kimberley killers

Peter Sage and his beautiful assistant, Bella Paise, set out on a journey in the great state of Western Australia.

This is a thriller which has something for everyone; Mystery; Shock; Suspense; Sex; Romance; Recipes and Excitement. 

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ISBN: 978-1-921731-30-3    
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 187
Genre: Fiction
Cover - Clive Dalkins


Author: Peter Wise
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published: 2010
Language: English



Peter Wise’s career began in the Queensland Public Service and later in the Commonwealth arena.  He has retired to the Glass Mountains area where he now writes.  He has two published novels, The Mt Mee Murders and The Body.



BROOME and the Cable Beach Caravan Park provided Sage with a wonderful place to live. He had parted company with his young assistant, Bella, who purchased the business from him in 2007. Their near death experience investigating the Shimpei kidnapping case and subsequent murders of Mr Shimpei and his two daughters at Mt Mee in Queensland had taken its toll.

A sea-change – and the pearl in the sun became his new home. He paid forty thousand dollars for a caravan and a permanent site at Roebuck Bay Caravan Park. The place was booming with grey nomads in droves. He kept in touch with Bella by phone. He knew from other sources in Queensland that she did the job of a Private Investigator well, and ran a successful business. She entered into the debt-recovery area and worked for major companies in Brisbane and outlying cities. She had proved to her clients that she could recover monies owing.

They kept a secret, which set them up in their now different lives: the split of the kidnap money Bella took from Tiddy as he lay dying. The police believed it burnt in the forest fire because of the evidence supplied at the time by Bella and Sage. He started a new business, far from the hustle and stress of a Private Investigator.

Suntanned, and wearing a pair of red Speedos with Broome printed in white across his arse, he worked his beat on the white sands of Cable Beach. His tools of trade: a silent Honda generator, a state of the art spray gun, and litres of sun-tan oil which he purchased from a company in Perth. With great dexterity, he sprayed the bodies of beachgoers every day with the oil, and at five dollars a spray and cash money he would say to himself aloud, “Black money, I love it.”

The Broome Council let him set up a stand in front of the new life-savers’ clubhouse. He paid his license fee on time, and there were no complaints, as far as he knew, about his work. He wore a black Akubra and sunglasses and the locals referred to him as The Mayor of Cable Beach. The title, he learnt from chatter at the bars around town, related to the bull-shit he came out with on a daily basis.  

Today he looked at the gent with the grey hair and the gut. At his side a woman in her forties with cleavage and a body shape to be envied by women half her age.

“How much for a spray?” she asked.

“Five bucks to you, Madam.”

“Have you got five dollars, darling?” she said to her partner.

“Don’t worry; I’ll pay for both of us.” He looked at Sage and asked, “Can you change a fifty?”

“Can do.” Sage reached into an ice cream container and counted four ten dollar notes.

His blood-red Jeep Wrangler four-wheel-drive stood, gleaming in the sun, beside him. It looked the part with all seats covered in cream-coloured full sheepskin seat covers.

On Tuesday, he received a call on his mobile around one o’clock in the afternoon to drive fifteen minutes along the Nudist Section of Cable Beach. There he would spray a dozen women who, he knew, belonged to a select club. A rest day for them and coming all the way from Port Hedland, a six-hour drive. They paid him in cash and even offered him their favours free of charge. To date he had declined all offers. What is wrong with me? I should take up an offer. The dirty water on the chest starting to overflow. A bloke, around his age, approached him wearing black Speedos and a white T-shirt and said, “How are you, mate? Give me a cover of suntan oil please.” Sage took his money and did his job.

“On holidays, are you?” he asked.

This bloke appeared to be physically in good shape with a muscular upper body, huge thighs and calf muscles. The shaved head and the grey-coloured goatee gave him the appearance of an old bikie. “Yeah, doing a trip down memory lane; came here in ’85. Nothing like it is now.”

“What did you do here back then?”

“Worked in Coastwatch. Set up an office here in town.”

“The town I believe has changed since then?”

“To tell you the truth, I couldn’t believe me eyes when I arrived here. In ’85 Cable Beach – paradise to be on. Not a lot of people, even on a Sunday.”

“And I suppose you are going to tell me land here went cheap?”

