you could get in tough and let us know when we can fill this lot in." Picking up their tools they left.

Pressman pulled off his gloves and waders and threw them to Solomon who turned up his nose as he thrust them into a large plastic bag. Both men picked up the bags, camera and specimens and left. "Could you make sure that nothing's disturbed," Pressman instructed Brownlow, "You will get my full report after I've done my tests, should be in about three days. I'll be in touch if there are any developments important enough to disturb your busy schedule, or if I need anything."

"Okay Sir. Constable, while I ask the lady of the house some questions would you erect a barricade around this tank to prevent interference."

While Winters got a rope from the car and erected the barrier around the tank Brownlow went into the house. "Mrs Swain I wonder if you could answer a few questions?"

"Of course, and please, you can call me Cynthia."

"Very well Mrs Swain." Brownlow said, pointedly ignoring the invitation, "How long have you owned this property?"

"My husband and I bought it, let me see, about6 ten years ago. Yes that would be right, Timothy was about two when we moved in."

"Do you have a copy of the title deeds with the name of the previous owner on it?"

"The deeds are with our important papers in a safe deposit box at our bank. You can get the information from the Land Titles Office."

"I know, I was hoping that you would have them here, the last thing we need is to spend days searching Title Deeds looking for this one. I guess that I could get Constable Winters to spend his afternoon doing a title search, which should keep him out of mischief for a while. Now, has there been any work done on that tank since you've been here?"

"Not that I can remember. Oh we had the usual problems with effluent seepage in the back lawn in winter, but apart from that, the system worked perfectly."

"Do you have any idea how long the previous owners lived here?"

"The owners themselves didn't live here for long at all, he was transferred overseas and they leased the house for some time before he decided to sell it."

"Do you have the address of the previous owner?"

"No, the title Deeds gave the address at the time that we bought it from them, apart from that I can't help you."

"I guess that we can't do anything without those records, thank you for your assistance, I'll be in touch if I need to ask you for anything else. Good-bye Mrs Swain."

"Good-bye Sergeant, could I interest you in another coffee before you go?"

"No thank you very much, I'll have to go on a diet to recover from this morning's hospitality. Good-bye again."

Constable Winters was already in the car when Brownlow got there. "You're going to have her aren't you Sergeant?"

"I don't know what you mean. Brownlow replied in a display of hurt innocence, "Of course I am, she was asking for the whole time I was talking to her, it won't but all that much of a challenge for me, but it'll be fun for a while. She looks as if she'll be pretty good in the sack."

"Isn't he gorgeous?" Rebecca asked Samantha and Belinda as Brownlow drove off. The two friends had arrived and they were sitting in the family room taking in the excitement.

"Yes, for an older man that is." Said Samantha. "He must be ancient, at least thirty-five, but then I adore older men."

"That's not really all that old. If I were to marry him, when I reached sixty he wouldn't even be eighty and at that age that's hardly any difference at all."

"Whatever happened to the plumber that you were going to marry?" Asked Belinda. "I thought that you were in love with him.

"That was until HE came along, he seems so dull in comparison to a real live detective. Can't you picture how thrilling it will be getting all the inside information on all of those scandalous murders and things that happen all the time."

"He wouldn't be able to tell you anything, they have to sign some paper saying that they won't tell anyone anything don't they?" Asked Belinda, just a note of envy in her voice, after all she never had anything this exciting happen to her.

"Don't be silly, I could get him to tell me anything I want."

"How?" Both Samantha and Belinda were curious.

"There are ways that a woman can use to get information."

"What sort of ways?"

"You know, women's ways, you really are immature you know."

"I bet you don't even know what you're talking about."

"I do so too. You get them all excited and when they're about to put their thing in your whatsit you ask them. They're so worked up that they'll tell you anything just so that they can get it in."

"Listen to Miss Smartypants Rebecca, I bet that you're still a virgin."

"I am not so too."

"Not what?" Cynthia had entered the room at the tail end of the conversation.

"Nothing Mum." Rebecca replied demurely.

"What do you girls plan to do for the rest of the day now that the excitement seems to have died down?"

