The Diamond Whisperer E-Book

Trevor Tucker

• Herausgeber: Trevor Tucker Publishing
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

1942: With the world at war, a huge shipment of precious diamonds is sent from Europe to Australia to keep them from the clutches of Adolf Hitler and his invading armies, but that cargo goes missing.
Clam, an experienced Australian military intelligence officer, is put in charge of locating and arresting a felon who is rumoured to be involved in diamond trafficking.
At the same time evidence comes to light linking murders previously committed in Australia and five European countries, by an elusive criminal known as The Diamond Whisperer.
It’s up to Clam, his expert investigations team and a volunteer, to hatch a plan that will ensure the interests of Australia, America and Europe are protected.

Leseprobe

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Wonnangatta.

A sweeping saga of mystery, murder, romance and intrigue played out against the raw beauty of the Australian bush.

THE DIAMOND WHISPERER

TREVOR TUCKER

TREVOR TUCKER PUBLISHING

The Diamond Whisperer Copyright Trevor Tucker 2025

This edition published by Trevor Tucker Publishing 2025

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used for any purpose whatsoever.

ISBN POD: 9781922825452

EPUB: 9781922825445

Cover Design by Leandra Wicks

To my amazing grandchildren Tylah and Jesse Ryder.

1

I’m an old bastard now, and live alone, but I’m not immune from being drawn to the luxuries of life, particularly those which, for various reasons, have eluded me too easily.

That’s why I’m now holidaying in Victoria’s high country at Dinner Plain, a small, secluded alpine village located close to Mount Hotham, one of Victoria’s most glamorous and outrageously expensive ski resorts; but that’s not for me.

It’s amazing how beautiful this place is. A few minutes ago, I wiped away a film of condensation from the inside surface of the lounge room windows. That small task enabled me to then witness thick clouds being pushed along at a high rate of knots by the wind to reveal not only deep valleys nearby, but the spectacle of row upon row of distant mountain ranges covered in snow for as far as I could see in just about every direction.

Currently, I’m lounging contentedly in an old armchair, in front of a cheerful fire, sipping a fabulous Mount Moornapa shiraz and absorbed in a novel: Ned Kelly’s Son. I never thought Ned had a son, but I was wrong, so it turns out. It’s compelling reading; a glimpse into rural life after early Australian colonization, and of the subsequent lives of our lesser-known pioneers (heroes all).

It’s nice to be able to put that book aside occasionally and listen to the snowstorm raging outdoors. Last time I checked it was minus ten degrees centigrade outside and a cozy twenty-two degrees centigrade inside. And, earlier this morning a concerned neighbour warned me that the wind was likely to exceed one hundred kilometers per hour at times throughout the day. I had no reason to doubt that forecast when my small chalet suddenly shuddered alarmingly from a particularly powerful blast of wind.

Regardless, in such contrasting circumstances, it’s still so easy to remain immersed in one’s thoughts and emotions; you know, things like appreciating being free of domestic demands, evolving future travel plans, do I need to buy a new Nissan Pathfinder, should I continue with scuba diving lessons, and contemplating one’s regrets.

‘What regrets, for Christ’s sake!?’ I thought, admonishing myself. ‘Relax man, you’re now safe and free of any dormant consequences. Just relax.’ But hang on! That’s easier said than done: why was someone now pounding on the front door of my chalet? I was about to open it but hesitated, my instincts suddenly in overdrive. ‘Who’s there?’ I called.

‘A friend. Are you mister Harper, Les Harper?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘The Australian Federal Police.’

‘So, what’s your name, ID and the nature of your enquiry?’

‘Be assured it’s in your best interests to cooperate, sir. However, I’m not compelled to tell you anything further until you answer my question. Are you Mr. Harper?’

‘OK. Yes, I’m Les Harper, so would you now please answer my questions.’

‘You’ve recently come to our attention in relation to some fraudulent dealings perpetrated several years ago. We believe your life is under threat if our latest intelligence proves to be correct. My name’s Clam, and my ID is classified information. And right now, I’m your only real friend.

‘C’mon Les, it’s frigging freezing out here; how about we continue our conversation inside, eh?’

Reasonably confident this bloke was genuine and no immediate threat to me, I released both locks and opened the door just far enough to appraise my new friend, albeit nevertheless with my right foot firmly positioned behind it to prevent him from unexpectedly attempting to crash the door open.