“Yep – twenty-five thousand dollars and you owned a building block on a new estate along the Cable Beach Road. I see it is built out.”

The bloke left and walked away towards the straight beach leaving Sage to think about the past. Sage breakfasted daily at Zanders at Cable Beach Reserve. This popular family restaurant overlooked the surfing beach; he found it a glorious place to eat pancakes lashed with honey. Sometimes if he felt crook from the golden nectar which he drank the night before, he ate bacon and eggs, toast with baked beans. Into the water for a surf for an hour before commencing the day. Evenings he ate at the Divers Tavern at 12 Cable Beach Road. The steaks were big there. He perved on the heaps of talent visiting the bar. He expected one day to meet a rich grandma and each night he screened the females with this thought in mind. No goldmine came his way. He got to know some of the locals and watched human behaviour at its best and worst. He sat at the bar facing the road and watched people come and go. He left just before closing. He could hold his grog and staff knew him as a good customer. He was generous with his money and always tipped the staff. Over the past four weeks his attention had focused on the four men. They sat at the bar close to him. He could hear their conversation and he believed these men were brothers. At around eight the previous night, one of the men known to him as Bob, said to the group, “We make those bastards at TTP pay for what they done to us.” The other three men put their fingers to their mouths signalling him to be quiet. No other conversation took place about TTP. Instinct and his gut tugged at him as he watched the four men leave the tavern around ten. Those bastards are up to no good. The thought crossed his mind as he drank his last Corona and headed for bed.  


Two months had passed since Sage overheard the conversation of the men at the hotel. A remark from one of the men still stayed with him. As he turned on the radio at around six one morning, busy boiling the kettle for his cuppa, he listened to the ABC six o’clock news. He was shocked to hear the reader say, “There has been an explosion at the TTP Iron Ore Plant at Point Nelson, Port Hedland. Police have cordoned off the site. Details will be updated as further bulletins come to hand – There has been a fatal road accident on the Exmouth Road and two people died yesterday afternoon…”

Sage sipped his tea and thought of what he had heard on the news. The day would be busy, he thought, as he looked outside to the cloudless sky and the start of a fine day.

At the same time Sage looked at the sky, the CEO at Port Hedland spoke to someone in London, “This damage to our dumpers has frozen our operation. We are in a lot of trouble!”

The four white-coloured Toyota Turbo Diesel S.R.5s, with identical Jayco Sterling twenty-three footers gracing their rears, stood lined up to use the fuel pump at Munjina Roadhouse, 261 kilometres from Port Hedland. The drivers sat behind their steering wheels and waited while the Big Mack semi’s belly swallowed diesel for some fifteen minutes. Each man felt nervous and exhausted from their night’s activities. The result of their efforts now being reported on the airwaves around Australia and overseas.

Bob Gray led the pack and at sixty-six he emerged first from his mother’s womb. With shaved head and weighing 115 kilos, a beer gut, piercing blue eyes, a broken nose and his solid build gave the first impression of a tough character. He retired some ten years ago after TTP sacked him for crashing a forty-million dollar diesel train engine towing 100 carriages full of iron ore. At a million dollars clear profit for each 100 carriages of the ore to reach Port Hedland, the powers that be were not impressed. The speed of the engine when it crashed recorded eighty kilometres an hour, well over the required speed for a diesel engine with the load behind it.

The big money deserted him and so did his wife. She went back to Queensland, divorced him and sucked every dollar she could from him, leaving him a bitter and twisted man. He never got over all of these things and he would often say to his brothers, “I am one hell of an angry man. TTP fucked my life.”

The idea to blow the dumpers came from him and he mumbled out loud as he sat waiting to fill his vehicle. “A top job – we have more to do, yet.”

In the second vehicle sat Bernie aged sixty-three, 179 centimetres and fit. One could, if one knew his mother, imagine she may have strayed somewhere along the way as he bore no resemblance to his other brothers. He retired from TTP some eight years ago when the boss discovered his wife in bed with Bernie. He joined the Army Reserve in Port Hedland and took a detailed interest in explosives and his speciality – the lunch box with TNT. The walls of his van camouflaged four F888 Steyr Standard Army issue rifles and ammunition, four RPG7 rocket-propelled grenades, and two light direct-fire support M72 rocket launchers. The lunch boxes placed on the two dumpers did their job. At the time of the explosion, no employees were in the area. This explosive would kill anyone within a distance of seven metres.

