Blood Sunset

by Unknown

  My thoughts kept circling back to Dallas Boyd’s mobile phone, a phone that had yet to surface, most likely because the killer had removed it from him. But why? The only logical explanation was that the killer had been worried about the calls made to and from Boyd’s phone raising the suspicion of the investigators. Were it not for Boyd purchasing the recharge card and having the receipt in his wallet at the time of death, I probably never would’ve regarded the missing phone as a potential lead. This led me to believe the killer didn’t know about the receipt or else they would have removed that also, which in effect ruled out Tammy York and Fletch as suspects, since they were with Dallas when he bought the recharge card.

  I flipped through my daybook until I found the notes I’d made while questioning Tammy. She couldn’t remember the exact type of phone Boyd had, but she’d described the ringtone as annoying. I ran my finger down the page and located the notation Hi Ho Silver ringtone.

  I turned on the DVD player and let the security footage play. When I’d watched the disk in the store, the sound on the computer had been muted. At the time sound hadn’t seemed necessary, but something about what I’d seen on the tape didn’t add up. If what I was now thinking was true, I’d made possibly the biggest oversight in my career as a detective, one I wasn’t sure I’d recover from.

  I turned up the volume and immediately the traffic on Fitzroy Street and the echoing sound of the convenience store filled my lounge room. I skipped past Dallas Boyd and Tammy York entering the store, knowing what I wanted was further on. I watched the clock on screen tick quickly over and let it play until just after midnight, when Will Novak entered the store to purchase the cigarettes he’d told me about.

  I leant forward on the couch as Novak walked through the doors and approached the counter. Just as the clock on the screen read 12.17 a.m., the exact time Sparks had called Dallas Boyd to ask where he was, a phone started ringing. Novak took a mobile out of his shirt pocket, pressed a button and the ringing stopped.

  ‘You bastard,’ I said.

  My hands trembled as I burnt a copy of the DVD, retrieved the Colt .45 from under my bed, then gathered up the documents I needed and headed down to the car park. By the time I arrived at the Carlisle Accommodation & Recovery Service, it was just on 9 a.m. and my eyes were stinging with fatigue as the painkillers the nurses had given me wore off.

  I parked across the road and hobbled towards the hostel’s porch, noticing the blue glow of a computer screen through the last window on the left. Will Novak’s office. The front door creaked as I entered the foyer. A young girl sat behind the reception desk.

  ‘Will in?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said the girl, picking up the phone. ‘Your name, please?’

  Holding open my badge case, I said there was no need to call him. Before she could protest, I made my way down the hall. Novak’s door was half-open, as if to invite entry, but I still knocked.

  He swivelled on his chair. ‘Jesus,’ he said, eyes widening at the sight of me. Then, nodding to his computer, he added, ‘I’ve just been reading the news reports online. You okay? How’s Ella?’

  ‘She’s still under, but she’ll be fine.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  The headline COP TANGLED IN SPIDER WEB spread across the top of the screen, an article underneath.

  ‘Didn’t realise it was in the news so soon.’

  ‘That’s the internet for you,’ said Novak, gesturing to a chair by his desk. ‘Come in, please. Sit down.’

  I eased into the chair.

  ‘You want a coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I just wanted to stop by and let you know how it all panned out, like I said I would. That was the deal.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’

  I read from my daybook even though I knew it all ad lib.

  ‘As you’ve probably read in the press, a man named Gervas Kirzek was shot and killed early this morning by one of our members. Off the record, we believe Kirzek was responsible for at least two of the recent murders.’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘We think he killed Justin Quinn in the Talbot Reserve and Stuart Parks outside the squat behind Acland Street. As to why he killed them, my view is that he learnt they were all involved in a scam to blackmail him.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  I gave him a quick rundown on how Dallas had hired Sparks to burgle the house and steal the laptop.

  ‘I think he also hired Justin Quinn to star in a porn movie so they could use it as leverage,’ I said. ‘That’s why Justin had to go. Same with Tammy York, only she got lucky and Fletch came to her rescue just as Kirzek was about to kill her.’