There was no need to worry, for at arm’s length Clam had thrust forward a gloved hand which held a card, the type I’d become familiar with over the years. I was surprised and immediately intrigued, rather than shocked, that before me stood an aboriginal man, perhaps six feet plus tall and probably forty to fifty years old.

His face showed no imminent physical threat, so I stepped aside, opening the door fully while waving for Clam to enter. Before doing so, he pocketed his ID card then brushed off the snow which had accumulated upon his beanie and on the shoulders of his coat. Next, he brushed off the snow from his green canvas navvy sack and then slung it carefully onto his shoulder.

Finally, he picked up the gun case which had been resting vertically against the chalet’s front wall then, with an air of self-confidence, walked past me into the chalet.

* * *

‘Make yourself comfortable, Clam. I suppose you could do with a brew right now; tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee’d be real nice. And then some warm milk for this grey and white beast,’ Clam said, smiling as he untied his navvy sack and gently withdrew a tiny, and very sleepy kitten’.

‘Where’d you find that?’

‘On your front door mat and almost completely covered with snow; thought the poor little bugger would be dead. But not so; and it can’t be more than a few weeks old. Anyway, do you mind if I put it on the rug in front of the fire?’

‘Good idea. It probably needs to thaw out a tad. I guess it somehow got separated from its mother, or some bastard dumped it.’

The kitten was soon massaging the floor rug and purring loudly, amazingly loud for such a tiny being.

Interestingly, as Clam and I settled into our armchairs, the kitten stretched, yawned, then proceeded to scale the outside of a leg of Clam’s trousers. After circling and massaging his crotch, the kitten made itself comfortable and was soon fast asleep, we judged, for the purring stopped abruptly.

Soon after, I hauled myself from my armchair and proceeded to make our coffees. For no reason, I glanced sideways. Clam was removing his beanie to reveal his short, curly and black hair.

‘So yes, I’m an Abo. My black face didn’t fool you one bit, eh Les?’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘And I’m proud of it.’

I handed Clam his coffee and said, ‘mate, I don’t give a rat’s arse whether you’re black, white or orange, just that we have each other’s back.’

‘Yeah, I’m good with that. In fact, that’s why I’m here. Then I suggest we get started; you can go first to spill yah guts.’

2

A few hours later our kitten stirred. Eyes blinking, it yawned, stretched and then rather rapidly made its way to the hearth in front of the fire where it innocently deposited a neat little turd. Repositioning itself, and while staring contentedly into the near distance, it proceeded to pee unabashedly, not caring who would have to clean up after it of course.

Meowing loudly to obviously grab our undivided attention (as if its life depended on it), Clam set about cleaning up its mess, while I started to warm some milk.

A few minutes later the kitten lost interest in its milk and once again retired to the warmth of the hearth rug.

The snowstorm abated as I was showing Clam to his room, and bugger me, just then someone else had started knocking on the front door.

‘Les, it won’t be a good idea if I answer the door. I’m not supposed to be here, remember? And my gut feeling says that 4WD now parked out the front is not there just for fun; something stinks.’

I hadn’t noticed the vehicle pull up, and Clam was right, its black tinted windows did give it a sinister aura. ‘Agreed, I’ll answer, but you keep well out of sight.’

‘Right, but here, shove this behind your back, just in case, like. I think you already know how to use a Beretta M9.’

I did of course, which gave me a long-forgotten sense of comfort.

‘Who’s there?’ I called.

‘It’s me, Jennie Czarnecki’.

‘What can I do for you, Jennie?

‘My kitten has disappeared, and mummy said she thought she saw it on your front veranda just before that nasty storm came along.’

‘Well, your mummy was right, I did rescue a kitten just before that storm. So, what colour is your kitten?’

‘It’s grey and white with a bit of orange in its coat, and it has a long fluffy tail.’

‘And its name is … ?’

‘We only decided on Missy a few days ago, and she’s soooo beautiful’.

‘OK Jennie, have you got something to carry Missy in?’

‘Oh yes, this shoe box, and her favourite blanket.’

‘Hang on a few seconds, young lady, I’ll get her for you.’

I collected Missy and then eased open the front door, albeit with one foot placed firmly behind it, you know, just in case this meeting was a very classy deception.

Before me was the cutest freckle faced girl, a little shy perhaps, no more than five or six years old, beany pulled down over her ears, bubble jacket, thermal jeans and gloves, and ankle high wet weather boots.