Bob and Bernie planned to camp at Savannah Camping Grounds, Banjima Drive, about thirty-five kilometres from the visitors’ centre in the Karijini National Park, and Bruce and Barrie would camp at Dales Camping Ground, about ten kilometres from the same centre, near Fortescue Falls. The brothers selected this area as an ideal place to disappear into the landscape. It is a favourite destination for tourists from all around the world. Four-wheel-drive vehicles towing caravans came in great numbers, with the occupants, to this ancient place.

Bruce would say to Barrie, “You know, Barrie, having reached old age we’re faceless in a crowd. Have you ever noticed, no one looks at you when you walk down the street or into a shopping centre?”

The Karijini National Park is the second largest national park in Western Australia and encompasses some 627,445 hectares. It is an ancient part of the earth where nature carved the shape of the land out of rocks 2000 million years old. The men succeeded in laying the explosives at Port Hedland. The track supporting the longest trains in the world would now be the target for the next mission.

“For now we rest up and play tourist for the next few days,” Barrie said. He continued, “And yes, I have noticed, since I hit fifty I am faceless in a crowd.” Barrie, the third brother, retired on medical grounds from the Western Australia Police some thirteen years ago after his wife died in a road accident in a car driven by him. He never got over it and began to drink alcohol to excess, and along came the depression. Although investigations into the accident had exonerated him, he still blamed himself for her death. He believed in strong family bonds and his brothers helped him through this crisis in his life. He was a crack shot with a rifle and an excellent communications man.; talk the leg off an iron pot if given the chance.

Barrie was the tallest of the four at 185 centimetres, lean and fit. Bruce, aged sixty, was the youngest of the four. He was obese and short at 177 centimetres. He never married and became a used-car salesman in Perth and did quite well for himself over the years. He sold the business for big dollars and retired to Broome with his brothers.

“How did we agree to get into this situation, Bruce?” Barrie asked during parking of the caravan on the selected site.

“Bob is a persuasive bastard and so is Bernie. We all agreed back in Broome to do this. Give the corporate world a shake up. They picked TTP for the obvious reasons.”

At the Savannah Camping grounds Bob and Bernie put their vans side by side and settled in to the place.

“Bob, feel like a beer?”

“Is the Pope a Catholic?”

“Here, put your laughing gear around this.”

“Thanks, mate. I’ve got a mouth like the dried floor of a bird cage.” Both men pulled out two plastic deck chairs and sat down outside their vans and swigged cold VB. “With the first mouthful the dust is washed away; the second you get the taste of the beer.”

As they sat and watched, dusk turned into darkness and they listened to the sounds of the bush life now emerging to live in the darkness. Bob said, “The vote by the four of us to buy identical vehicles and vans will pay off for us.”

Bernie responded, “Yeah Bob, a bloody good idea. I remember a comic artist who drew illustrations for a magazine in Australia called ‘POST’. I am not sure of his name, Rigby or something similar, I think. Well, I remember a cartoon he drew depicting around five hundred blokes drinking in a bush pub. Each one wore an Akubra with the corks hanging from the brims to keep the flies off their faces. Two blokes in the group were having a conversation and one of them spots a bloke in the crowd and says to his mate, ‘Who is the poofter with the champagne corks hanging from his hat?’

“The moral of the story, Bernie, is don’t stand out in the crowd. And how many white Toyotas towing a van do you think are on the road? I’d take a guess, heaps, and they are all travelling around Australia and coming to this part of the world. Do you agree?”

Bob opened the lid of the esky and handed Bernie another can. “You need another beer.” Bob opened his can and took a long swig of the icy-cold beer and said, “Yeah, you’re right you know. Stay out of sight and stick around up here. The aim is not to get caught or draw attention to ourselves.”

“The vans we have are set up for us to survive in comfortable style. The Queen size bed, full ensuite, plus fridge, freezer and washing machine, television and air conditioning. We can survive out here for months. I think it is a good plan. Do you agree?”

“Yes, Bernie, I agree. I know I talk too much; we all must be tight-lipped. Say nothing to arouse suspicion on ourselves and we should be alright.”

