28.  HE see it – He see HER

Increasingly I sensed that experienced players of the Da Ninci Game liked to play on special dates. On the morning of 15/3/05 my mind was on a high alert, right from early morning. I phoned radio Five AA’s talkback and told listeners basically the story I had written as Chapter 5 of Part 1 (Sand). I had suspected that one of my client’s family was living a lifestyle far beyond their means. It took me a long time to find the courage to blow the whistle about receiving old bank notes, which initially triggered my suspicion.  

I told 5AA listeners that morning about my disappointment, that no action had been taken after I had phoned CrimeStoppers, the police phone-in hotline. The same swift action (nothing) was taken (as far as I know) after I had phoned a second time. I had supplied the address of a client, where I suspected a drug runner between Adelaide and the UK was actively operating.

I told listeners on the talkback program that morning the sequel to my original information to CrimeStoppers, which is not published in my autobiography anywhere. Driving past the address one day, I noticed the garden around the double-storey house next door looked neglected. In the clean, upper middle-class suburb it looked out of place.

In my mind I could see it – if an electricity supply was established between the two houses, it would be an ideal camouflage for growing cannabis, an illegal drug. If my hunch was correct, I knew who owned the house. One phone call to the local council confirmed it. My suspect family owned the house. To find out what went on inside, of course, was not my job, but a matter for police.

At that stage I had no longer any confidence in CrimeStoppers. However, a true whistleblower as I was, I wrote a letter with my discovery to a journalist at ‘The Advertiser’. His character was straight, I had been told. My letter was acknowledged, but what action was taken or where it was leading to, I had no idea.

I followed up my phone-call on the radio with an email. A copy I sent to the Advertiser Newspaper and a Member of Parliament in Canberra. My hope for seeing justice done suppressed any fear for my safety:


Email 18/3/05 – Subject: Who can be taken seriously. 

Hi A,

Following my 'whistle blowing' session (about my experience with the police force) on Tue morning, a man named John came on and defended the police. He said that they can't act on every bit of tip off they get (or words to that effect).

Whilst this is true, my case was overwhelming in circumstances. What I experienced would have warranted action, but nothing was done. The same happened in another case, where I had thought perhaps this man was running drugs from Flinders Park back to the UK. I again reported it to Crimestoppers, nothing was done. Whoever controls an operation like CrimeStoppers can control a whole state.

In 1977 a gang called the 'Baader-Meinhoff Bande', was terrorizing Germany with kidnappings and murders. The top industrialist Martin Schleyer was held for ransom and later killed by these anarchists. It was big news. A minor tip off to the police eventally found their hide-out. Somebody rang the police and said: “Across the road, it seems, there are a lot of men walking in and out of the garage". The police checked it out and found their hideout. The whole operation was bust. 

Corrupt police will only act on selected tip-offs . Just like a newspaper selects which letters to the editor get published. As I said to you on radio, when I got no response from police, I wrote to the Advertiser and still had no real response.

To say to a whistleblower, where is your evidence, is silly. Whistleblowers are not police. They make observations and if the police did their job, criminals would not get away with murder.

I've said enough.

Kind regards

Dieter R. Fischer

If police ever received my information or indeed took any action, I do not know. There was a time, when a public tip-off, leading to solving a crime, was rewarded. What happened to rewards being offered for helping to clean up crime? If we are serious about sheltering our young people from greedy drug dealers, it can be done – enforce zero tolerance.

As I understand our state’s law to grow any amount of marihuana is illegal; at least on paper. But only days ago a policeman explained, during a drug information evening at a local school, that offenders, who are caught pay a fee of $ 150 (30 pieces of silver) and no further action is taken. Renewing my driving instructor’s licence recently cost me twice that much, perhaps I really am in the wrong industry!

Unless there is a will by lawmakers and police to stamp out growing illegal drugs, it will never happen. The general population (please allow me to speak for the silent majority) is fed up with wishy-washy laws and gutless police, some of whom earn extra pocket money playing with the lives of our children. God’s wrath will be on those who commit this crime against these little ones. Just as fierce will be HIS anger against those who turn a blind eye, ruthlessly ruining the lives of innocent, young people. The money they make is stained with blood. May it turn sour in their stomachs.

The time was approaching Easter 2005. I had religiously (pardon the pun) watered the cross in the small park on the other side of the road. In early March it was showing beautifully green. As I watered the barren ground one day a scripture came to mind: I will pour water upon the dry ground. (Isaiah, 44,3). A thought came to me: Karl Marx said that – religion is opium to the people. Looking at my zeal for the cross, one could say I had been cultivating a drug.

On Tue 15/3 Adelaide had few claps of thunder and a very small amount of rain. I had noticed often that on the days I wrote or when I uploaded chapters into my autobiography, either rain fell, or there was an earthquake. Early November 04, after writing about who I was, we had an extended period of rain in Adelaide; Melbourne had a 10-year record-rainfall.

(Today 1/4/05, as I write, we have a slim chance of breaking the record for the hottest April Day ever. The forecast is for 36 degrees, the record is 36.7). Here in the northern suburbs, which are usually slightly hotter, we may reach 36.9. It would make my day).  

