‘Did you think of charging Cooper with assault?’ Spencer asked him.
Clark paused and looked to Cardilini. ‘No,’ he eventually said.
‘Why not?’
Clark looked to Cardilini again, then back to Spencer. ‘She was cutting herself. He tied her up to stop her. It had happened before.’
When Clark left, Spencer turned to Cardilini. ‘Are we wasting our time trying to bring charges against Archie Cooper?’
Cardilini thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. What did you make of Melody? Did anything suggest anyone other than Cooper might have been running her?’
‘It didn’t occur to me at the time.’
‘Okay. Let’s consider the facts. The Coopers arrive in Perth, secure a prime location in an area that has to be paying some sort of protection money to someone. Police aren’t bothering them unduly, they get set up with an instant business and clients, then at the first sign of trouble, someone packs them up and relocates them.’
Spencer checked her notes. ‘You know, the further we are from the actual criminal act – up the line, so to speak – the less likelihood there is of getting a prosecution.’
‘Yep. I was thinking the same thing.’
‘Well, I mightn’t have been thinking as clearly as I should have been,’ Spencer said after a pause.
‘What do you mean?’
Spencer framed her words carefully. ‘I might have pushed you into this case.’
‘We had to follow up on it.’
‘Well, thanks, but I’m not sure I believe you.’
‘How was it with your other partners?’
‘There were a few,’ Spencer replied wryly.
‘And?’
‘They either treated me like their girlfriend or their mother,’ she said with a laugh.
‘How am I treating you?’
‘Like a partner.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Wednesday, 24 November 1965
1.30 p.m.
Only a hint of the morning cool lingered beneath the shop awnings. Out of the shade, the sun scorched everything. It was like walking into an oven. Dry desert dust, caught by occasional breaths of wind, found its way into the heart of town. Cardilini rubbed at his nose as he led them to the Exchange Hotel.
Relieving shadows, high ceilings and ornate timberwork greeted them inside. Framed sepia photos of gold-mining pioneers looked down at them from the stucco walls – wistful reminders of an idealised time. Stopping short of the entrance to the bar, Spencer asked, ‘Are you sure you want to go in here?’
Cardilini hadn’t really considered where they were and stopped abruptly. ‘Ah, yeah,’ he croaked. ‘What do you think?’
‘We passed a café. A cup of tea. A sandwich. I’d be happier there.’
Cardilini nodded and they turned back the way they’d come.
‘Hope you don’t think I’m trying to boss you around,’ Spencer said.
Cardilini shook his head. But he didn’t mean it. Every copper visiting Kalgoorlie had a counter lunch at the Exchange, and here’s the big man, Cardilini, going to a bloody café. What was the world coming to?
Cardilini ate his sandwich, drank his tea, drank some more, then ordered another pot; Spencer declined. She’d already had to go to the ladies’ twice and needed to go again. Eager to get moving, she said, ‘We should check out Hay Street. I heard a lot of the Perth brothel workers came up here after Roe Street was shut down in ’58.’
‘A bloody disaster,’ Cardilini said, even though he’d never given it much thought.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Shutting down Roe Street. Now we’ve got knocker shops in the suburbs, like Duke Street.’
‘But it couldn’t go on. Not in the city, not among the businesses.’
‘Why not? We had it under control. Everyone knew their place.’
Spencer decided to hold her tongue.
***
After lunch, Cardilini parked the car opposite a long, low, single-storey corrugated-iron building in Hay Street. Every three or four yards along the building’s length was a doorway, either full-length or half – the type found in horse stalls. Some of the doorways were open and some closed. Above the doors were numbers. At number 8 a woman leant against the jamb. She wore a man’s shirt, open at the front, a wide, red belt and a tiny pair of floral shorts. She had a pleasant face with a tired but open expression. At number 5 a woman leant forward with her elbows on the closed bottom half of the door. She wore a tight top cut so low it barely contained her breasts. She had blonde swept-up hair and her heavily outlined eyes were focused hard on Cardilini.
Cardilini turned to look at Spencer, who was studying the scene. He turned back to the women. ‘Police.’ Both withdrew with sour looks and closed their doors.
‘They’ve got to be hot in there,’ Cardilini said.
‘Shall we try to talk to them?’ Spencer asked.
They knocked on number 8.
‘Come in, if you must,’ came the reply.
Cardilini pushed open the door. Inside, a red rear wall was lit by the glare of a bare red lightbulb. The right wall was painted red too, while the left was mauve. In the corner sat a washbasin with a single tap and along the right wall was a single bed with a dark floral cover and matching pillows. Several shiny, brightly coloured cushions were stacked on the bed. A timber bedside locker stood between the sink and head of the bed. No room to swing a cat, crossed Cardilini’s mind. The woman sat, legs neatly crossed, on the bed with an open book. She must have been in her thirties; her eyes were almond-shaped, her nose and chin were prominent and her lips were full but had a small twist on the right side. Her gaze was open, unafraid and questioning.
‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini and Detective Constable Spencer from East Perth. Do you mind if we have a chat?’
‘Yes, I do. This is my working time.’ She studied Spencer. ‘A detective?’
