by Dave Warner
‘Absolutely,’ I said. Collins was picking his nails.
George carried on. ‘We want to help the O’Gradys, all our victims’ families but we can’t have the investigation compromised. These young women may still be alive. If we mess up, we could cause their deaths.’
I said I understood. Already I’d picked up on the formality in George’s manner.
‘We can’t give you access to any of our investigation on any persons of interest. For your own sake, it’s probably better you sift through the facts anyway, a virgin. That way, you never know, you may find something we missed.’
Unwin interjected. ‘Of course that’s unlikely but if you did, you would bring that information to us before making it public.’
Time I put him in his place. ‘I will simply pass it on to my clients. You need to ask them for their cooperation but I have explained to them my absolute confidence in Inspector Tacich and his team.’ George, I reckoned, suffered this guy the way a bus-driver suffers piles.
‘Good.’ George pointed at the wall where the girls’ eight-by-ten photos had been placed. ‘This is what we can give you. Precise time lines of each of the girls on the day of their disappearance, also any common areas in their lives we have been able to establish.’
‘How about access to your tips?’
George looked to Unwin first before stonewalling me.
‘I’m sorry, that is confidential. As are interviews we may have done. We can only give you the raw data, mate, otherwise you are on your own.’
It was skinnier than a greyhound on Pritikin. It would save me a couple of weeks, sure, but it left a monster slab to chip away at.
‘What about criminal records of abductions and sex crimes going back say three years, solved and unsolved?’
Unwin threw to George who ignored him. ‘We can do that. What else?’
‘You interviewed a lot of taxi drivers, other people in the area at the time …’
‘Sorry, Snow, we’d like to help but it’s a legal minefield. You will have access to any witness statements concerning the time of disappearance: what they saw, didn’t see, so forth. That’s not bad. Anything else?’
‘If I want to look into anybody, can you help on any criminal record?’
Unwin seized the cudgel. ‘Absolutely not. You’ll have to pursue other avenues.’
‘You can hand us the information, we’ll take it from there,’ said George, softening the blow.
I felt all eyes on me, sensed their resentment. I was yesterday’s man and I had no right to sneak in and plunder their hard work looking for some flaw that would trip them up.
I wasn’t done yet though. ‘The O’Gradys feel like there has been no progress. Can you tell me if there are any strong leads you are following?’
Again Unwin and George exchanged glances.
George said, ‘Snowy, you know what it’s like. Sometimes eliminating a lead can be progress, it might not look like it from outside but we can concentrate our focus.’
‘So, no, you don’t have any real leads.’
Collins looked like he wanted to strap me into one of those carnival whirly rides, put the speed up full and then just walk away leaving me screaming. Unwin spoke.
‘Inspector Tacich has been most gracious to you, Mr Lane. The O’Gradys should know everything possible is being done. We have the largest investigative team ever assembled in the state working on this around the clock.’
I told him I appreciated that but on behalf of my clients I was obliged to try and get as clear a picture as possible.
‘What about staff at The Sheaf and Autostrada? You must have investigated them thoroughly?’
George said, ‘We’ve checked and rechecked. All staff who were working on the nights in question, all staff who weren’t on duty those nights and every former staff member we could find going back two years. We didn’t find anything to give us grounds to suspect any of them. Now, I’m sorry, Snowy, but we have to keep moving. If you come up with anything, rest assured we’ll treat it very seriously.’
The kiss-off. ‘Right. Thank you.’ I stood.
Unwin said, ‘We would appreciate you explaining to the O’Gradys how we have given as much assistance as we possibly can.’
I looked him in the eye. ‘I’ll give them an accurate report, Michael.’
‘I’ll see Snowy out.’
George opened the door for me. I followed him back through the main room to the lifts. As we reached the elevator he whispered, ‘The zoo, quarter to five.’
I shook his hand. ‘I’m partial to the polar bears.’
He nodded that he understood and walked back to his team. I felt their eyes on my back all the way until the steel door of the lift closed them off.
It had been many years since I’d wandered around the zoo and I’d forgotten how calming it could be. This time of day it was near deserted. A few mothers pushed toddlers around, one or two Asian tourists took snaps of peacocks strutting by but, all in all, you’d find more action at a wharf on Labour Day. I was already looking forward to another year from now when it would be opportune to bring Grace through. That led me to thinking about Caitlin O’Grady. No doubt her parents would have held her little hand and walked her past the exotic lions and tigers, the penguins, the hyena compound. I felt angry about what had happened. And impotent. George Tacich and his task force had got nowhere; who did I think I was to do any better? I’d arrived early but try as I might I couldn’t find the polar bears. As a kid I’d always been fascinated looking down the concrete walls into the green water pool on those hot January days where the big white bears would swim backwards before lumbering out into their dark concrete cave. Ten minutes walking, I was back where I’d started. The Freo Doctor was blowing strong now, leaves were rustling. George would be here soon. I spied a keeper exiting the crocodile compound and asked her where I might find the polar bears.
‘Try the Arctic Circle. The last bear we had died around twenty years ago.’
I couldn’t believe it. I suppose in these days of enlightenment it was felt that it was too cruel to keep polar bears in this climate. Or maybe there just weren’t enough of them. Sure there were big cats on offer here but nothing beats a bear. I checked my watch: right on 4.45. Hopefully George was running late. I sprinted back to the entrance, my quads protesting. Apart from my lazy swims, the last exercise they’d tasted had been indoor cricket going back three or four months. After the polar bears I was rapidly losing confidence in whether I still had any viable place on the planet. George’s arrival ripped me out of my funk.
