SH01 - An Easeful Death

by Felicity Young

  Wayne’s sigh came through the line as a hiss. ‘I don’t understand Baggly’s attitude at all. If it’s the press he’s worried about, he’s just going to get himself into deeper shit.’

  ‘I’m hoping De Vakey will help me show Baggly the light. If not I’ll have to go higher up the food chain. There are just too many similarities between the Royce murder and the KP killings to ignore a connection.’

  ‘I’m glad to be able to leave the politics to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Monty sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘How about Angus and the taxis?’

  ‘Nothing yet. No trace on the roofies and no chloroform listed as stolen.’

  ‘I want someone on the police personnel records. De Vakey seems to think a disgruntled ex-cop might be behind this. Check out all the dismissals over, say, the last five years.’

  ‘Well, I suppose there’s no harm giving it a go. See you in the morning, yeah?’ But Wayne didn’t put the phone down; there was something else on his mind. ‘Umm, Mont.’

  ‘Mm?’

  A beat. ‘Did you know Tye Davis is in town?’

  Monty said nothing. A pulse began to throb in his temple. He put his fingers to it and tried to soothe it away. So what if Tye Davis was back in town? There was no reason why he wouldn’t return to the city. But it was strange how Tye’s name had sprung to mind when he was reading about the KP murders, and stranger still how Wayne should bring him up at this stage in their conversation.

  ‘I think he might be out to make trouble for Stevie. He mentioned something about the kid. After custody, I reckon,’ Wayne said.

  Monty felt the blood drain from his face. Almost overwhelmed with dizziness he slumped against the wall. ‘That can’t happen,’ he said to himself. Or thought he had.

  ‘What was that? Are you okay?’ Wayne asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’m just tired.’ Monty rubbed his face. ‘I want Tye on top of your list of disgruntled cops. Check him out, find out where he was when Linda Royce was murdered.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think—’

  ‘Just do it.’

  When Monty replaced the receiver his head was swimming.

  Back on the sofa he took a large slug of juice. He had to put his feelings aside, be objective about this, look at nothing but the facts of the case and not let his judgement be tainted with the odour of Tye Davis.

  Rohypnol and chloroform had been found in Linda Royce’s system, but only Rohypnol had been found in the prostitutes, most likely dissolved in an alcoholic drink. This made sense. The prostitutes were willing participants, to a degree. The offender would have had no problem getting them to share a drink with him—maybe it was while they were sitting on the bench in the park. The date rape drug wasn’t as common then as it was now and the girls may not have been so wary.

  Linda Royce, though, had not been picking up tricks in a park; she had not been such an easy target. He must have knocked her out with chloroform in the street first before taking her away to his secluded spot and making her drink the drugged cocktail.

  He opened his notebook and began to jot down the similarities between the two old cases. Once he had these listed, he would compare them to the Linda Royce case. His finger traced a snake through the condensation on the beer glass as he organised his thoughts. Under the heading ‘similarities’ he wrote:

  Bodies found in same location

  Same profession of victims

  Same drugs in their systems

  Violation and posing of victims after death

  All had long hair, hacked off

  No jewellery

  No DNA evidence except for questionable hairs on first victim

  No evidence of sexual intercourse

  Under ‘differences’ he listed:

  Kitty Bonilla semi naked

  Lorna Dunn totally naked

  Kitty Bonilla small, dark hair, part Aboriginal

  Lorna Dunn tall, red hair, Caucasian

  He needed another cigarette, but the thought of having to reach for one and light up was suddenly too much of an effort. Concentrate. Physically the women were at opposite ends of the colour spectrum. Adding the blond Linda Royce to the pot only increased his confusion. Was this the killer’s intent? Was it all part of the game De Vakey had explained to Stevie?

  He wrote: Blue Commodore seen at the first crime site. Didn’t Wayne just mention a blue Commodore in the Royce case? He would return to that tomorrow. For the moment he wanted to keep the old and the new cases separate.