‘Yes,’ Spencer replied.
‘We won’t be long, we’ll clear off if you get a customer,’ Cardilini said.
‘Yeah, that’s likely to happen with two coppers hovering.’ She looked at a small clock on top of the bedside locker. ‘You got ten minutes.’
‘Do you know Melody and Archie Cooper?’ Cardilini asked.
‘What about them?’
‘Do you know what they offered?’
‘Yes, and I didn’t like it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because our trade is straight sex; most of the time that’s all the miners want. You put someone like the Coopers among that, and everybody and his dog starts wanting weird stuff. That’s why I didn’t like it. And she screamed too loud.’
‘What did you think of her?’ Spencer took over.
The woman looked back as if she found the question confusing. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Did you like her as a person?’
The woman raised her eyebrows and closed her eyes. ‘She was all right, I suppose. Thought herself a cut above us lot.’ She laughed at her own joke. ‘She wouldn’t do sex. And then she had that Audrey Hepburn thing going on.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘A couple of Perth clients had her installed down there. Why, has something happened to her?’
‘A hospital visit,’ Spencer said, ‘nothing serious.’
‘Was Archie drunk?’ the woman asked, smirking.
‘Yes. How did you know?’ Spencer said.
‘Archie did that a few times here. He was a fool, he got a good thrashing after the first time, and then he did it again. Idiot. After the second time, they left.’
‘And?’ Spencer asked.
‘That’s it,’ she said, checking the clock on the bedside locker.
‘Who gave Archie the thrashing?’ Cardilini asked.
‘Men from Perth.�
��
‘Did those men take them both to Perth?’ Spencer asked. The woman shrugged. ‘Why did they thrash Archie?’
‘They didn’t want their little toy being damaged, I guess.’
‘But she was Archie’s wife,’ Cardilini said, feigning confusion. The woman shrugged again.
‘Did you get a look at these men from Perth?’ Spencer asked.
The woman shook her head evasively. ‘Some people can do whatever they like because your mob never stop them.’
‘What did you hear about them?’ Spencer wanted to keep her on track, but the woman just shook her head. There was a new nervousness about her eyes and lips.
‘What was her Audrey Hepburn thing?’ Cardilini asked, changing tack.
‘You know, she’d get all dolled up like Audrey, even practised this posh screaming. It was a bloody nightmare. None of the clients could concentrate when she got going. But they flocked to her door. When the money started coming, they were shifted. We were glad to see the back of them. That sort of thing attracts sick bastards who think it’s fair game to beat up on you.’ She glared at Cardilini. ‘Which you buggers never do anything about.’
Cardilini gave a guilty knowing glance to Spencer. ‘Do you remember exactly when they were shifted?’
‘I might,’ she said and pointed at the clock, ‘but it’ll cost you.’
‘We can’t do that, it’s your—’ Spencer started.
‘Here’s a quid,’ Cardilini said.
‘Two,’ the woman countered.
‘Spencer?’ Cardilini said.
‘We shouldn’t do this,’ Spencer muttered, looking in her purse.
‘We’re getting paid, come on,’ Cardilini said. Spencer handed over a pound note.
The woman took the money, smiling. ‘March.’
Cardilini waited. ‘You said they were shifted twice.’
‘The other time was June. And that’s your ten minutes.’
‘Thanks. What’s your name?’ Cardilini held out his hand.
‘Whatever you want to call me, big fella,’ she said with a wink.
Cardilini and Spencer walked back to the car. ‘All that for a couple of dates? I hope they’re worth two quid.’
‘Melody was scarred at least twice, with some time between the incidents. It’d be interesting to see if the police surgeon thinks it could have happened in March and June.’
‘I still don’t get the importance.’
‘One or two special clients who exclusively want to see their Audrey Hepburn cut on her inner thighs and breasts. Not the cheap seats, which only got you upper thigh, but clients who own the Coopers. Maybe the same clients had their hard men pack up the Coopers’ Duke Street house.’
‘But that’s got nothing to do with our domestic violence case.’ Spencer opened the car door.
‘No. I don’t suppose it does. But it doesn’t mean we don’t follow it up. We’re talking about very singular, unique requirements of powerful, wealthy clients. It could lead to something big. We can’t ignore it.’
‘If you say so. But that pound was going towards my dinner.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Wednesday, 24 November 1965
4.30 p.m.
Melody felt her rising throat trying to expel itself; she pushed at it with her tongue, it rose again, she sucked air through her nostrils so violently they threatened to close. The bridge of her nose felt as if it had received a hammer blow, but the blow wasn’t ceasing. The blindfold knotted so tightly behind her skull was also trapping one eyelid open; the rough fabric searing at her eye like sandpaper every time she moved. She tried to scream but couldn’t. Her scream burst silently inside her head; the gag – compacted, rammed, encircling her neck – threatened to pop her skull from its vertebrae; her arms, as if electrified, pulsed against bindings that bit at her elbows and tore at her wrists; her knees pushed into her chest; her ankles, threatening to crumble, were flattened against each other as if in a vice. Terror burst screaming through her crushed limbs, screaming at her gorged throat, screaming in her skull; then a huge black door slammed and her body slumped against the cords.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Wednesday, 24 November 1965
7.30 p.m.
