Port Fairy Priest a Detective Voss story.

My second Detective Voss  novel seems to have strayed from the original plot frame that I created before going to Port Fairy a couple of years ago. This was the original plan, might have to back to it and change a few names to protect the criminals.

Synopsis:

Voss takes a cottage in Port Fairy to re-assess his life. Likes the ebb and flow of the locals, doesn’t like the tourists much, but appreciates the improvement to the coffee shops and pubs their trade has brought.

He befriends a fisherman who is in his mid-seventies, Leith Pritchard is worried about his grandchildren, they are cutting school and spending most of their time boozing and taking drugs

He has noticed that they have better supply a week after the full moon at first, he thought the drugs were coming in from the fishing fleet, but as most of the captains and crew had children affected, he’d dismissed it.

Voss watches a wedding where the bride’s theme is red and black, Men are dresses in mail box red suits with black top hats, while the bridesmaids a dressed in black with red aprons. The wedding is lavish and Voss learns the couple are recent pop music stars who have decided Port Fairy has the right setting for their big day.

On the day of the wedding while the town watches and waits for the nuptials to begin, Voss and Leith study the coming and going of the florist, the priest and the caterers. Something irks Voss the, sight of the priest seems familiar and he runs a series of old mugshot images through his mind without finding anything. The priest, once a circuit man who came from Melbourne to take communion once a month, has moved up within the church. His visits often resulted in the kids going wild. Port Fairy has changed but people still remember the Uniting Church goers in the town who believed Satan was at work. The Jehovah Witness didn’t have an opinion and the lapsed Christians, agnostics and non-believers are sure the local copper turned a blind eye to the problem.

One time choir boy, Kyle Kipping, late thirties has made it big crossing between heavy and death metal music genres, drugs have dominated the headlines during the last ten years of his career, but it has brought him a new populous of followers. His early career as a pop singer had several number one singles and top selling albums. A career highlight of being promoted as the top billing on Carols in the Domain and Carols by Candlelight crashed during the Enquiry into Child Abuse, when he testified against a popular priest.

After publicly renouncing the Catholic Church on the sleeve of his last album, Songs of Regret, his producers, the recording company has pushed him into filming the wedding to release it in increments as video support for the songs.

Ten years on and, while the band is blasting the new album from several speakers the size of small cars, unknown to the quests in the marquee below at the Rockstar wedding, evil of its own is looking down on them. the priest is found dead, face down in front of a burning cross on top of the local lookout. Thirteen small and charred wooden crosses surround the body.

Speculation about the devil, drugs and God’s Justice whip the town gossips and scaremongers into a frenzy. Rumours surround the death some saying satanic symbols rose from the burning paint and noise from flames sounded like demons squealing as the vehicle burnt. Firefighters reported being unable to quench the flames and suspected an accelerant like napalm. Other reports had the body covered in knives sticking out of every muscle and body part.

What they couldn’t know was that the man’s genitals were removed and stuffed into his mouth before he died. Cause of death asphyxiation.

Along with the wedding guests and gossip columnists, now city journalists and TV reporters descended on the town in helicopters cars and most of the accommodation is booked out to accommodate them. Considering moving to a quieter location Voss answers his door to the Bishop seeking a meeting. Voss tries to push the thought of getting back to investigation to one side until the bishop tell him the priests name. this is the man who set Voss on his career as a copper. The only real father figure in his life.

He takes the case and is bewildered by the details of the crime. Father Geoffrey was due to testify before the Royal Commission into Child Abuse. However, the bishop confirms Voss’s belief his friend was one who spoke up against it, so why would someone do this. Eddie is reluctant to become involved, he has no use of the church for the way they treated him when his business was failing and Donna to thinks it is a bad idea. 

Voss might have to do this on his own.

A nice review about writing character

Melton Library

My writing colleagues and I often go on about the importance of plot and if one of our stories is strong or seems to lack something. As my Wordsmith's of Melton friends are a critiquing group, discussion can be quite robust and at times it becomes difficult to subject a piece for critique, then an unexpected review comes into our inbox. This is one of those.

I had passed out a few final drafts of my Detective Voss novel 'The Price of Innocence' for the members to read and identify strengths and weaknesses in the manuscript. To say I was chuffed with Sonia Doherty's review is an understatement and I have pasted it below.. Thank you Sonia.