‘Is this your Missy?’

‘Ooohh yes, that’s her all right,’ she said, smiling and excitedly clapping her hands.

‘She’s a naughty girl though! No more running away, OK?’ Having then lovingly wrapped Missy with the blanket, she gently thrust the kitten into the shoe box.

Jennie then turned, looked at me and said, ‘Thanks heaps mister. I’d better get her home now, but I’ll see you around, eh?’ Instinct told me this wasn’t a ruse, and that I wouldn’t need the Beretta.

‘Yeah probably, but before you skedaddle, is that your mother sitting in the big four-wheel drive out the front there?’

‘What four-wheel drive? There’s nothing there mister; you must be seeing things.’

She was right. Oooh, how odd, I thought.

‘Hang on Jenny, by the sound of your name, were you born in Poland?’

‘Yes, I think so; that’s what mother told me.’

Smiling, I walked back inside. ‘Coast’s all clear mate.’

No response: I called again, much louder. ‘I hope you’re not playing funny buggers because we’ve still got a lot to talk about.’

Again, nothing!

Somewhat annoyed by Clam’s sudden departure, I checked his room. His belongings were there, but the overcoat and boots he’d left to dry by the fire were gone. I shrugged my shoulders and walked back into the kitchen intending to make a cuppa.

About twenty minutes later I heard the chalet’s back door being opened then closed ever so quietly.

I need not have worried, for within a few seconds there stood Clam, smiling broadly.

‘Well, that was an interesting visitation, I must say,’ Clam said while removing his coat and slipping out of his boots.

‘You could say that; that young girl was a real beauty, great for a chat, and sharp as a tack. But hang on, where the hell have you been mate?’

‘Curiosity got the better of me, so I decided I’d follow that 4 x 4.’

‘Did that achieve anything, pray tell?’

‘Oh yes, indeed. I followed its tyre tracks and found it about a kilometre from here. Two gentlemen, both of Central European appearance, were about to enter their own chalet.

‘They stopped when they saw me approaching but were nowhere as tough as they looked and tried to act.’

‘Which means what, exactly?’

‘Well, the bloke who drew his gun and aimed it at me is now dead,’ Clam replied without emotion as he placed a handgun on the small table between our armchairs.

‘And the other bloke?’

‘He’s probably going to wake up soon with one hell of a headache … and a chest full of fractured ribs. And, oh yeah, here’s his gun, another US Baretta; easily available on the Black-market.

‘Neither had any ID, either on them, or openly visible in the chalet. Thought I might have found something more incriminating, had I spent a bit more time going through all their belongings. But no, just these.’

Again, with gloved hands, Clam retrieved a set of car keys from his coat pocket then placed them upon the side table along with the two handguns.

Without further ado, Clam next retrieved a small puck-shaped object from an inside pocket of his coat. ‘An electronic tracking device: a transmitter,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘Found it under your Pathfinder. Perchance you didn’t put it there?’

‘No bloody way!’ I replied vehemently. ‘Where the bloody hell would I know where to buy something like that? And why would I need it anyway?’

‘Please excuse my concern for your safety, but chillout Les and listen. Think about this; it’s damn clear to me now that someone with considerable wealth and influence want’s you dead.’

‘But what have I done to suddenly be on someone’s hitlist?’

‘Mate, that’s what I hope to find out, sooner, rather than later because that tracking device has considerably upped the dangers we’re facing.

‘I’ll arrange for our forensic boys to give this hardware the once over for fingerprints. I therefore suggest that once I’ve finished this cuppa, we pack and then head for the low country, asap like. I need to report to my chief in Canberra.’

‘Anything else I should know about?’

‘Yep. If you look now in the direction of the Hotham Heights resort, you should probably see a plume of black smoke. That’ll be one of their 4 x 4’s burning to the ground. At some time, our forensic boys will have a friendly talk with the car rental company and perhaps they’ll expose precisely who rented those vehicles.

‘Incidentally, I’ve got photos of both those men on my mobile phone … which should interest both the AFP, and ASIO. Just ask if you’d like to see those photos, eh Les. Perhaps you’ll recognize them.

‘We’ve got great contacts throughout Europe, and those blokes will soon be ID’d if either of them has any form.’

‘So, you do work for the AFD; I thought as much.’ However, what worried me most at that time was Clam’s mirthless reply. ‘Correct, but if you ever reveal that to anyone, I’ll see to it that your retirement comes to an abrupt end.’