A carpet of tiny houses spread from the Darling Range to the Indian Ocean. The last glint of light in the west had stripped the view of colour. Delicate and distant stood the silhouetted skyscrapers of the city. To the north and south, suburbs clung to the coastline like lacy seaweed. The sun edged towards the horizon, Cardilini and Spencer blinked and it was gone as they commenced their descent of Greenmount to the coastal plain. Pinpricks of the city’s scattered lights grew brighter as dusk became night. Kalgoorlie had delivered everything it promised and nothing more: no one had provided any real insight into who was controlling the Coopers.
Cardilini glanced at his new partner. He couldn’t believe he was only seven years older than her. Had he aged ten years in the last twelve months? He must have.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Spencer said as they drove.
‘I was wondering if I was ever your age,’ Cardilini said after a pause.
‘There’s a possibility,’ Spencer said with a laugh.
She pulled out her notes, writing intuitively in the dimness. Cardilini sighed. Robinson had said he wanted a report the minute they got back. Archie Cooper wouldn’t be charged, any copper could see that: a prosecutor would look at what they had and point to the door with a polite, Are you kidding me?
‘So what do you want to tell Robinson?’ Cardilini asked.
‘We haven’t got a case, and we don’t know where the Coopers are.’
‘No, we haven’t got a case, so it doesn’t matter where they are.’
They were driving on the highway into Midland Junction. An occasional suburban house swept by, followed by empty commercial lots covered in dry wild oats. The sky was a dusty faded blue, not yet the intense navy deep dome it would soon become. The town itself was stark; some public buildings were imposing enough, but few scattered pedestrians left the place looking deserted and uninviting. Spencer felt her quest was over before it had really begun. She saw again the accusing eyes of the prostitute in Kalgoorlie. Maybe some women ask for a beating, momentarily flicked through her thoughts. She dismissed it vehemently; she mustn’t ever accept that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Wednesday, 24 November 1965
7.30 p.m.
Though Melody knew she was waking from a nightmare, she couldn’t remember what had happened. Archie was holding her too tightly, kissing her too forcefully, making her angry. ‘Let me go,’ she thought she said. Then the nightmare jumped at her, screamed at her, terrified every part of her. She was gagged, she was bound, she was burning from pain. Gulps shook her chest, tears flooded her blindfold; she saw her mother, saw her through the window of a passing car. She yelled and tried to move but her limbs were bound, her eyes blind, but she begged, begged to be woken, begged to be taken, begged to be told it was a nightmare and she would wake. In the distance she heard a little voice, a little girl, a baby crying for her mother… She saw her briefly through the window of the passing car. ‘Come back,’ the little girl begged. Thankfully the black door shut upon her nightmare.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Thursday, 25 November 1965
11 a.m.
As he read through the Kalgoorlie report, Robinson shuffled papers, made notes, asked for Spencer’s notes on occasion, asked Spencer for clarification. Cardilini knew he was withholding something, knew he had already made up his mind.
‘Cardilini?’ Robinson asked finally, turning to him. ‘Anything to add?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Job well done. But no charges eventuated.’
‘Correct, sir,’ Spencer said.
Robinson pushed back his chai
r. ‘So where does it leave you two?’
‘We’re managing to resolve our differences, I think, sir,’ Spencer said, turning quizzically to Cardilini.
‘Cardilini?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. It shows professionalism.’ He pulled the notes towards him, flicked through a few more pages, and then put them down.
Here it comes, thought Cardilini.
‘We’ve been reviewing operations,’ Robinson said with a nod. ‘We’re thinking, considering the difficulties you’re experiencing here, it might be worth going to greener pastures.’ He looked pointedly at Spencer.
‘What does that mean?’ Cardilini asked.
‘Midland Junction is experiencing a rise in domestic violence cases, many quite straightforward, many committed in public with willing witnesses. The deputy commissioner thought that was the way to get a first police prosecution up and the prosecutor agreed.’
Spencer recalled the uninviting dry, dusty light of Midland Junction. She’d had a premonition something like this would happen.
‘Robinson,’ Cardilini said in a tired voice. ‘Don’t do this.’
Robinson shuffled his papers and gave Cardilini a look. ‘Yes. A quick, successful prosecution. Break the ice, so to speak. Get the prosecutor’s office up to speed. They need it as much as we do.’
‘Both of us?’ Spencer asked with a glance at Cardilini.
‘That’s not necessary. And obviously with the rough start you two had, it’s thought a fresh start with a new partner would be good.’
‘So just me?’ Spencer asked.
‘Of course, you’ve made great inroads here, got the ball rolling,’ Robinson effused. ‘Cardilini will tie things up. You really got people talking, Spencer.’
‘What does the Midland office think about it?’ Cardilini asked.
‘That’s not my worry, thank God. But they’re looking forward to the opportunity. I had a chat to them. They were keen to talk to the deputy commissioner about it.’
The Final Cut Page 13