Walking to play soccer with my son, I found a copy of the Advertiser Newspaper on 15/3, still wrapped. At the time we were seldom reading the paper so I took it home. (It was not near anyone’s house). Inevitably I read material, numbers, headlines, both inside and on the front page, which I linked to parts of my story, which I recently uploaded. (Example: Front page - Mine generates 10300 jobs and 1.4 billion income).

In another twist - I finished (and uploaded late at night on 15/16/3) Chapter 25 with a scripture - Phil, 2, 9-11 (…every knee should bow). The Advertiser’s main headline that morning, as if they had read my mind, featured as the main front-page headline – One dusty insulator brings the state to its knees. The article was about the massive power failure the day before. (I had my own explanation why the power failed. The thought, however, is not just outside the box. Where it came from there are no boxes - so I better keep it to myself). 

On Wednesday the 16th of March I caught a brief item on the 6 PM Channel Seven TV News. It was about teenage depression. I was alerted as I heard the newsreader say at the very end: “A seminar is held tonight at the Women’s and Children Hospital.” Those 5 seconds of News led me first to this event, but then to another, I would not have dreamed I would be attending. 

But firstly after the News I did my annual duty – going door-to-door collecting funds in our street for the Red Cross.

(On  Wednesday 30/3 I was mildly excited, because as I prepared the cash for banking, I counted, how much money I had collected - $ 30.30. I couldn't believe it myself.! My excitement cooled off, when I recounted. I had made a mistake, the total collected was actually $ 32.30).

The seminar on depression kept echoing in my mind. After I arrived home I phoned the Women’s and Children’s Hospital (WCH) to get the details. Before long, I had parked my car near the giant flower clock in North Adelaide and rushed to find the venue.


Two office buildings opposite the WCH buildings had me intrigued. Their street addresses, despite being side by side, showed house numbers No. 77 and No. 55! One day as I drove by I had the urge to just park and … whatever comes. I stepped out of the car and saw these two bits on the grass nearby. (This reminds me, the rose is somewhere in the house among old telephone books, being crushed).


I distinctly noticed an unusual large amount of rubbish (cardboard mainly) beside the roadside, but didn’t bother to pick it up, yet. I had trouble finding the seminar. I first walked into a class, which looked a like a group of nursing mothers, plus the odd man (very odd man) learning about breast-feeding. The theatre I wanted to attend next door had their doors locked. I knocked and waited. A kind lady opened for me and I quietly sat down toward the rear. 

The gentleman I had seen on the television, a Dr. John …, a specialist in his field, was speaking and answered questions from the audience. My mind, however, had already registered and was chewing over another event I had heard about on the radio on the way. (More later).   

One interesting point Dr. John brought up turned my concentration again to mental illness. What I heard that evening made me feel like bursting into applause. The reason for depression, I had been told, after being diagnosed some years earlier, that faulty connections between the nerve-endings in my brain were the cause. Drugs were necessary to repair this malfunction and relief the patient of depression.

Dr. John was the first medical practitioner I heard admitting that drugs were not the best way, especially for teenagers, to treat this condition (depression). Counseling or cognitive therapy had been proven to work just as effective. (Bad news for drug companies, but if this is the truth all need to hear it).

This clearly confirmed the theory I suggested at the time of my recovery. When at my lowest point I had craved for a listening ear, for an understanding, empathetic mind to just try and listen to my reasoning. None of the professionals attempted to get to the core of my anxiety. Initially, nobody encouraged me to talk through the horrible bullying I had suffered, both at work and by Government officials. A lot had to do with the logbook system I was forced into.

Lying on the couch of a psychologist, being told to breath deeply did nothing for me. At best it was applying band-aid-measures, very expensive ones. Dr. John also advocated writing a journal as therapy. I am sure this practice, despite taking up a large chunk of my time, helped me to make sense of my complex thought processes, such as the one I was chewing over that Wednesday evening.

Months earlier I had first heard about a concert in Adelaide by US mega-star Cher. It was to be held on 15/3/05 and another performance the next day. The entertainer’s name and the date 15/3 had struck a cord, but I had forgotten all about it until that evening.

While sitting and listening to the discussion on Teenage-Depression it came to me - a code. It didn’t consist of numbers this time, but letters. If I took the CH from both CHER and WCH, all I am left with is ER W. (ER means HE in German). Plus, my Da Ninci code reads the superstar’s name as SEE HER. Another Da Ninci version pans out as SEE HE (minus the R as in CloveCrest).

On this playfulness alone I would not have made any effort to attend the concert, which was already under way at the time. It was another sudden brain impulse, which took the thought process to another level. Cher’s singing partner before she went solo had been Sony – why son? Again, this was a far-flung, outside the box thought, but simple enough to be in the realm of possibility. It started the ball rolling.    

