by Unknown
‘They’re all recent,’ she said. ‘Created mid last week, all except one.’
She clicked the first file and a photo appeared, filling the screen. The picture wasn’t pornographic but it still turned my stomach. Two naked toddlers – a boy and a girl – playing on a beach somewhere, neither more than about two years old. The picture had obviously been taken by a camera with a powerful zoom lens; the genitalia filled the centre of the shot. I wondered where the parents had been and how they hadn’t noticed their children being photographed.
‘Sick,’ Cassie said.
The next three shots were of the same two children taken from different angles. In one shot I made out the blurred image of a man’s leg next to the children. The father, I guessed. Behind his leg were a row of coloured beach boxes. I felt a charge of recognition and pointed at the screen.
‘Those beach boxes. I know them.’
‘Brighton Beach,’ Cassie said.
‘Right.’
The fourth photo nearly knocked me off the bench seat. It was of poorer quality than the others and depicted a teenage boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen, performing oral sex on an adult male. I forced myself to study the picture. The camera had been placed in such a way as to capture the image of the boy but not the older man, whose head and shoulders were outside the frame.
Cassie explained that the image was actually a movie file. She clicked the keypad and the boy’s mouth began to move up and down the man’s penis. The camera zoomed in on the boy; all we could see of the man was his hands and penis. It was repulsive.
‘Holy shit,’ Cassie said. ‘That’s Justin Quinn, the kid killed in Talbot Reserve last night.’
‘You serious?’
‘Serious as a heart attack. I was bloody well there today. I saw his face.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘That’s fucking him. Jesus.’
She slid off the bench and walked away. For a second I thought she was going to vomit, but she just stood under a tree, facing the sky, hands laced around her head. I wanted to offer her something but there was nothing I could say. Instead I tried to absorb this new information. Justin Quinn being the kid in the movie changed things significantly. It meant Sparks had probably been right to assume his murder was connected to Dallas Boyd.
The movie was short, less than a minute in total. When Cassie came back she suggested it was probably a sample clip, like an advertisement or trailer to promote a full-length version.
‘This looks like a hotel room,’ I said, tapping the screen. ‘There’s a notepad or something on the bedside table. Can we enhance it, blow it up?’
She shook her head. ‘Not without high-end software. Let’s open the next one.’
The images that followed were still shots of the boy performing the same act, this time with the male offender on a bed. Despite my repulsion, I noticed something about the camera work. Like most men, I’d seen my fair share of pornography and to me this was an amateur job, but not in the ‘mockumentary’ sense. This was genuine amateur, as though a camera had been set up in the cupboard.
‘It’s like a hidden camera,’ I said. ‘But it zoomed in before so someone must be operating it. The kid must’ve known he was being filmed. Maybe they’re trying to make it look like he didn’t know?’
‘There’s another possibility,’ said Cassie, grimacing. ‘Somebody was operating the camera from another room. You know, via remote control.’
I considered the scenario. Some like-minded men hire two hotel rooms, side by side. The camera is set up in one room, hidden in a cupboard and linked to the recording equipment in the other. They test it out, check that it works. Then they hire someone like Dallas Boyd to find them a desperate street kid in need of fast cash. The kid gets paid, probably given drugs, and together they make themselves a little kiddie porn.
‘Makes sense,’ I said. ‘Part of the appeal, I suppose. Give it an underground feel and you create demand.’
Cassie clicked the next file: another movie clip. It opened with a shot of the interior of a house. Polished boards, large white door, stained-glass entranceway. The front door opened and two high school kids in uniform rambled in, holding hands and giggling. They shut the door and began to kiss against the wall, school bags sliding to the floor. This time the lighting was better and it was more choreographed, but it still had the feel of an amateur production. The camera moved in as the kids fondled each other, tearing at each other’s uniform.
‘Dallas Boyd,’ I said, recognising the boy.
I focused on the girl and recognised her as Tammy York, but her hair was styled in pigtails to make her look younger.
‘That’s his girlfriend,’ I said, wondering why she’d not mentioned this.