After a quick, but focused “wipe down” of taps, door handles, mugs and cutlery, I left $400.00 on the kitchen table, (to cover my albeit brief stay) then headed outside with my bags to join Clam who already had the rear door of my station wagon open and was loading what looked like the last of his own belongings.

After closing the front door of the chalet, I put its key in the lock, wiped it and the doorknob clean, and then joined Clam who was brushing away heaps of snow which had accumulated on the roof and bonnet of my vehicle.

‘I’ll drive if you like,’ said Clam, not waiting for my approval as he slid behind the wheel.

‘She’ll be bloody cold, so you’d better sta …,’ was all I got to say, because Clam was already pumping the accelerator and firmly pressing the ignition button. Modern technology prevailed: my Pathfinder 4 x 4 roared into life.

We were only a kilometre down the highway heading for Omeo when my new friend turned to me and said, ‘You’re right mate, we definitely do need to talk further so let’s get a move on.’

3

A dense fog accompanied us down to the snow line where Clam pulled off the road and stopped to enable us to remove my snow chains.

That allowed our speed to increase, but almost invisible patches of “black ice” on the road’s bitumen surface presented a significant driving hazard for several kilometres. In fact, it wasn’t until we arrived at Omeo that normal driving conditions returned.

A good strong coffee was called for, but Clam was in no mood to stop to enjoy it. He relented however when I demanded a toilet stop.

Twenty or so minutes later as we approached the small country town of Swifts Creek, Clam announced the next stage of his plan. ‘As luck would have it, a close friend and associate of mine, and his wife, both live here, but they’re currently overseas and won’t be returning for at least another three weeks. I have their ongoing permission to stay here any time. You’re in for a few surprises I’d say.’

At the end of a gravel laneway was a fenced property; by that I mean, a substantial, two-metre-high metal privacy fence wrapped around three sides of the property’s boundary. An equally high and substantial metal gate, started to slide open as we pulled up.

I looked at Clam who was now dangling a set of house keys and an electronic door key in front of me. Smiling, he said, ‘welcome to our euphemistically named, Chalet on Tambo. No photos. OK?’

We drove through the gate then stopped outside a double garage, an integral part of the house, a white, very beautiful colonial inspired creation surrounded by wonderfully maintained lawns and garden beds. And as I was soon to learn, was accompanied by an interior which lacked for nothing.

Immediately, the perimeter gate began to close behind us. Within a few seconds, Clam’s mobile phone beeped, apparently as I was soon to learn, indicating the gate was now not only closed, but locked.

‘My phone will beep every time the front gate, or the garage door, or any of the house doors or windows are either opened or closed,’ said Clam. ‘The external surveillance system, which I’ll show you later, can also command the gate and house doors to automatically close. It’s programmed to not only make it impossible for unwanted intruders to gain access, but to contain them from escaping the house for as long as possible, pretty much the same philosophy used by our Federal Note Printing facility.

‘Our boys in Canberra will also receive an immediate alert whenever this security system registers a change in status of any of its sensors. They will also know, right now in fact, that I’ve accessed this safe house and will have alerted our secret response team. They’ll also be monitoring my movements 24/7 until I return to HO. In the meantime, however, should I drop off their radar so to speak, my colleagues will immediately start looking for me.’

A single click on Clam’s electronic key and the garage door started ascending; when fully open his mobile phone beeped.

After a double click, Clam said, ‘the house’s indoor security system has now been deactivated so that we can move about without setting off an intruder alarm. But not so with the external system, it remains active 24/7 unless I deactivate or override it.

‘Right, let’s get unpacked.’

Another two clicks and the garage door descended, and on cue Clam ’s mobile phone dutifully beeped.

Unpacking in my assigned bedroom only took a minute or two. Clam, however, was not in the kitchen; I assumed he’d gone to the toilet, so I set about making a cuppa, then searched the fridge for something stronger.

‘You’d better sit-down Les, I’ve got some bad news, ‘Clam grimly announced when he suddenly entered the kitchen.’

‘Which means what exactly?’

‘What do you reckon this is?’ said Clam, handing me a small puck shaped device.

‘It looks a bloody lot like that tracking thingy you removed from under my Pathfinder.’

‘And this is a second one. I obviously missed it, which is inexcusable. My sincerest apologies Les; it’s standard procedure to double check for multiple tracking bugs, just in case, like.