  Back to the KP murders: No sign of a VW at either site.

  He looked back at the beer. His tongue flicked at his bottom lip. Back to his notebook, things to follow up:

  Peter Sbresni

  Unnamed prostitute

  Check database for missing documents

  Monty’s hand grazed the cool of the beer glass once more. He ran his finger around its edge, straining to hear the answers it might sing.

  friday

  10

  A scene that is staged for the police or for any other unfortunate person who might come across the body is often the result of the killer’s perverse desire to entertain.

  De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil

  Stevie was asleep when she got the phone call. She didn’t have time to drop Izzy at her mother’s, nor did Dot have time to change. Three minutes after Stevie’s frantic plea, Dot was on the doorstep in her dressing-gown and slippers and Stevie was hurrying out to the Commodore, no more than a blurry outline in the grey dawn light.

  She picked Angus up on the way and they raced in the unmarked to the latest crime scene, their flashing blue light scorching through the early morning commuters like an oxy-torch through steel plate. Taking her eyes off the road for a moment, she risked a glance at Angus, his string of expletives indicating he still hadn’t got through to Monty. She felt herself tense, her knuckles becoming white marbles on the steering wheel.

  ‘Last try,’ Angus said, punching at the phone’s redial button.

  About to express her concern, he held up his hand to silence her and drawled into the phone, ‘Monty, another body’s been found. It’s in the bedding department of Hartley-Mac’s. We’re on our way, meet you there.’ He replaced his phone in his jacket pocket and sucked in his cheeks, making his thin face almost skeletal. ‘Sounds like he had a hard night.’

  Stevie frowned, looked left and right, then sped through a red light causing pedestrians to jump back as if the car was shooting sparks. Soon they were at the Hay Street Mall, their senses assaulted by chaotic images. Yellow crime-scene tape sealed off the entrance and police cars were parked askew, lights flashing. Delivery vans honked, irate shopkeepers argued with uniformed police. A news van excreted cable. Lights were mounted, microphones plugged. An early morning news anchorwoman began to preen in the van’s side mirror. More journos arrived.

  Stevie and Angus stepped into the fray to their siren’s dying wheeze.

  ‘Keep them well back,’ she said to a young constable they hurried past.

  ‘Any sign of a break in?’ Angus asked the cop guarding the double shop doors as they both flicked ID.

  ‘None so far, Sir.’

  ‘Who was first on the scene?’ Stevie spoke over her shoulder as she headed for the lift.

  ‘Constables Radcliff and Jones, they’re upstairs, third floor,’ the cop called back.

  They rode the lift in silence. Stevie concentrated on her breathing and prepared herself for the worst. Angus had his eyes closed and was jingling the loose change in his pocket.

  The lift doors opened to castles of glassware and mountains of white crockery. They skirted piles of fluffy towels and stacks of coloured sheets and headed towards a collection of display beds made up with fashionable linens.

  There was no death scent, no buzzing flies to warn them of the body’s proximity, only the sweet smell of scented candles and the crackling of a police radio.

  They introduced themselves to Constables Radcliff and Jones and took tentative steps t
owards a bed decorated with a brocade canopy and a silver woman. She lay on her back with her legs bent. She could have been an obscene advertising ploy, one more gimmick to entice the gullible buyer. Buy this bed and you too could look like this. Stevie felt the bile begin to rise. She turned her head to be almost blinded by the spotlight erected by the police photographer, further adding to the staged artificiality of the scene.

  The woman’s face was an expressionless mask; she might have been a mannequin from Ladies Wear. Easeful Death was printed down the length of her right thigh in black marker pen.

  ‘Not again.’ Angus’s voice was soft. His attitude to the dead was always reverential, unlike some members of the squad who popped into her mind.

  Wayne Pickering appeared, making the final adjustments to an oversized paisley bow tie. ‘Silver Finger,’ he said in his usual deadpan.