‘Didn’t she say Dallas never did skin work?’ Cassie asked. ‘No, she said he never did kiddie porn. Said he just scouted for them and sold it on the side.’
‘What the hell is this then?’
‘I don’t know.’
The two of them moved up the hall, past the camera and into an open-plan living area, where the curtains had conveniently been drawn and all the lights turned on. They proceeded to have sex on the sofa, the camera zooming in to capture the girl’s shaved genitals. The film ended after a minute or so and I had to agree with Cassie: these were sample clips. I looked at the laptop Sparks had stolen and realised he was right to be scared. If this was an illegal porn racket, with paedophiles running the show, losing the laptop and disk would’ve caused a major panic. If they fell into the wrong hands, they could bring them all undone. But why kill Dallas? The only likely explanation was that they knew he was behind it. How they knew was another question. So too was the murder of Justin Quinn. Had he been involved in the theft as well, or was it to keep him from talking? Sparks hadn’t mentioned anything about him.
Cassie clicked ahead and opened another series of photos. They were less offensive but the intent was just the same. In the first shot a group of children frolicked in a public swimming pool. The second depicted a young girl, perhaps five or six, standing on a diving board.
‘That’s the Albert Park Aquatic Centre,’ said Cassie, clicking some buttons and leaning into the screen. ‘It’s less than a month ago. The oldest file was created January fifteen, the most recent last week. Even the movie clips are new.’
I thought about the sequence. It was all recent. Maybe the person who owned the disk had been in the throes of having the sample clips professionally edited, or added to a mailing list or website?
‘Whoever made this disk knows their way around a camera,’ Cassie said, scrolling back to the first few pictures of the children on Brighton Beach. In the background the sun was setting over the water, and I was suddenly reminded of the photo of Dallas and Tammy that I’d seen in the apartment. Had it been taken by the same man?
‘I’ve tried to take sunset photos before,’ Cassie was saying. ‘It’s not easy getting the lighting right. Maybe we’re looking for a professional photographer?’
‘A local photographer, Cass. First Brighton. Then Albert Park.’ I pointed at the screen. ‘That house with Dallas in it is Edwardian, and I bet it’s somewhere close by. So we’re looking for someone who’s part of the community. Someone who blends in.’
Cassie turned away from the screen and stared at the park. In the distance, Sparks was wrestling with his dog.
‘You know what I don’t get,’ she said. ‘There’s no password for any of this.’
‘But Sparks said there was, said he couldn’t get it started.’
‘I don’t mean the laptop. Even basic laptops have passwords. I mean this disk and these files. Why no password? If I had this disk, I sure as shit wouldn’t keep it without some form of protection.’
I thought about the possibilities, then said, ‘These files are all recent, right?’
‘Right, some created last week. That means the files were loaded onto the disk then, not necessarily filmed. We don’t know when the pictures were taken or the clips filmed.’
‘Well, let’s assume
they’re all recent. And let’s also assume you’re right about these files being promotional adverts for full-length productions. I think the disk is just a temporary storage device.’
She frowned and stared at the laptop.
‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘You’ve just received a new collection that you need to disseminate safely or upload onto a website. But you have to store it temporarily somewhere, at least until the files can be encrypted or hidden.’ I tapped the screen where the list of files was shown. ‘The most recent of these was created last Tuesday. Sparks said he boosted the laptop on the Wednesday. What if they were just about to upload them, or in the process of doing so?’
Cassie’s eyes widened as she sensed where I was going. ‘Right, well that explains the disk, but what about this laptop? Dallas paid two grand for Sparks to boost it, and everything we’ve learnt so far tells us he was planning something, but we don’t know what. To me, that’s the real question. Why did he want this laptop?’
I rubbed my hands together as I thought about Cassie’s question. I stood up and called out to Sparks. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t playing us.
‘Fuckin’ gross, hey?’ the kid said as he walked over, dog following. ‘Didn’t mind seeing Dall get it on with that school bitch though. That was pretty cool. But the other shit . . . can’t believe he was into it.’