Rebecca was saved from answering by the sound of the front door bell. Cynthia answered it to be confronted by a television outside broadcast crew. "Good morning, Mrs Swain is it? I'm Jeffrey Roberts, I'm the outside broadcast producer for the Channel 9 news. I understand that a skeleton was discovered in your back yard. Would it be possible for us to have a look around and get some footage?"

"I really don't know. The police don't want anything disturbed."

"You just leave the police to us, we're used to this sort of thing and know what we can and can't touch. Would it also be possible for you to answer a few questions?"

"I really don't know a great deal about it."

"I do! I saw the men discover it." Rebecca interrupted.

"And who might you be?"

"I'm Rebecca Swain. It was ever so exciting, I was sitting down in the breakfast room watching the workmen pumping out the old septic tank when one of them looked inside and yelled out to the other one to come over and have a look. The second man came up to the house and it was me who answered the door and told him where the phone was."

"That's fine dear, we'll come back to your story after we finish filming down at the tank." The TV crew traipsed out into the back garden and proceeded to completely ignore the ropes that the police had erected around the tank in order to set up their camera to the best advantage.

"I'm going to be on TV! Won't the kids at school be envious! Sam, Belinda, isn't this simply the most fabulous day of your life?" Rebecca was jumping up and down in excitement.

"Calm down young lady, they may not even use your interview." Cynthia said.

"That's right!" Belinda added, "You remember when Jane's brother was killed in Vietnam and those television people spent forever interviewing her and the rest of her family? Well, they filmed Jane for positively hours and didn't show any of it. She was devastated, especially after the fuss she made at school."

"That was horrible for her, she had everyone watching the programme and not one mention of her. I would have killed myself if I were in her position." Said Samantha.

"I'm not going to make the same mistake as she did. Anyway it'll be on tonight's news and as I won't be at school today I can hardly tell everyone, can I? I'll just act as if it was an everyday thing when I get to school."

The TV crew finished shooting their outside footage and trooped back inside to set up their lighting and sound equipment, tracking foul smelling mud through the room. Cynthia visibly cringed at the damage that was being done to the polished parquetry floor. "Now Rebecca isn't it? Can you sit on that settee with your mother? Fine. How's the light Jeff? What if we were to turn the settee around so that it faced the door? No? You want the pile of dirt behind them so that you can focus on it for emphasis from time to time, Okay, you're the producer."

When all of the fine tuning was complete the interview commenced. "Early this morning a human skeleton was found in the septic tank at the home of Mr and Mrs Swain in Wahroonga. The police were called in and are currently investigating what they say could be a murder. With me is Mrs Cynthia Swain and her daughter Rebecca who were on hand when the discovery was made. Tell me Mrs Swain, what was your first reaction when you heard the news?"

"At first I didn't believe it, not at first, and then I went down and had a look for myself. It was eerie, there was this skull looking up at me from the bottom of the tank."

"What about you Rebecca?"

"Well," said Rebecca trying to sound as mature and sophisticated as possible, "I knew that something important was happening right from the very beginning. The workmen were running around everywhere. Then one of them came up to the house babbling something about the police, so I showed him where the phone was and stood by while he rang. When he told me that they had found a skeleton I was intrigued, but Daddy wouldn't let me go down and have a look."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, these two policemen arrived and went down to have a look, and then another two came. One of these actually got into the tank and brought out the skeleton and a lot of other stuff. Then they packed up and left."

"That'll be fine thank you. This is Andrew Wendelbourne reporting from suburban Wahroonga where earlier today the grisly skeletal remains of a person were found in an old septic tank."

"Cut! That's a wrap. Pack up guys we're finished here."

The crew packed up all their equipment and trooped out, leaving Cynthia staring at the mess that they had made of the floor. "Rebecca, will you give me a hand to clean up this mess?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes you do. You were the one who wanted to stay at home today so you can help to clean up the mess."

"All right." Rebecca said reluctantly. "I won't be long." She said to Samantha and Belinda.

"We'll you, won't we Sam." Belinda volunteered.

"Oh sure, what do we do?"

"There's a bucket and mop in the laundry, fill the bucket with water and put some detergent into it then mop the floor with it." While the girls went off to get the mop and bucket Cynthia picked up the phone and dialled the police number that Brownlow had given her. "Hello, could I speak to Sergeant Brownlow?"