I have started reading Voss and one thing you do really well is relationships and people. You create interesting characters and how they interact. You make us like them, flaws and all, and not like others. Some we watch grow throughout the story and some we laugh at how they behave. In all your books this is one thing that has stood out to me.

Sonia

For anyone interested in writing I would recommend working with other writers within a community based critiquing group similar to ours because your writing will grow from it. Check out Writers Victoria. S A Writers and your local library should be able to help direct you too.

A little bit from KUNDELA

To celebrate the finishing of my Detective Voss manuscript, I thought I'd like to share a little bit from my first novel Kundela. The setting is Port Augusta, at the cross roads from Pert to Sydney and Adelaide to Darwin. Regarded as the gateway to South Australia's outback Port Augusta has many attractions to interest the visitor.  

In this chapter Senior Constable Jeff Rankin has asked his superior about getting forensics to examine the remains of a dead steer clay panned (shot and dressed on its skin) on the Gillespie's property, Wanooka's Well. The sergeant has another plan.

Commended in the FAW Christina Stead Award 2013 

Kundela is available through the Kindle Store for less than $3.00 for another 2 weeks.

The Sergeant had stored an assortment of tools in the back of the patrol car earlier and now, with a frozen cow’s head riding alongside everything they needed, the two officers drove to the gliding club. Jeff unlocked the gate and swung it open, red dust powdered by the car’s wheels hung in the still mid-morning air as Jeff returned to the passenger seat.

‘What’ve you got planned?’

‘Watch and learn Jeffery boy. Watch and learn. When I was a kid, I was fishing out in the gulf and caught this big spider crab,’ He indicated its size by taking his hands from the steering wheel, stretching his arms across the width of the car, ‘My old grandad showed me how to keep it as a trophy and that’s what we’ll do with this one.’

Doug Simpson stopped the car and pointed to a bare patch of ground near a stand of acacias that defined a long established bull ant’s nest. He opened the boot and took out a toolbox. It contained a mix of spanners, knives, string, pliers and tape.

‘Here Jeff, put these shopping bags over your boots, use the rubber bands to seal them against your trousers. You won’t want any of those angry little buggers getting into your strides. I parked back a way, because I don’t want any of them riding back to the station with us.’

Jeff watched as his boss worked, setting up his bush laboratory. Ants reacted to the vibrations coming from movement near their nest and streamed out in angry lines, ready to attack the intruder. A deft hand sent the lid from a twenty-litre paint tin, frisbee style into the centre of the nest, stirring them up even more.

Jeff wondered what an onlooker would make of two police officers dancing around in the scrub. He looked at the ground, high stepping, trying to keep away from the insects, and then he worked it out. Studying his footprints in the sand more closely he yelled, ‘Modern day Kadaichi Man. That’s it Boss. Look at your footprints. They look the same as in the photos. Those buggers had their boots covered, but why? There was no ant nest close enough at the kill site.’

Doug unrolled his long shirtsleeves and, tucking them into the blue rubber gloves, placed the beast’s head onto the plastic lid. Battalions of soldier ants attacked, clambering onto the plastic protecting his shoes. Jeff burst out laughing as his boss danced and stamped his way back to the car, his jagged movements ensuring any remaining ants fell into the dry red dust, while he brushed at them savagely with his hand.

‘Now we have to protect it from eagles, foxes and crows. Pass me that old plastic rubbish bin and a few bits of wood’

Jeff stood back as Doug assembled his contraption. First, he placed the bin over the thawing head, then the woolpack Joe had given him to cover it last Friday and around the perimeter, he used the wood Jeff had collected to hold everything in place. Ants swarmed over Doug’s boots again, he started stamping and slapping at them, making sure none breeched his defences.

‘I should take a photo of you and put it up in the rec room,’ Jeff laughed.

‘After all I do for you. I don’t think so!’

Back at the car, Doug stripped off the plastic bags and pulled his trousers out of his socks, checking carefully to see if any ants remained on his clothing. Once satisfied he was ant-free, he removed his gloves, putting his and Jeff’s discarded protection into a zip-lock bag and sealing it.

A stop on our trip through the Oladdie Hills north of Orrooroo
searching for inspiration when writing Les Gillespies Gold

‘Now we can come back in a couple of weeks and they will have stripped that out, leaving any projectiles on the lid for us. What do you think?’

‘Should work I reckon. With those skills, you could have a bit of blackfella in you too.’

‘Don’t think so, mate.’