  Novak nodded thoughtfully. ‘So Kirzek was the guy who attacked her, the rich prick she told us about?’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘But hang on,’ Novak said, ‘Tammy said Dallas wasn’t into making porn, just selling it.’

  ‘She said he didn’t do kiddie porn. What he did do was . . . I don’t know, in the middle somewhere, I suppose.’

  Novak looked confused.

  ‘Anyway, as for Sparks, well, somehow Kirzek must’ve known he was either helping me with the case or in on the scam,’ I said. ‘I didn’t recognise him at the time, but I saw Kirzek outside the squat before the killing, dressed like a trannie. He was staking it out, waiting for Sparks.’

  ‘So anyone connected with the scam had to go?’ Novak said.

  ‘Basically, yes.’

  ‘Including Dallas Boyd?’

  I flipped to the back of my daybook, removed one of the documents I’d pulled from the DHS file Sarah Harrigan had given me and slid it across the desk.

  ‘Actually, I don’t think Kirzek killed him,’ I said. ‘This is a post-release report on Dallas Boyd, dated the year before last, just after he was released from Malmsbury. The clinician’s name is at the bottom – you recognise it?’

  Novak frowned. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter where I got it. Do you recognise the name of the clinician who wrote the report?’

  ‘Yes. Josh Graham. He used to work here. Left about six months ago.’

  ‘Now works for the Back Outside program, correct?’

  ‘Ah, I don’t . . . what are you getting at? We have a lot of links with Back Outside. We receive at least half of our clients through that program.’

  ‘I know. Can you read the text I’ve highlighted?’

  . . . while the client’s substance abuse issues appear to have stabilised, his current involvement in the sex industry, particularly in and around the St Kilda environs, gives rise for concern. This is especially concerning given the link between sex work, physical abuse and substance misuse . . .

  Novak folded the page in half, looked up.

  ‘You told me you had no idea he was in the sex game,’ I said.

  ‘That’s right, I didn’t.’

  ‘But this report says otherwise.’

  ‘I didn’t write that report. Josh Graham did.’

  ‘Come on, Will. You’re the boss here. Don’t tell me these reports don’t cross your desk.’

  Novak opened the page again and stared at the text, as if it were a cue card prompting an answer.

  ‘I see hundreds of these reports every month. I have to skim through the details.’

  ‘Dallas Boyd was a star client here, a success story,’ I countered. ‘You said yourself, it’s not every day you get kids like him come along. Surely you would’ve noticed a report raising concerns about your star client working the sex game.’

  ‘What are you implying? I’m not sure I like the tone of these questions.’

  ‘You lied to me, Will. In my experience there are only two reasons why people lie to police. They’re either scared or they’re involved.’

  ‘I completely resent that. I’ve been nothing but open and frank with you. Any other worker would have made you jump through a whole bunch of legal hoops before they even agreed to open the door. But not me, I gave you fu
ll cooperation. Jesus, I even gave you keys to Dallas Boyd’s apartment. Did you actually have a warrant before you looked through it?’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘I got you addresses. I even went with you to visit –’

  Novak was cut off by the phone ringing on his desk. At first he ignored it then snatched it up, turning away to face the window and speaking in a low voice. Outside, Tammy York and Fletch walked through the gate and approached the front porch, stopping halfway up the path to speak to another client. I wondered what they were doing here and got my answer when Fletch shook hands and exchanged something with the other client.

  Novak put down the phone, swivelled back around on his chair. ‘That was our sister agency in Footscray,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a kid holed up in his room threatening to slash up, off his face on meth. A Critical Assessment Team’s on the way. Who knows if they’ll get there in time.’

  I waited.

  ‘Meanwhile, three kids from our detox unit over there have decided to go AWOL and two clinicians have called in sick,’ he continued. ‘As you can see, it’s a typical Monday morning and I’ve got all the time in the world.’

