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  SWITCHBACK STORIES

  Like switchback trails with their unexpected twists and turns, these tales lead us through a maze of mystery, murder and psychological suspense, deceit, obsession, romantic intrigue and family secrets. Switchback Stories explores the mixed fortunes of fate that can surprise any one of us at any time:

  In Washington DC a charismatic anti-drug lobbyist is targeted by a powerful crime cartel. With precise planning, the assassins close in on their prey – alone in his house – only to confront the one scenario they could not envision.

  A Boston airline disaster and an extraordinary twist of fate have given a selfish man the chance to commit an undetectable killing. No-one will ever suspect a crime has taken place. Is it the perfect murder?

  An ambitious actor has a foolproof way of advancing her career, at the expense of another. Nothing can go wrong. Sometimes, however, everything going right delivers the most unforeseeable result.

  A famed South African diamond, unique for its light reflecting brilliance, is guarded by advanced technology. A dynamic cat burglar uses a variation on movie stunt trickery to plan a daring heist.

  An aging drifter forms a bond with a young woman and her son in the Australian countryside – what is it about their small town he finds both familiar and unsettling?

  In England’s north, the ‘Last of the Lighthouse Keepers’ uses his knowledge of treacherous waters for a desperate act – setting in motion a chain of events even he is powerless to stop.

  A collection of seventeen tales with a twist, by the author of the bestselling novels ‘The Delta Chain,’ and ‘Disappear.’

  Praise for Iain Edward Henn’s novels:

  “Fast paced…hooks the reader in…” – Publishers Weekly

  “Stylish, craftily-worded thriller…a fantastic read.” – Martin Treanor in The Huffington Post

  SWITCHBACK STORIES

  Seventeen Tales With A Twist

  IAIN EDWARD HENN

  Sunfire Publishing

  Copyright 2014 Ian E. Henn

  (aka Iain Edward Henn)

  First published 2014 by Sunfire Publishing.

  The right of Ian E. Henn to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other – except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Apart from references to actual historical figures and places, all other names, characters and places are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Some of these stories were originally published in the following publications (shown in chronological order):

  ‘Trick Of The Light,’ in Woman’s Day (Australia) January, 1990;

  ‘The News Flash,’ in The Australian Women’s Weekly, June 1990; Woman’s World, (U.S.A) December, 1990;

  ‘Confidence Betrayed,’ in The Australian Women’s Weekly, July, 1991; Hemmets (Sweden) 1993;

  ‘Secret Day,’ (aka Private Day) in Woman’s Day (Australia) July, 1991; Woman’s Own (UK) May, 1993; Hjemmets (Norway)September, 1992; Ugemagsinet Sondag (Denmark) 1992; Hemmets (Sweden) March 1993; Fact and Fiction 2E, 1995 edition, Scandinavian University Press;

  ‘Storm Bay,’ in Woman’s Day (Aust) September, 1991;

  ‘Lady Luck,’ (aka ‘The Promotion’) in Woman’s Day (Aust) May, 1992; Woman’s World (U.S.A) July, 1993; Woman’s Own (UK) November, 1993:

  ‘The Suicide Note,’ in The Australian Women’s Weekly, January, 1993; Hjemmets (Norway) 1992; Ugemagsinet Sondag (Denmark) July, 1992; Hemmets (Sweden) February, 1993;

  ‘A Seed Of Doubt,’ in The Australian Women’s Weekly, March, 1994;

  ‘Dark Of Winter,’ in Woman’s Day (Aust.) July, 1994;

  ‘Ordinary Angel,’ in Woman’s Day, January, 1997;

  ‘A Candle For Carrie,’ in Woman’s Day, January, 1998

  ‘Walk With Me,’ Indie Book Bargains UK –Drabbles fiction, 2013

  All stories revised and updated 2014

  For my parents

  “A mountain is composed of tiny grains of earth. The ocean is made up of tiny drops of water. Even so, life is but an endless series of little details, actions, speeches, and thoughts. And the consequences whether good or bad of even the least of them are far-reaching.”

  -Sivananda

  Switchback – “Roads, trails and tracks with hairpin turns and steep rises and falls.”

  -Various sources

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  THE SILVER CHAMELEON

  DEADLY BY DESIGN

  TRICK OF THE LIGHT

  THE NEWS FLASH

  A SEED OF DOUBT

  SECRET DAY

  LADY LUCK

  CONFIDENCE BETRAYED

  STORM BAY

  THE UNDERSTUDY

  ORDINARY ANGEL

  DARK OF WINTER

  HUNGER VALLEY

  WALK WITH ME

  EYES ON YOU

  A CANDLE FOR CARRIE

  THE SUICIDE NOTE

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  INTRODUCTION

  In the movie that bore his name, fictional character Forrest Gump famously stated that life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.

  I’ve often thought of short story collections in the same way. You never know what each new tale will bring.

  For an author, the short story is a chance to explore different ideas, characters, styles and genres.

  For both the writer and the reader it’s a literary road trip.

