Smoking Gun (Adam Cartwright Trilogy Book 1) by Dennis Debney

happen when I turned up late for work on a Monday morning for the first time ever was that I was constantly being greeted with jocular questions about what I had been up to during the weekend. Everyone seemed to be determined to ask me about my weekend and imply that I had been misbehaving. The fact that I did not have a reputation for such behavior added to the humour of the situation as far as the others were concerned. Many of the construction workers on site also got into the joke. Wherever I went for the rest of the morning I was constantly bombarded with friendly but respectful greetings such as; “Hey Boss. How did your weekend go?”
    As a strategy to gain some insight into the identity of my attackers, my game plan had been a flop. It was frustrating to think that the bad guys might even have been asking me about my weekend just to watch my reaction. The reverse of my plan. Somehow, the boot was on the other foot.
    As the morning progressed I realized that I was getting distracted and appraising everyone that I met as a potential threat. Eventually though I got so immersed in dealing with project issues that by lunchtime my focus was entirely on the job in hand. The events of the previous Friday evening were now on the backburner, for the time being at least.
    ***
    I had just walked into my office after lunch when the telephone rang. It was the site security officer manning the gate, the gate keeper. “Boss, there’s two guys here from the Mareeba Council. They say that they are here to carry out an environmental audit of the site.”
    I sighed in frustration. Today of all days. “Did they ask for me in person?”
    “Well, no they didn’t. In fact they suggested that you shouldn’t be bothered. They just asked for access to the site.” The gate keeper then hesitated before continuing. “Actually they demanded access to the site. They told me that it was an offence under the Environment Act to refuse them entry.”
    “Have they shown you any proof that they are who they say they are?”
    “I have Mareeba Council business cards from each of them. One’s a building inspector. The other’s a health inspector.”
    “Are they there with you now?”
    “Yes. They are right beside me.”
    “Okay. Ask them to show you some sort of photo ID. A drivers licence would do.”
    After a minute or so of silence other than the sound of muted voices in the background the gate keeper spoke again. “Yes. They are who they say they are. Building inspector Wilson and health inspector Watson.”
    Wilson and Watson? The names sounded familiar. Then I recalled when I had heard their names before. They were troublemakers and the last people that I wanted to have wandering around the site. “Good. Tell them that they will not be permitted onto the site until after I have spoken to them. Unfortunately I will be tied up for the next twenty to thirty minutes but I will see them as soon as I can. Let them bring their vehicle through the gate and have them park it in the visitors parking area near the gate. Offer them a drink and invite them to use the waiting room.”
    Dealing with Local Government officials was one of the downsides of being a construction manager. Building a new mine in a semi-remote area changes the social landscape and brings new sources of revenue to the surrounding shire council. Sometimes there is considerable interaction between the two organizations and the Council’s relationship with the mine operators is symbiotic. In the best of situations the give-and-take is reciprocal and both parties benefit. But the Red Rock Mine lay within the Mareeba Shire and the relationship with the Council was far from being the best of situations. The Mareeba Council was more akin to a parasite attempting to suck the life from a host. Persons claiming to be Council representatives were relentless in their pursuit of payment for services. Services that were often of dubious justification, the payment for which were often