I ejected the disk, closed Cassie’s laptop and stared at Sparks for a moment.
‘What?’ he said.
‘You sure you don’t know why Dallas wanted this laptop?’
‘No, man. Like I said, he wouldn’t tell me. But after seeing what’s on that disk, isn’t it obvious?’
‘Enlighten me,’ I said.
‘Well, the dude was a player, a scammer. Maybe he was lookin’ to do a number on them.’
Cassie and I exchanged a glance. She was thinking the same thing: blackmail.
‘And you’re not in on that?’ I asked. ‘Sure you and Dallas didn’t scheme up some plot to make these perverts pay you off?’
Sparks stared at me with contempt. ‘Hey, I’ve been straight up with ya both all along. If I was into any of that shit, why would I bring ya into it and risk me life talkin’? Why wouldn’t I just ditch the laptop and bail out?’
Fear and anger glinted in his eyes and I knew he was telling the truth.
‘All right, we believe you,’ Cassie said, giving me a frustrated look. ‘We’re sorry, but we have to cover all bases. What about Justin Quinn, you think he was into it?’
‘Well, that’s another story. You ask me, I wouldn’t put it past Dall to recruit someone like Jussie for a skin flick, just so they could put the pinch on ’em later.’
I nodded. It made sense. We now had a workable motive. And we also had a suspect.
‘Okay, one last thing,’ I said. ‘You say you knocked off the car keys and the laptop from a house not far from here, right?’
‘What I said.’
‘Remember the house?’
He frowned in suspicion. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re going to show us. Let’s go.’
25
WE DROVE TO A SHADED Elwood street lined with neat lawns and hundred-year-old maple trees. Most of the homes were old money, solid and secure, with intricate fretwork bordering full-length verandas.
‘Halfway down,’ said Sparks. ‘Double-storey joint, big as a pub.’
I eased off the accelerator as a beautifully restored Tudorstyle home appeared behind a picket fence.
‘That’s it,’ said Sparks, sinking low in the back seat.
‘No car in the drive,’ said Cassie. ‘Maybe he never got the Beamer back. Either that or no one’s home.’
I drove on and pulled up behind a Bentley.
‘I don’t like this,’ Sparks said. ‘Can ya take me back to St Kilda? Think I’ve done enough.’
‘Relax,’ Cassie said. ‘If he’s home, we’ll just make something up, tell him there’s been a few burgs in the street. Besides, he can’t exactly see you from here, can he?’
Sparks slumped against the seat, resigned, hugging his dog. I followed Cassie along the footpath to a paved driveway. The Sunday newspaper had yet to be retrieved and all the blinds were drawn. Our feet creaked on the porch as we stepped up to a towering front door.
‘Recognise the door?’ Cassie murmured.
‘Yeah, the school kids movie with Dallas and Tammy,’ I whispered back, then pressed a brass buzzer on the wall and waited. After a moment I pressed it again but again no one answered.
Cassie checked the letterbox; it was empty. I pulled out my phone and called Mark Finetti on his mobile. More than one way to skin a cat.
‘What’s up, Bad Boy?’ I said when he answered. ‘You still on two legs?’
‘Nope, we’re on a split rotation. I’m in the tank till eleven, babysitting the drunks.’
Good, right where I wanted him.
‘Listen, I need one more favour.’
‘Oh man.’
‘Then we’re even.’
‘Whatever.’
‘I just need a name to match an address and any vehicle registrations that go with it.’
Finetti groaned and I pictured him in the watch-house, his feet up on the bench, watching the CCTV screens with a bowl of pasta, a napkin over his shirt.
‘Look, we’re on the wave here. Sparks gave us a good one, could go all the way. Just run an address then we’re square.’
‘Yeah, square as a peg. What is it?’
I doubled-checked the letterbox and gave him the address, then told him to check for the registration of a late-model BMW, or any other vehicles that might be listed at the address. I also told him how Sparks had broken into the house, stolen the car keys and returned later to steal the car.
‘Yeah, righto,’ Finetti said. ‘I’ll go with the car first. Let me call you back.’
