The Culprit, the Grouper... by Keith Hansen ...

2016
The first time I ever laid eyes on Samuel Vischoid, he held a large tankard of beer, outside his
shop, the 'Trading Post' at Litabella, a small town near Bundaberg. His wife sat behind the wheel
of a Rugby car, a vintage vehicle even then in the late thirties.
On the day of the Musten disappearance I could see Sam had the jitters, looking pale and
withdrawn, so I bought him a drink to find what was giving him the bug. He was a big round
man, with dark cow eyes, I read innocence and honesty behind them, something that will take
you far in a small town.
Sam had once been a professional shooter, a Crocodile skinner who knew the game so well,
once he had played a small part in an adventure movie. People from down in Sydney and
overseas California, Hollywood production. Sam said it wasnt his world, trying to be the next
Errol Flynn, came back and bought the trading post, the shop, with the money they paid him.
They never showed the film, when released, in Australia.
'Tommy Mustens gone missing, happened this morning! Sam said sourly. Im just rattled. I'm
not as tough as I used to be. So you havent heard about the disappearance of Tommy Musten?'
'News to me! I'm all ears though.' I said putting my drink down and leaning back on the railing,
giving my full attention.
'Seems he took his boat down river, near the estuary, to do some fishing, catching river sharks
for the markets, back in the 'Burg.'
'He's one hell of a man, a good fisherman, Tommy, always out on the river. So what happened
to him?' I asked taking my drink in hand.
'He got a rope tangle in his propeller. People on a boat nearby, saw him go over the side to
free it. In the water for a minute, they watched him dive twice, knife in hand, and then Tommy
vanished,' Sam smiled sadly and then he waved his hand. 'No sign of Tommy, he just
disappeared, like a magic trick!'
'The Indian rope trick,' I quipped. 'Did the people on the nearby boat see a shark come up, and
take him,' I asked, intrigued by the possibilities, which were many on the, fast moving part of the
river.
'That's the strange part, no sighting of a struggle, as with a crocodile or a shark, he just went
under. That's how they saw it.' Sam shrugged and toked his beer.
'I remembered Tommy Mustern, he was almost a tall man, in his forties, stood straight as
steel in his beloved RM Williams boots. He had the blackest eyes I have ever seen, with a mop
top of silver grey hair, could have passed for a rodeo rider anyway. Some say he never played
with horses, more interested in boats, was in the Navy for a short spell, many years ago.'
'Aye Nicky, you remember him well, a good description. Married a German woman, a refugee
from Europe, post war.' Vischoid added, as a matter of fact. 'Many people up here in
Queensland were decedents of Lutheran Germans. Exiles from the reign of King Frederick, in the
eighteen hundreds.'
'So, is there to be a search party for Tommy? He's drifting out to sea by now caught by the
currents near the river mouth.' I asked.
'Could be so, we'll find out more when the fisheries boat comes in, can't be far away,' Sam
paused and added, 'They may find his jacket, or some clue.'
'You never know. The river has many mysteries to reveal' we put our drinks to sleep and
waited for the fisheries riverboat to arrive.

Ernie Garrack, my uncle arrived at the shop in the late afternoon, a bag of mangrove crabs in
hand, half a potato sack full. He spread them out on the low grass, hoping to find a buyer for the
succulent crustaceans, dwellers of the mangrove swamps.
'And a fair size they are,' said Sam, nudging at one crab with a stick. 'I'll give ya a half crown
for the two beauties, the bigun, green an' fresh.'
'Make it a full crown n' you can ave all four, an a small one to boot,' offered Ernie. 'Best be
quick, before the fisheries boat arrives, theyll be frowning on this illicit trade in seafood. You
could be exceeding the bag limit.'
'Agreed you are, Mister Garrack. Could you manhandle the crabs to the cool room, I'm a bit
slow and their nippers are sharp and strong as vices', slip yer finger with a snip an a flick.'
Ernie came and sat in the shade of the Verandah after leaving the cool room. 'I hear Tommy
Mustens gone missing down river, near the estuary. A search is on, though I doubt they'll find
much, the police will have to fill out a report though.'
Sam turned to Ernie 'What do you make of it, sounds like he got caught on a river branch and
pulled under.'
'There was a similar happening twenty years ago. A woman named Foster, Gail..thats right
...swimming around midday in the shadows of a tree. I was on a boat working at the time. Some
say a bull shark, I know different, because I watched it happen!'
'So what took her,' I asked as a hurried question.
'A Grouper...a bloody Giant Grouper! Sucked her in to his mouth and pulled her down.
Possibly swollered her whole. Last they saw of her.'
'Grouper don't get that big surely. I've seen Blue Grouper..tame as kittens.' I added.
'River Grouper do get big..they are mostly extinct, long gone, fished out. There have been
reports of them being fourteen feet, mind you I have seen them up to ten feet, that's the
biggest I've seen the natives land. And a job it was too!'
'Did you eat it, the Grouper they landed,' Sam asked.
'We got the big fish to a wharf and hung him up. The scales were useless, measured him
though, ten feet in all, well...nearly.' explained Ernie. 'Had the best fish bake ever, wet banana
leaves in a hot coal pit, with yams and sweet potatoes. All happened on the beach. Took three
hours to cook, the fish was so big!'
'How did it taste, after the steaming?'
'Like wet newspaper, too big to be a sweet meat, that's the trouble with freshwater fish, you
have to get them when they are small, small fishes always taste the sweetest!'
'That's for sure, applies to a lot of game,' added Sam scratching his chin.
'The trick is to find a bush of Sorrel, it's a French herb, it sweetens fish when it steams,
wrapped between the wet banana leaves, on the hot coals.' Ernie explained to the small crowd
that had gathered on the verandah.
'Have you ever heard of anyone surviving an attack by a giant grouper? Did they manage to
break free of the jaws and live to tell,' Sam asked Ernie.
'Well...there is a story of one thin boy, on the river diving for clams. Grouper swallowed him in
one gulp, friends in the water claim they say it happen. If you ever see a big grouper hanging up
on the scales, the size of his mouth will be apparent. Imagine one big fellar', measured at twelve
feet, he'll take a dog or a small man down....yulp!' Ernie explained to the fascinated crowd on
the verandah.
'So did the boy survive? Did old man grouper throw him up...not to his taste!' I asked.
'Margarie Saville claims the boy had a filleting knife on him, when he got swallowed. There
was enough air inside the fish to breath for a half hour. Lad cut his way out, sawed through the
side of the fish and escaped like Houdini.' Ernie laughed out loud. 'He got swept down the river

and out to sea. A fishing boat found him and brought him to shore. When the boy appeared in
the village that evening the Natives thought they were seeing a ghost. Fell over themselves.'
'Quite a story...do you think they'll find Tommy Musten, I can see the Fisheries boat coming
down the river, it'll be here in ten minutes.'
'By the time the ship comes in the grouper who took him will be long gone. Best to raise our
glasses and farewell Tommy Musten.'
Some months later, a fishing vessel down the coast, brought a Giant Grouper ashore. Shot by
a spear fisherman with a double rubber bazooka spear gun in a competition. When they hung
the 880 pound giant fish up, to weigh him, they sliced him open, ready for the filleters blade.
Remains of a skeleton fell out onto the deck. Human it was, thought it had no sign of Tommy
Mustens phantom ring, the one he always wore, even when fishing, said it brought him luck.