You Killed My Wife

You Killed My Wife © 2023 A J Wilton.All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.Printed in AustraliaCover design by Shawline Publishing Group Pty LtdFirst Printing: May 2023Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltdwww.shawlinepublishing.com.auPaperback ISBN 978-1-9229-9304-5eBook ISBN 978-1-9229-9309-0Distributed by Shawline Distribution and Lightningsource Global More great Shawline titles can be found by scanning the QR code below.New titles also available through Books@Home Pty Ltd.Subscribe today at www.booksathome.com.au or scan the QR code below. FOREWORD I used to work with a bloke named Mort.A Vietnam Vet, he was a hardworking, no nonsense bloke. Sadly, even with a loving and supportive family, Mort struggled with day to day life after his years serving his country.This story is dedicated to him and all who have served their countries.Thank You.This is an act of fiction, so please forgive me if my imagination doesn’t fit with reality, my aim is to entertain not write history!All characters and events are figments of my imagination, and the political environment is pure fantasy.Or is it?ACKNOWLEDGEMENTSMy thanks to the following for their guidance and support. The Shawline Publishing team!Editor Daniel Car – Thank you – I learnt a lot!Roger Marsh for guidance on Australian Army life and cultureMy two daughters Shannon and Courtney for their help and guidanceMy wife for her patience!Those that know their Queensland political history will recognize the name Jack Herbert the notorious police ‘Bagman’ from the 1980’s.It seemed appropriate his name should have a role in this modern tale as well! 1‘You killed my wife.’There, I had said it. Finally, after all these months of wondering how it would sound. It was out there. The reaction was about what I had expected.Dillion Benson turned his focus to me and was about to tell me to ‘F… off’ no doubt, but seeing me, he stopped. It had certainly stilled the various conversations amongst his group (and some surrounding groups as well).Benson wasn’t the first to respond. Joe Lancaster, his boss and the detective inspector, responded, ‘And who might you be?’‘He knows,’ I said, nodding at Benson.Benson looked at me and asked, ‘Mort?’ He offered his hand, and I nodded and shook hands with who I believed was my wife’s killer. He continued, ‘It was an accident – the coroner has signed off on it. But I must say I am truly sorry for your loss.’I did not say anything, just stared at him, making him and some of his colleagues uncomfortable. I am a big man and admit I do know how to intimidate.Another of his colleagues, whose name I wasn’t sure of, piped up. ‘What do you care? You didn’t even make the funeral.’I turned the stare onto him, causing an increase in the tension Eventually, I replied, ‘The army were unable to extract me, didn’t even tell me she had been killed until our mission was complete.’I continued to stare at him, gradually broadening my look to include the Detective Inspector and Benson, and said, ‘I have read the coroner’s report. I find it intriguing it is not mentioned anywhere that you are a serving policeman, or that a blood test was carried out. So that alone makes the report interesting reading.’I let that hang, slowly placing my empty glass on their table without breaking eye contact with Benson.As I left, I told him, ‘You will be seeing me again.’Upon this, I left the bar and the pub. There, I have set the 2SIX MONTHS PRIORLavarack Army Barracks, TownsvilleOne last salute, and I am out of here.Lavarack Barracks had been my home for the last eight years. Yet, for over five of those years, I was on deployment in Afghanistan, so not really home home if you know what I mean. Whilst I was away, my wife Liz had left Townsville and headed back to Brisbane to further her teaching career with Catholic education.As I approach the gate, I snap a final salute to the guards, who naturally respond before giving me a ribbing about being unemployed. I sling my duffle up onto my shoulder and walk (not march!) down towards the main road to wait for my Uber. It was good of the Colonel to come out again this morning to say goodbye. He, like me, wouldn’t have gotten much sleep last night after my farewell – which had surprised me – anyone would think I was famous or something! But it was a good night, as my head constantly reminded me. At least I had had the sense to book an afternoon flight so I could sleep in a little.Still, I have a plan – the army had taught me some pretty unique and usable skills at which I had become pretty adept. But before I can think my plan through a little more, my Uber arrives and off to the airport I go.Townsville Airport is nothing flashy. Hasn’t changed too much in twenty-odd years, but it’s still functional. It is also used by the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF), and of course, with my luck, my Jetstar flight has to wait whilst a couple of fly boys roar off into the blue.Now that I am unemployed (not for long, I hope!), I had to slum it and bought the cheapest ticket I could to Brisbane. Mind you, I did splash out the $25 to get an exit row with the extra leg room