  Like a motoring holiday, where each day you visit a different place, so the story collection takes us on a sightseeing tour across a landscape of diverse characters.

  In this collection, each brief stop gives a glimpse into those lives. In one town we meet a warm hearted, aging drifter, whose stopover in a farming region brings back memories – but how, when he hasn’t been there before?

  In another tale we’re drawn into the fast-moving world of a charismatic Washington DC lobbyist who is targeted for destruction by a crime cartel.

  In another place an ambitious actor’s cruel plan has the desired result – however result and consequences prove to be two very different things.

  Life is full of ironies, and the plot twists in a story are reflections of just that.

  One of the first ironies I struck in life was when I was a teenager in my first job as a despatch boy.

  I was sent on a foot errand to hand deliver letters to important clients in the Sydney Central Business District (yes, this was long before the era of the email).

  I left the building via a back exit into a small narrow alleyway where I saw the body of a man crumpled on the ground. He had just jumped out of a window in the building behind ours. There were several people pointing above and paramedics already approaching.

  I watched for a moment and then went on my way to perform what was, by comparison, my trivial task in a bustling, crowded city.

  When I returned an hour or so later, the body and all the surrounding activity was gone, there was just a chalk outline on the ground to mark where the body had been.

  This was just a couple of weeks before Christmas and I read later that the festive season was the worst time for suicides.

  To my eyes that chalk outline represented not just a body, but a life. I wondered who the man was and what had pushed him to this. I wondered, if he hadn’t jumped, what might the next d
ay have brought, and the day after that, and a year beyond that? I was struck by the irony that everything is so very important to us, whilst seemingly insignificant at the same time in the vast expanse of things.

  Over forty years later, that chalk outline is often in the back of my mind when I’m telling the stories of my characters’ lives.

  I’ve been telling stories for as long as I can remember. When I was very young I acted them out, with all the roles being played by myself and my imaginary friend, Red. I only have vague recollections of Red, but my parents sometimes remind me of that imagined boy.

  I wonder if he’s still around, looking over my shoulder, whispering his ideas, making his suggestions and still playing some of those parts.

  These stories have been drawn from my first published mystery and suspense fiction, in the 1990’s, and the years since. It includes ‘Secret Day,’ based on a true story, which appeared in several magazines and was then taken up for inclusion in a text by the Scandinavian University Press, ‘A Seed Of Doubt,’ originally commissioned and published by The Australian Women’s Weekly and ‘The Silver Chameleon,’ written especially for this collection.

  The plot twists are sometimes uplifting, sometimes bittersweet, sometimes sinister, the characters’ emotions traversing the highs and lows you’d expect on a switchback ride. The stories touch on acts of good and acts of evil and the ripple effect our choices have on everyone and everything around us.

  I hope you enjoy. The journey starts here.

  And if there was a road sign at the beginning of this trip, I’ve got a feeling Red would be standing alongside it and that it would simply read:

  Unexpected turns ahead.

  THE SILVER CHAMELEON

  One

  His diary was not really a diary at all – the term implies a certain order and structure – but instead a written whirlwind of names, dates, places and subjects that seemed, at a glance, to defy the physically possible.

  And yet that was the very thing about Matthew Carpenter, thought Nancy Yates, the man simply defied the physically possible.

  October 4th. His ‘official’ day began at 7.45 A.M. at a breakfast meeting with the three congressmen who were his strongest allies.

  At 9 A.M. he was on the other side of the city for an interview in the Washington studios of the nation’s highest rating TV morning program.

  At 9.30 he was several streets away for an interview on a nationally syndicated radio talk show.

  10 A.M. and he was back on Capitol Hill for no less than fifteen meetings – some of them lasting less than ten minutes – with key legislators. These meetings were held in various rooms as the politicians went about their normal day, in and out of hearings and voting sessions.

  Many of these meetings were conducted on the run as congressmen ran late or were called upon for urgent matters.

  Matthew Carpenter knew how to improvise, tracking legislators down, strolling with them as they were called from one meeting to another.

  Lunch with an influential senator from New York was wedged in between 12.45 and 1.30.

  In these recent weeks, Carpenter’s days had been more chaotic than ever. He was no longer just a well-known face in the lobbying crowd, vying to attract the attention of the political heavyweights. Now he was the cause de jour, sought out by many of the bandwagon jumpers around him.

  As a Washington DC lobbyist, he represented the interests of many corporate and community clients, but this project was his own personal creation, and he was its best advocate.

  His anti-drug initiative was the talk of the town, and was harnessing more and more media space. Carpenter ran it the same as any of his lobbying campaigns.

  As a result Nancy Yates had hardly seen her boss this past week.

  She was firmly positioned in Carpenter’s office suite, in a building on the outer rim of the city’s main circle. Volunteers came in to assist from time to time, but she was often alone, manning the phones, conducting meetings with those interested in the Initiative.

  She was forever organizing and re-organizing his “diary.”

  Somehow Carpenter made the impossible schedule work.