The venue where Cher was performing, Adelaide’s largest indoor Entertainment Centre, was only a few minutes away. On the way, despite running very late already, I picked up the rubbish I had seen earlier. One piece was a carton of Classic Chocolate Milk, the famous brown 5c refundable container. Driving off, only a stone’s throw away, I noticed a bus parked near the landmark Hotel Adelaide. In large letters I read Classic T ours (the gap is my creation). The other bits of cardboard would later give me an excuse to email some of the businesses concerned.

Just in case I would be able to still get a ticket and it was cheap enough, I looked for an ATM (to withdraw some cash from our bank account). I was hoping to perhaps sneak into the Cher-show at the interval, either cheaply or even for free. I entered a Petrol Station, after I saw the ATM sign. The other sign I noticed was the price of Petrol per litre – 107.7 cents. Some men were watching me. I could see how they followed my moves. Returning to my car after withdrawing $ 50, I found a 1 Dollar coin not far from my car. The numbers stacked up, but I needed more luck, if I was to C HER. 

I wasn’t sure how literal I should push this ‘see her’ message. I was not a fanatic of pop music and her repertoire probably wouldn’t include – When I survey the wondrous cross or Blessed Assurance. After parking my car I had no idea, if I could even get inside the show. Perhaps, I just leave a business card with her chauffeur and go home? The first limousine driver I approached said he was not waiting for the big star, but another client. He could not take a business card to pass on to the mega-star. 

The time was after 9 pm, the concert well under way. I walked into the main entrance. A security guard at the door asked for a ticket. I said I had none. “Go over there”, he directed me. I approached a counter and asked a man, how much the tickets were. He directed me to another counter, where I asked a young lady the same question. No doubt, I was the only customer still looking for a ticket (later I heard the concert had been a sellout weeks earlier). 

“Yes, you can have a ticket. The price is $ 92.25”, the attendant said. Hiding my surprise I asked if there are any cheaper seats. “No, that’s the cost of each ticket”.  As a last ditch escape route I asked, if they take EFTPOS (electronic payment). “Yes, we do”. Having come this far and all obstacles been removed, I wondered, if indeed I was meant to be here, at the place, at the right time.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Only the day before our balance in our Savings Account was about $ 160. No way would I have agreed to spend such a large amount for a few hours entertainment. But as if arranged by someone in authority, a sizeable amount of money, which I was able to access from a Retirement Fund (for an LA trip later), became available just in time. The girl at the ticket office said that Cher had just come on stage, as she issued my ticket.



Like in a dream I found myself walking through door 3 into the huge auditorium and was ushered up the steep stairway by a pretty, young lady, carrying a torch. My ticket Number was 10A/J/123. It amazed me also that I had 3 empty seats to myself.

My prophetic skills were correctBlessed Assurance was not on the program.

I had a wonderful two hours just sitting, taking in the colour, the sound and the action-packed spectacular. Oh, the magic of it all !! 

The bits of cardboard I had picked up off the street, between visiting the Women and Children’s Hospital and the Cher concert, looked as if it was put there for my benefit. If this was so, I wanted to let whoever did this, know about the find. I was a little tired of playing this game, but continued to do it anyway. A few days later I emailed the courier company, whose label I read on the find:


Email on 18/3/05

Subject: LR’s Cookies 

Hi all,

I have heard of cookies being left on people's P/C after they visit a website. But LR's cookies tops the cake. They left their cookie's rubbish in the main street in North Adelaide, near the WCH on 16/3/05 and I was the mug that cleaned it up.

If you could remind your drivers to not allow our beautiful streets to be littered, even with cookie containers, I'd have less work in cleaning it all up.

But then, I'd have less opportunity to have some fun with people like Carton United, HCC, CHH, PL’s Couriers and all their phone numbers etc. I also picked up a 5c carton of Classic Chocolate Milk. That made it worthwhile.

Kind regards

Dieter R. Fischer

PS   If you want to know where I picked up the cookies carton, it was near the flower clock on the bend, just before the WCH. Walking past yesterday, I noticed the big flower clock has no flowers at the moment. It may be the wrong time of the year. Timing is important.


Stop Press: As I am writing – Tue 29/3/05, (the day after Easter 6.30am, Adelaide time), another huge earthquake is reported in the same area as the one that occurred the day after Christmas 04. Thankfully, there appears to be no repeat of the destructive tsunami.

HCC is a Californian Company. Were these letters meant to be a link to the letters WCH or CHER? Just as I am writing I am reminded that ‘cher’ in French means ‘dear’. Mon cherie, means darling. 

Rising early morning on 16/3/05 I had no clue where my path was to lead me that day. Retiring to bed, I once again was convinced I had been to places, where I was meant to be.

Isobel was not worried, where I had been for so long. Strange - when I wished she would be concerned about me, she wasn't. She certainly had reason to be concerned - Her husband was attending a seminar on mental illness, but ends up chasing woman all over town, paying nearly a hundred dollars to hear (C) her!

Had Isobel known I had picked up bits of cardboard off the road, she would have been really concerned about me. That's why I told her about the woman and nothing about the bits of cardboard. Sharing a Tic-Tac saved the day. 

My diary for 16/3/05 concluded: This was a test – and God passed once again!

Chapter 29