Cassie and I went back to the car while Finetti went to work. Sparks had unwound the window for his dog, which had slobbered all over the back pillar. I was annoyed but didn’t let on.
‘Where’d you get him?’ I asked instead, nodding at the dog.
‘Found him on the beach,’ Sparks said. ‘About three months ago. No lead or collar, nobody around, just another runaway. Like me, I s’pose. I could tell he was just a pup, so I played with him a bit, even gave him some chips, and he followed me back to the squat. I tried to make him go away, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Anyhow, I knew he wasn’t gonna survive on his own in the streets, and I don’t really like bein’ on me own either, so I started lookin’ after him. Even in summer it gets cold sometimes in the squat, especially at night.’ He gave the dog a vigorous pat and it licked his face. ‘We keep each other warm, don’t we, mate?’
‘More loyalty and faithfulness in one dog than in a hundred men,’ Cassie said, stepping in beside me to pat the dog.
‘Shit yeah,’ said Sparks. ‘Hooch doesn’t care about what I look like or whether I’ve got any money. He just cares if I’m around.’
I smiled, unsure whether the story was a happy or sad one, then stepped away from the car to call Ella and cancel dinner. Finetti called back as I was dialling her number.
‘Not gonna believe this, mate,’ he said. ‘I ran the address and got a hit.’
‘Right, and?’
‘Cop this. Comes up with a 2006 M5 Beamer, navy blue in colour, registered to a Karl Vitazul,’ he said, then waited for me to place the name.
It took a moment, but then the familiarity hit me like a jab in the nose.
‘You’re shittin’ me,’ I said out loud, looking at Cassie. ‘It’s Vitazul, the café owner who found the body.’
‘Still there, man?’ Finetti said after a second.
‘I want a full set on this guy, Mark. Get on LEAP and check all variations to his name. Also, get on to the Feds and see what –’
‘Done all that, McCauley. When the name came up, I recognised it as the guy who found Dallas Boyd in the first place. And since he specificall
y said he didn’t know the kid, I’m thinking he’s got something major to hide. Like, whoever smelt it dealt it.’
‘What’s his sheet say?’
‘I’ve got it up on the screen right now and that’s the thing. Nada.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘Well, according to his driver’s licence, Vitazul was born in 1915, which doesn’t gel with the guy we saw at the café. So I checked his licence photo through VicRoads and guess what, it’s not our guy. The guy on the licence is older than dirt.’
I tried to think it through. Either we were talking about two different people with the same name who just happened to be connected to the same murder, or the name Vitazul was bullshit.
‘What about the address?’ I asked. ‘Any crime reports, maybe a burg or stolen car?’
‘Sweet bugger all. This Vitazul character, or whoever the hell he is, didn’t report his car stolen or the break-in. Maybe your kid’s telling porkies about where he got the laptop.’
I looked at Sparks sitting hunched up in the back seat. ‘He’s telling the truth.’
‘All right, man. Want me to put a KALOF out on this guy?’
‘No, I know where to find him,’ I said. I hung up before Finetti said anything else, then filled Cassie in on the details.
‘Whoever Vitazul is, he’s hiding something,’ she said. ‘Maybe we should call Homicide, give them the news and get a posse going?’
I didn’t need to think about a response. ‘No, I want to talk to this guy myself. And anyway, all I’m going to do is bring this prick in on the kiddie porn and see what shakes out. No need to mention anything about Dallas Boyd or the Talbot Reserve job last night.’
‘And therefore no need to call Homicide?’ she finished.
I smiled at her across the roof of the Falcon. ‘Now you’re with me.’
‘You’re as shifty as a shithouse rat, you know that?’
‘One of Victoria’s finest.’
26
I DROPPED SPARKS BACK AT the squat, we swapped mobile phone numbers and I said I’d be in touch. Then I parked in a clearway and Cassie and I walked the two blocks to Acland Street. The crowd seemed to move at an agonisingly slow pace and I ended up pushing my way through. As we passed a black BMW roadster a thought occurred to me.