  That was just one of the things that amazed and impressed his feisty, matter-of-fact office manager. Nancy spoke to her boss constantly throughout the day. Like most high-flyers, Carpenter’s cell phone was almost permanently glued to his ear.

  It was perhaps fortuitous then, that Carpenter had set aside half an hour from 2 P.M. in the office, for a catch-up, prior to heading across to the Senate building.

  Nancy had received a media request that she believed was of particular interest.

  ‘You remember that LA woman who interviewed you briefly, oh, about six months ago?’

  ‘Of course. Good journo. Nice girl.’

  ‘Down, boy-’

  ‘I meant nothing by that, Nancy-’

  ‘I know, I’m joking. Goodness, we are touchy today. You’re as bad as my husband. Anyway, I’ve had her on the phone this morning, rabbiting on.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘She’s based in DC now. She wants to spend a week with you, fly-on-the-wall doco stuff, a week-in-the-life series of segments for her news show. But she stressed something very special about her proposal, she’s emailing the details, wanted to know if we’d consider it as soon as possible.’

  Carpenter cast his mind back to that earlier interview. ‘She had a brother who died of an overdose. Revealed it on-air during that interview.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nancy, ‘it carried a lot of emotional impact at a time when we were still trying to get real attention.’

  ‘Do you know what she has in mind?’

  ‘She wants to shoot film of drug victims, and/or their families – telling their stories–and to splice that in between the interviews with you as she follows you on the campaign trail.’

  ‘Sounds strong.’

  ‘We’ll have her notes on this soon-’

  ‘No need to wait.’

  ‘You want me to set up a meeting?’

  Carpenter glanced at his watch.

  In just two hours he was due back on the Hill.

  Senators supporting Carpenter had introduced his Initiative to a Senate Sub-Committee with the intent of having a bill drafted. Investigating the validity of such a bill, the Sub-Committee had already held several hearings, calling testimony from experts. For today’s meeting, the senators had arranged for Carpenter’s testimony to be broadcast live to television and radio, in addition to the regular webcasts.

  To galvanize the swell of public and media interest, they were treating Carpenter’s appearance as a special event.

  ‘No. Tell her we’ll do it – and if she can meet me at the Capitol before my speech she can start filming her story straight away.’

  Two

  Alison Reslin was hot and she knew it.

  Honey-haired, blue-eyed, vivacious, beaming with West Coast charm. She was the most popular reporter on the national political program, Capitol Views.

  Men hit on her all the time but Alison swatted the male attention aside. She hadn’t dated for over a year, she was wedded to her job, always on the go, and truth be told no-one was kindling her romantic interest.

  In her role she often mingled with high flying politicos and businessmen, sports stars and showbiz celebs. She should have found them intoxicating.

  Instead, for reasons she hadn’t fathomed, she found them boring.

  Alison was rarely flustered, she wasn’t the type, but after she received the call from Nancy Yates, she took a moment to compose herself, took several deep breaths.

  And then she launched into overdrive.

  Not only had her proposal been accepted, but Carpenter was ready to start now. As in now.

  She needed to be at the Senate in less than an hour, with a cameraman in tow.

  She marched into the producer’s office.

  ‘You know that 24/7, fly-on-the-wall, talk-as-he-walks series of segments on Matthew Carpenter I p
roposed?’

  The boss looked at her expectantly.

  ‘It’s on,’ she said.

  Three

  Ricardo Guiterrez entered the ‘situation’ room, as he liked to call it. Schematics of Carpenter’s home covered the wall. His eyes wandered over these and then he turned to the two men who’d been waiting.

  These two were the leaders of a military-style killing unit. But they were not military.

  ‘How much does his nightly routine vary?’ Guiterrez asked.

  The two men, and the members of their elite unit, had been observing the home, and the comings and goings of its occupant – Carpenter – for two months. Waiting for word on when this “hit” was on.

  ‘Very little,’ the key observer said. ‘This man is a creature of habit. His days appear designed so that he’s home at around 7 P.M. On occasion this varies due to late running meetings or evening functions, but they are surprisingly rare for a man like this. We’ve observed him in his kitchen, usually fixing a drink. At around 7.30 all the lights go out except for exterior security lights and a muted light in the kitchen.’

  ‘There’s no further movement?’ These details had been reported to Guiterrez before – but after eight weeks of surveillance and now with the mission close to being green-lighted, it was time for final confirmation on all the details.

  ‘No, sir. He retires at that time. We believe he may remain in the sitting room for a short while and then go up to the bedroom. Apparently he must always dine out before heading home.’

  ‘No visitors or phone calls, no signs of any activity whatsoever within the residence?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘And on those days when he has no business activities organized?’

  ‘He doesn’t leave the house.’

  ‘And those days of non-activity are regular?’ It was more a statement than a question.

  ‘Correct, sir. Usually one day a week, sometimes for a couple of days in a row, and on those days he remains alone in the house.’

  Another three men entered, carrying large cases. They placed these on the table at the far end of the room and removed compact sniper rifles and night goggles.