  Speak of the devil.

  ‘It was Bronze Finger last time. Doesn’t sound quite right, does it?’

  And his disciple.

  Barry Snow turned to Stevie. With the light shining from the spotlight behind him, she could barely see his face, but his large ears stuck out like wing nuts. ‘That was an inaccuracy you know,’ he said. ‘People don’t die just from being painted.’ He leaned towards the body and pointed to the neck area. ‘I’m guessing this one was also strangled.’

  ‘Let’s leave that to the pathologist to determine, okay?’ Stevie ran her eyes up and down the body, absorbing every detail. The woman’s left hand seemed to be locked into a fist around a small strip of something brown. Peering closer, she tried to identify the protruding object. It looked like a piece of fabric—a piece of the killer’s clothing perhaps? Hard to believe that she had reached out to the killer while she was dying and grabbed this without his knowledge.

  Stevie straightened and looked at Wayne Pickering who was finishing his own visual examination of the body. She pointed to the woman’s fist.

  ‘Yes, wonder what the hell that is? I guess we’ll have to wait for the pathologist to prise it out.’ Wayne pivoted on his heel and scanned the shop floor. ‘And where’s our illustrious leader?’

  ‘On his way.’ Angus said. He was next in seniority after Monty. ‘I’m going to talk to the woman who found the body. Stevie, come with me. Wayne and Barry, you guys comb the whole shop for ways the killer could have broken in. SOCO will be here soon, work with them. Also, get one of the uniforms to stop anyone else using the lifts. That’s the only way he could have got the body up here, they’ll have to be carefully examined.’

  ‘Unlike Linda Royce, this one wouldn’t have needed props to keep her posed,’ Stevie said to Angus as they walked towards the shop and floor manager who’d discovered the body.

  ‘True,’ Angus said. ‘And I’d like to know how he got the body up here without triggering any of the alarms. I favour the lift, though I guess he could have used the stairs. But the body would have been heavy and awkward to carry up three flights. We’ll get SOCO to check them anyway.’

  A middle-aged man and an older woman, the shop and floor managers respectively, stood tense and anxious next to shelves of bathroom ornaments.

  ‘When can we open up for business, detective?’ the shop manager asked. The man looked like he’d dressed in a hurry. The shirt under his suit jacket was buttoned wrong and his face was furred with brindle stubble. His mouth, still gaping with shock, looked like that of the blue porcelain fish staring at Stevie from the shelf behind.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll probably be closed for the rest of the week, Sir.’

  The man sighed heavily and looked at his floor manager. Her face was pale under a thick layer of foundation, her voice a tremolo of barely contained hysteria. ‘I just don’t understand how anyone could have got up here without triggering the motion detectors. I set the alarms myself last night.’

  ‘You don’t have security guards?’ Angus asked, looking from one to the other of them.

  The man said, ‘Only roving patrols to check up on things if the alarm is triggered, that’s all most department stores have these days. Burglaries are rare in our type of store, most of the criminals seem to content themselves with shoplifting.’

  A constable approached the group. ‘Excuse me, Sir.’ His eyes darted to the managers, unsure if he should be speaking in front of them. Angus gave him a nod and he said, ‘We know how the alarm was deactivated. The external phone line that goes to the control room of the security company was cut. The alarm would have rung, but wouldn’t have gone through their monitoring system.’

  ‘You still rely on that old system?’ Stevie asked incredulously.

  The shop manager became flustered, defensive. ‘We haven’t been in this building long. We inherited the security system from the previous owners. We were going to update next year.’

  ‘Surely someone must have heard the racket?’ Stevie questioned the constable.

  ‘We’re asking around, Ma’am. But you know what it’s like in the city on weeknights. Quiet as the grave.’

  She would have preferred a different choice of simile, but had to agree with him. The manager turned his head to follow the progress of a group of overall-clad forensic officers. Stevie caught Angus’s eye, telling him with a look that this was not the place for any further interviews.