"Who can I say is calling?"

"Mrs Swain."

"His line is busy, will you hold?"

"Yes, I'll hold."

The switchboard operator dialled Brownlow's extension. "Hey Brownlow, one of your lady friends is on the line, said her name's Swain."

"Put her on."

"Putting you through now." Cynthia was told.

"Hello, Sergeant Brownlow?"

"Yes."

"Cynthia here."

"Cynthia?"

"Yes Cynthia, Cynthia Swain from this morning."

"Mrs Swain, what can I do for you?"

"I thought that you should know that a television news team was just here and I'm afraid that they trampled around the tank."

"Who was it?"

"Andrew Wendelbourne."

"Shit!"

"Really Sergeant, I didn't expect that sort of language from you."

"Sorry, it's just that he has no respect for the police and would never left a cordon get in the way of a story. I'd better come out and check it out. Would two o'clock be alright?"

"Yes that will be fine, I'll see you then. Bye."




Farewell to the Dancing Man



"I know, you want me to check the Land Titles Office and give you a free go at her." Winters sighed.

CHAPTER FOUR

A wave of giggling and splashing was heard coming from the laundry. "What's happening out there?" Asked Cynthia as she hung up the phone.

"Nothing Mum." Came the unconvincing response. The girls came back into the family room covered in suds, water slopping from the over-full bucket and Samantha armed with a mop. She dunked the mop into the bucket and slopped it onto the floor spreading the now diluted mud around the floor.

"All right, leave it to me." Cynthia had visions of permanent damage to the floor that was the main feature of the room. "You girls can hop on your bikes and go to the shops for me, after this morning we've run out of milk, and could you get some biscuits, Monte Carlo I think." She took some money from her purse and ushered them from the room.

"See, I told you that if we make a mess she'd do it herself." Samantha whispered to Rebecca as they left the room.

It didn't take Cynthia long to repair the damage and the room was back to its normal pristine condition by the time that the girls had returned.

After a snack lunch Rebecca asked if she could go with Samantha and Belinda to Samantha's house. Cynthia agreed without asking how they intended to amuse themselves.

When Brownlow arrived Cynthia had changed, she opened the door dressed in a wrap around skirt and a blouse that was open far enough for him to see that she had taken off her bra. He tried with little effort and success to ignore the view provided.

After a quick inspection of the back garden he returned to the house. "I don't think we should allow any more television crews to trample over the area. There's not a lot of damage done this time but the next time we might not be so lucky."

"I promise that I won't let anyone else down there until you tell that it's okay. Would you like a cup of coffee or something?"

"A cup of coffee would be fine thank you." Cynthia busied herself making coffee, in the process making sure that each time she bent over he had an unobstructed view of her cleavage. "What time is Mr Swain expected home?"

"He usually works until eight. I don't expect any change to that routine."

"Oh, what about the children?"

"Rebecca has gone to a friend's house, I don't know exactly when she'll be home but you know what girls are like, she could be forever. Timothy has sport after school this afternoon and he normally doesn't get home until after four-thirty. Would you like a biscuit? I'm afraid we only have Monte Carlos, I hope you like them." In reaching for them she made sure that her left breast was pressed against him.

"Thank you I like them." He took two and, holding one in the palm of his hand, he dunked the other into his coffee. Cynthia leaned forward to replace the plate and his eyes were drawn to the increasing gap in her blouse. He held the biscuit in the coffee a fraction too long and as he raised it to his mouth the soggy biscuit section slowly parted company from the jam and cream centre and dropped back into the coffee, splashing hot coffee over the rim of his mug and into his lap.

Before he could react Cynthia picked up a napkin and began to mop up the spilt coffee. Brownlow's hand jerked away from the intrusion into his private space, and in the process spilled even more coffee. "You'd better put the coffee down before you do yourself some permanent damage." She took the mug from his hand and returned it to the table. She again reached for his lap with the napkin.

"I'll get it." He tried hard not to make it obvious that he enjoyed the attention.

"Don't be silly it's almost mopped up." She made ac couple of final swipes with the napkin. "There, isn't that better?"

"Yes it is. Look I'd better get back to the station."