  ‘Want to hear the rest or not?’

  ‘Sure. I like being accused of impropriety, especially by someone I’ve bent over backwards for.’

  From my daybook I produced a list I’d pulled from within the files Sarah Harrigan had given me. It comprised almost fifty names, one of which I’d highlighted.

  ‘Justin Quinn,’ I said, putting the page on the desk in front of him. ‘You said you didn’t know him.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Then why is his name on this list?’

  Novak snatched up the page and read over it.

  ‘That’s your current client list,’ I explained. ‘Says right there that Justin Quinn had his first assessment last week, referred to CARS by Back Outside. So why did you tell me you didn’t know him?’

  ‘This is a total breach of privacy,’ Novak blurted. ‘These kids deserve more respect. Did Sarah Harrigan give you this?’

  ‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter who gave it to me. Just answer my question about –’

  I stopped talking as the receptionist appeared in the doorway, a worried look across her face.

  ‘Is everything okay in here?’ she asked.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Novak said. ‘The officer was just leaving.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said firmly.

  The girl stood awkwardly in the doorway before finally getting the hint and scurrying back to her desk in the foyer.

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question about Justin Quinn,’ I said when she was gone. ‘When we drove past the murder scene, you said you didn’t know him. By itself that little fib means nothing, except that Justin happened to be the second client of yours who was murdered in a week, something you obviously didn’t think was worth sharing with me.’

  ‘Justin was only recently referred to us,’ Novak said in a cool voice, rocking back in his chair. ‘So at the time of his death I didn’t realise he was a client of ours. It wasn’t a lie.’

  I realised then Novak wasn’t going to crack that easily. I would have to take him all the way to the edge. I removed the 7-Eleven DVD from my briefcase and handed it across the desk.

  ‘Put this in your computer,’ I said. ‘Mute the volume and let it play.’

  ‘What the fuck is this? Kiddie porn? I don’t wanna see that shit.’

  ‘Just play it. It’s not porn, but it is something you need to explain.’

  Guardedly, Novak slid the disk into the PC and soon the inside of the 7-Eleven appeared on the screen. We both watched in silence as a series of customers walked in and out of the store. I watched Novak’s eyes as they dropped to the clock in the corner of the screen.

  ‘You told me you purchased cigarettes at around midnight the night Dallas Boyd was killed,’ I said.

  ‘Like I told you, I was manning the soup kitchen. I always give smokes to the clients. Stops the need for begging. You know how many homeless people get bashed for trying to bum a smoke?’

  ‘I don’t care about the smokes, Will. I care about all the lies I keep uncovering. When I first spoke to you, you told me you hadn’t seen or spoken to Dallas for a couple of days, right?’

  ‘That’s right. We had lunch and spent the time planning a way to get his sister out of the flat. What’s the problem with that?’

  I nodded to the screen. ‘Just watch.’

  We turned back to the PC as a grainy image of Novak appeared on the screen. The clock counter read 12.17 a.m.

  ‘There!’ Novak said, watching himself approach the counter. ‘Just after midnight. Exactly like I told you.’

  He went to eject the disk but I told him to let it play.

  ‘Will, I want you to explain something to me.’

  ‘What’s there to explain? I bought the bloody smokes and left.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. So rewind it, and let it play again. This time with the sound up.’

  Tiny beads of sweat dotted Novak’s forehead. Finally he clicked the sound icon and turned the volume up. The small speakers on his desk vibrated with distortion as the disk played again.

  ‘Happy now?’

  As Novak approached the counter on screen, Dallas Boyd’s mobile phone started ringing through the speakers. Novak could be seen removing the phone from his pocket to cancel the call. But it wasn’t fast enough. I watched his face pale now as the tune to ‘Hi Ho Silver’ sounded through the office. It was loud and high-pitched. The kids outside seemed to look towards the window and for a second I wondered if they could hear it ringing.