  He said to the managers, ‘I’m going to ask one of our officers to accompany you to Central. I’d like the next round of questions to be conducted in an interview room. We need to get details from you about the closing up routine of the shop, the alarms etc.’

  ‘Taking us down to the station? Is that necessary?’ The woman’s age-spotted hand reached to the chain at her neck. ‘We’re not under arrest are we?’

  Stevie swallowed down her impatience. ‘No, you’re not under arrest, but we need to talk to you away from these distractions.’

  When they had gone, Stevie said to Angus, ‘I keep flashing back to Linda Royce’s body at the bank. James De Vakey said we needed to check the security guards again. I was going to have them polygraphed today. I was hoping there might’ve been security guards here too—they would have provided us with a handy commonality, but it seems there were none near the place.’

  ‘Okay, you go back to the bank guards, though the chances of their involvement are looking slimmer. I’ll interview the two managers back at Central.’ Angus smoothed down his hair as he looked around the shop floor, which was now bustling with police activity. ‘Two hot cases needing a separate team on each, and where the hell is Monty? He’s the only one with the authority to enlist the help of more suburban dees. We can’t cope with all this alone.’

  ‘De Vakey might be able to help us with a thing or two, I’ll give him a call.’ Stevie reached into her bag for her phone. But before she had time to dial the lift pinged, announcing an arrival.

  Angus swore. ‘I told them to secure the lifts.’

  The doors opened revealing Monty looking very much the worse for wear in the clothes he’d been wearing the day before. His butter-coloured shirt had turned rancid and his pants were concertinaed with crease marks. His skin was pale against his auburn hair, making the stubble on his face shine. Stevie’s heart sank with the departing lift, recognising that self-loathing, morning-after look. She lowered her voice. ‘Jeez, you look like shit,’ she murmured.

  He regarded her through eyes the colour of single malt. ‘Thanks. I must look better than I feel. Where is she?’

  She pointed towards the body with her thumb and watched Monty as he wove his way through the bedroom and bathroom accessories. She met Angus’s look of disappointed concern with one of her own.

  Angus let out his breath. ‘I’m going to check on SOCO, then head back to Central. You’d better go fill Monty in on what little we know.’

  She joined Monty as he leaned over the body. He was silently taking in the shaved head and the strange serenity of the painted face.

  ‘We’ve sent the shop and floor managers back to Central for further questioning. So far we have
n’t a clue how our guy got in with the body. He disabled the monitored alarm by cutting the external telephone wire. Anyone could have located it if they’d known what they were looking for, then again I guess there’s always the chance it was an inside job...’

  Monty’s hand flew to his mouth and he recoiled from the body with a look of anguish.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Stevie asked as he began to lurch his way towards the toilets at the other end of the floor. The ladies’ room was closest; there was no time for etiquette. She followed him in as he staggered into the nearest stall.

  She waited on the other side of the stall door, trying to block out the sound of his retching and became aware of an incongruous odour. The typical public washroom smells of soap and disinfectant were overlaid by the rising lead of the early morning commute and the tang of coffee from a nearby cafe. A cool breeze on her cheek made her turn her head to its source and it was then that she saw the gaping rectangular hole where the windowpane should have been. The glass itself was leaning against the wall as if carefully placed there by a glazier. She hurried over to the window ledge and peered into the alleyway below. Startled, she did a double take. Only a short distance above the ground, attached to a system of ropes and pulleys that ran the length of the building, dangled a window cleaner’s trolley.

  The retching sounds from the stall had stopped and she yelled to Monty to come and look. Getting no answer she turned to find him sitting against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head bowed. When he made no response she put a hand on his shoulder and squatted to his level.

  ‘I think you should go home, you’re not well,’ she said, returning to earth after the brief high of her discovery. He drew a breath then let it out with a shudder, keeping his big hands clenched into tight fists at his side.

  ‘Can’t work this,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t you know who it is?’