"With that damp patch there? I tell you what, why don't you take those trousers off and slip into a pair of Peter's while I dry those." Brownlow was given no time to protest, Cynthia grabbed him by the hand and literally dragged him down the hall to the master bedroom. She selected a pair of light slacks from Peter's side of the closet and tossed them to him. "I'll wait outside, just pass them out to me and I'll them into the drier while you slip into those."

He handed the trousers to her and picked up the others from the bed. They were much too tight for him and he struggled for several minutes to get the zipper up before giving up. Cynthia came into the room and feigning surprise at his lack of success, a smile came across her face. "Here let me help you."

"No, don't bother, there's no way this will close."

"Nonsense, do what we girls do when we have this problem, just lie back on the bed and suck in your tummy." She pushed him back onto the bed she straddled his legs, grabbing the reluctant zip in one hand and, holding the bottom of the flies with the other she attempted to pull the zipper up. She too had no success, at least not in closing the zip.

Brownlow couldn't have asked for it any easier, he'd been prepared to have to work to get Cynthia into bed but here she was doing all the work. He was more than a little surprised by the intensity of her kiss when she threw herself on top of him, pinning him to the bed and covering his mouth with hers, her tongue flicking out searching for a way between his lips. His mouth opened to accept her probing tongue as her right hand moved down to his underpants. He gasped as her fingers slipped under the elastic and located his now hard cock.

His hand moved to her blouse, undoing the remaining few buttons and, locating her breasts he cupped them in his hands. Cynthia gasped in turn as his fingers caressed her nipples. Several minutes later they separated, she sat up and removed her blouse, her breasts standing out firm and proud from her chest. She saw him staring at them. "Do you like them?" She asked shaking her shoulders causing them to sway from side to side.

"They're very nice." His hands cupped them and caressed them again.

"Just a minute." She stood up and removed the rest of her clothes before reaching over and unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from him. He stood up and removed his underpants and they stood facing each other and admiring each other's body. She moved closer and rubbed her breasts against the rough hair on his chest. "Mmm, that feels nice."

Brownlow took her into his arms and fell back onto the bed taking her with him. "We shouldn't be doing this, what if someone should come in?" He managed to sound concerned for her even though he couldn't care less about her, his only concern was that if he was to get caught there would be an official enquiry and he couldn't afford that even though they usually resulted in no disciplinary action being taken.

"No-one is likely to, don't worry I won't tell anyone." She kissed him firmly on the lips as she straddled him and manoeuvred him into her. They moved together, slowly savouring the moment. The climax of their lovemaking was slow coming but intense when it arrived. "I really needed that," Cynthia sighed into Brownlow's neck as she lay exhausted on him. "You have no idea how long it's been since I have had loving as good as that."

"I find that hard to believe, you had no trouble getting me going."

"There is a difference you know, you wanted it." A note of sadness entered into her voice. "I get the impression that my husband just goes through the motions once a week because he thinks that's enough to make me happy."

"And you're not obviously. I find it hard to believe he could ever grow tired of you."

"It's not that so much that he's tired of me as he's just plain tired." Cynthia knew she was making excuses but her voice lacked conviction.

"The man's mad. You're a very attractive woman, you have a wonderful body and you can certainly make love well. If you can cook then I'm yours." Brownlow surprised himself not only with what he was saying but with the sincerity with which he was saying it. He realised that he could be skating on thin ice here. "I don't mean that, well yes I do, in a way I do, what I'm trying to say to you, and I'm stuffing it up badly here, is if I were in the market for a wife you'd be my first choice."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I suppose that if I were in the market for a husband you'd be up there with the leaders. That reminds me, I already have a husband and I have no idea why I'm sitting here on top of you with that thing of yours still inside me."

"You know very well what you're doing you're dissatisfied with the sex that you're getting from your husband and when a young his hips moved to emphasise the points he was making, "incredibly sexy and we endowed young policeman comes along you just had to have a piece of the action." His hands had been caressing her breasts again, and again Cynthia found herself moving to him. "Hey lazybones, your turn on top."

Brownlow rolled over without losing his position within her and started making love to her for the second time. They had just reached a mutually satisfactory conclusion and were drowsily coming down from their sexual high when the bedroom door opened.

"Mummy how could you!"