  ‘This is a call charge record for Dallas Boyd’s phone from the night he died,’ I said, placing the CCR on the desk. ‘It tells me that Sparks tried to call Dallas at exactly 12.17 a.m. The call was cancelled, but it still showed up on this report because Sparks left a message through the phone company’s missed call service.’

  Running my finger down the list, I pointed out the recurring number I knew belonged to Novak and which confirmed he’d lied to me about the last time he’d spoken to Dallas Boyd.

  ‘Sparks and Dallas were supposed to meet at midnight to exchange the laptop, but Dallas never showed up because he was dead by then,’ I continued. ‘The killer took his phone, most likely because he was worried about us checking it and linking him to these three calls.’

  When Novak didn’t respond, I leant forward and said, ‘That’s Dallas Boyd’s phone right there on the screen. I can tell because of the ringtone. “Hi Ho Silver”.’

  Novak got out of his chair and moved away from his desk until he was against the window. His eyes darted about the room and I knew it was true. As he backed along the window to the east wall, his arm disappeared behind a filing cabinet. By the time I realised what was happening and went to draw my own weapon, it was too late. When his arm came back in sight, he was pointing a handgun directly at me.

  35

  ‘DON’T MAKE THIS ANY WORSE than it has to be,’ I said. ‘We don’t want it to turn into a situ–’

  ‘Just shut up!’ Novak snapped. ‘There is no “we” here. We’re not a team. We’re not the same, never have been. You’re a cop and I’m a social worker, get it?’

  ‘You’re wrong, Will. We are the same. We’ve got different angles, but we work the same streets. We both want the same things.’

  ‘Oh, get your hand off it. Cheap psychology tricks won’t work on me,’ he sneered, the gun waving fiercely, his eyes wild with emotion.

  My instinct was to bolt through the door behind me and draw my weapon, but I didn’t want to frighten him with any sudden moves. Over his shoulder, I saw Tammy and Fletch still outside under the tree looking in our direction. I hoped they could see what was going on.

  ‘Put your gun on the floor and kick it over to me,’ he ordered. ‘Then empty your pockets. Get everything out!’

  I put my gun on the floor and kicked it over.
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br />   ‘Now give me your second gun,’ he said, scooping up the Colt and stuffing it into his waist. ‘Your spare, give it to me.’

  ‘I don’t have a second gun.’

  ‘Bullshit! You’re lying. You’re a cop. You always lie.’ Novak braced one trembling hand with the other then crossed the room and locked the office door. ‘Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head.’

  I had a sudden terrible image of the gun going off and the bullet tearing again into my shoulder, just as it had done over twelve months ago.

  ‘You can’t get away with this, Will,’ I said. ‘There are kids outside. The receptionist knows I’m in here.’

  ‘I don’t care! Just get on your knees, now!’

  I sank to the floor, hands shaking.

  ‘Let’s talk about this, Will. It doesn’t have to end like this.’

  ‘Stop using my first name! We’re no longer on a first-name basis.’

  My impression was that Novak didn’t want to shoot me, but he seemed unhinged, unstable, and I’d end up just as dead whether I was killed intentionally or by accident.

  Keeping his gun trained on me, he snatched the DVD out of the tray and fed it into a shredder next to his desk. The machine screamed in protest, but chewed up the DVD nonetheless. He then gathered up the documents I’d shown him and fed them into the machine as well.

  ‘Are there copies?’ he snarled.

  I shook my head.

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ He pressed the gun hard into the top of my head. ‘On the floor, lie forward and put your hands behind your back.’

  When I didn’t move, he smashed me over the head with the butt of the gun. Carpet grazed my face as I fell forward, the pain in my head excruciating. My vision blurred as I struggled to find a way to save myself. Novak paced the office, opening and closing drawers, tossing items around on the desk, muttering to himself. It seemed he was yet to formulate a plan of action, though I suspected he was looking for something to tie me up with. My only hope was to play on his frustration and uncertainty, keep him talking while I figured out a plan of my own.