“Yeah, and we are not demanding anything from the company. They will think it is a terrorist attack. As we know, the Indonesians are coming through Port Hedland without too much scrutiny. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You know what I mean, Bob?”  


One of the cleaners picked up ‘The Courier Mail’, from Queensland, as he sorted out the rubbish passengers left on a flight from Brisbane to Perth. Himself an investor in the stock market, and shares with TTP, he stood in the aisle of the passenger aircraft and read the following article: ‘The Australian Government and community must take several unpopular “trade- offs” – such as huge lay-offs in the coal industry – if they want cleaner energy to power the nation.” Talking to himself, he quipped, “I wonder what will happen now with this latest catastrophe at Port Hedland. Think I might sell me shares.” He flicked the on switch of the vacuum cleaner and began his work.  


The mobile phone has uses no one imagined twenty years ago. Now you can download internet information, take photographs, send email and text messages, and even use it to detonate explosive devices such as the two which devastated the dumpers twenty-four hours ago. Bernie would use the phone for the next mission and experience told him, destroy the phone and the sim card. Don’t be like the silly bastards in Spain. 


Detective Sergeant Jeff and Detective Smith were stationed at Port Hedland. They were flat out each day keeping up with the crime committed in the area. Crimes against the person: Assaults, Sexual and Serious, leading to Bodily Harm and Grievous Bodily Harm, Manslaughter and Murder. The last twenty-four hours for them had been chaotic. Their first Terrorist Attack. A big job. The Superintendent at Karratha was to be briefed re: the sabotage at TTP. No sleep for them and into their second day of the investigation, Jeff spat the dummy out and told his boss, “I am doing my best, get me the Feds up here who handled Bali. I need experience in this field and fast!”

“Yes, I am sending our Bomb Squad and Forensic. At this point, I feel we will come up with a lead. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes sir.”

“Keep on it and get a result fast.”

He mumbled to himself as he finished the conversation with the Superintendent, “Bosses.”

He turned to Willie as they stood at the explosion site looking at the twisted rail lines and the twisted steel on the side of the two huge dumpers used to transfer tonnes of the iron ore from the carriages to the site proper, from where the ore was transported by conveyor belts to storage areas at the site, ready to be loaded on ships for export, “Willie, have we cordoned off enough of the crime-scene area?”

“Yeah, as you can see both areas around the dumpers and the whole of the area including the lagoon have been cordoned. We have a dozen blokes called in on overtime.”

“You know I have interviewed security – they saw nothing. The female named Maria Lions heard the explosion around midnight and called the police. She saw the red glow towards the dumper site and did not see anybody in the nearby area. She checked the car park area and saw nobody leave in a vehicle. She saw smoke coming from the dumper site and called the fire brigade on her mobile – we will take a detailed statement from her as soon as is convenient.”

“Get one of our blokes on to doing just that ASAP.”

“Yeah well, I have interviewed the two control officers on duty at the time. They told me they lost power on their computer screens at one minute past midnight. Their job is to give instructions to engine drivers who bring in the iron ore on the diesel trains. At this time there was no train movement in the vicinity of the dumpers. This told them the time of the explosion as the computer links run beside the railway tracks. The tracks close to the dumpers were blown from their supports. Twisted pieces of metal; we have verified this by inspection.”

“Yeah good Willie, I will speak to them also. I have spoken to the shift supervisor named Davidson. He told me he had heard the explosion as he came back to his office from a meal break. He had seen no one acting in a suspicious manner in the vicinity of his area.”

“Boss, there were two welders working on the site near the dumpers close to the lagoon around ten last night. There are boot prints everywhere there. Plaster casts of the imprints will be done. We will interview them and take possession of their boots. Both are on night shift. I have sent a car with two of our blokes to interview them and take statements and possession of their boots.”

“Good stuff, Willie, and you know we have a hot one here. While I think of it, Willie, get in touch with Customs and Immigration and find out how many Indonesian passengers came into Port Hedland in the last six months and how many have left and returned back again.”

The detective sergeant looked worried as he scratched his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a sweat-stained handkerchief. He thought to himself, as he looked at the two wrecked dumpers, this act has stuffed the whole operation here and the flow of iron ore. A lot of money comes into town from this operation, and a lot of people work here. Each time a train comes in towing 100 carriages filled with ore, a million dollars in profit is made. Hard to believe, yet it is true.  

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