‘No polar bears,’ I explained.
‘No polar bears?’ He was as surprised as me.
‘Not for twenty years.’
I remembered that in the early ’70s a young man who was either on drugs or having some psychotic episode had jumped into the pit and been torn to shreds by the two bears. I supposed my disappointment might not be universal. George and I started walking away from the entrance. The zoo closed at 5.00 pm and what few people were still there were coming in the opposite direction.
‘They’ll give us about fifteen minutes before they shoo us out,’ he said.
If he wanted to be away from prying eyes it would be hard to think of a better place.
‘Sorry about earlier. I didn’t know how else to play it,’ he said. The smell of guinea pigs overpowered frangipani as we turned up one of the avenues.
‘I was hoping that was it.’
‘My guess is I haven’t got much longer on the task force. We’ve turned up nothing concrete. There’s a new commissioner, Cosgrove, Pom, and he’s going to want a head. That will be mine.’
George was a good solid cop but I didn’t dispute his reading of the tea-leaves.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I’ll be okay. They’re talking a superintendent job for me. Might be Kalgoorlie but it’ll work out. Don’t expect any help once I’m out. Unwin’s there to save the Minister’s arse but you probably guessed tha
t.’
I told him I had.
‘DS Collins didn’t go me much.’
‘Thick as. Workhorse, no analysis. Most of the others are in the same category. Well, not thick like Collins, just inclined to stay in the box instead of looking outside. Sutton, the pretty brunette, she’s good, especially from the girls’ angle. Piper’s a young bloke we picked up from Fraud who has smarts. Truth is, Snow, I haven’t managed to get us closer, so it’s probably for the best. But I hate it. I want this bastard.’ He stopped, looked around. Nobody else was in sight. ‘You got a computer?’
‘Yeah. When it freezes, I turn it off and back on. If that doesn’t work I’m fucked till Natasha can help.’
‘The advantage of younger staff.’ He reached under his jacket, pulled out a manila envelope and pressed it on me. ‘Floppy disks. They’ve got all the relevant stuff: all the persons of interest, criminal records, basically everything that’s not complete chaff.’
‘They could sack you. Take your pension.’
‘You’re not gonna tell them. Just be careful. I want to help those families but you can’t let them know about this.’
I promised complete discretion. A call came over the PA saying the zoo was closing in five minutes and would anybody still in the grounds make their way to the exit.
‘What do you think, George, in your gut?’
He sighed, pushed out his bottom lip. ‘I believe we’re up against somebody very efficient. I think they’re dead. All of them. I hope I’m wrong.’
‘Somebody they know?’
‘I think so. You know the area?’
‘Checked it daytime.’
‘Very open except for those laneways, a lot of pedestrian traffic, vehicles cruising slow looking for parks. I mean, Emily Virtue, okay, nobody knows there’s an abductor out there, so maybe she could be snatched. But after that, people are aware. After Caitlin everybody was looking at everybody. Jessica was on high alert.’
‘Alcohol might dull their danger detection.’
‘True. But none of them had been drinking heavily. And from the week after Caitlin, I had undercover people, male and female, inside the venues and out. They didn’t see anybody who rang bells. We didn’t get reports from other girls saying somebody followed them. I had people in those carparks night after night taking number plates. Nothing stacked up.’
I heard what he was saying. If these were simple crimes of opportunity the perpetrator was going at a one hundred percent success rate.
‘So, more likely somebody they know or trust.’ I was drawing the inference he’d thrown out.
He shrugged, turned, heading back to the exit. ‘What you don’t know is what you don’t know. We found some cross-correlations, school, tennis club, friends. We also looked at all those shops nearby. Who lives there, who cleans, who has keys.’ He tapped the bag. ‘It’s in there. Hope you find something I missed.’
We both stopped instinctively a good hundred metres from the exit.
‘Good luck, Snow. I mean it.’ He slapped me on the back and headed out. I waited a moment, the weight of evidence in my hand.
Only time would tell if it was gold or sand. I took a last look at the zoo and thought about Caitlin once again. She’d been in a zoo of a different kind. Strutting peacocks, chirping birds, and somewhere in the shadows a predator who could sniff her out. I vaguely recalled a high tower here at the zoo where kids would queue to ride elephants. Or was it giraffes? No, surely had to be an elephant. Gone like the polar bear pit, a different time. We were more humane now. We cared for and protected animals so much better. It was our fellow humans who suffered our thirst for cruel entertainment.
CHAPTER 4
Grant Hackett was up against the great Kieren Perkins in the fifteen hundred metre freestyle final, an event that we Aussies considered our birthright. Susie O’Neill and Ian Thorpe had already won gold but as a nation we were nowhere near sated. Like the conquistadors of old we craved more gold. From time to time you hear about other ‘sport-loving’ countries. Really? I just laugh. Okay, maybe in Sydney where multinational millionaires suck crayfish off their fingers while staring across at the Opera House, the need for sporting glory is a softer pang, but that’s the only place in this wide brown land. Melbourne footy teams can pull more people to training in finals week than most English Premier League teams get to a match. Heather McKay pretty much never lost a squash game from the time of the first Queen Elizabeth till when the current one became a grandmother. For Babe Ruth to have been as dominant a player as Bradman, he would have had to hit around two hundred homers a year. The greatest tragedy in Australia wasn’t being born into poverty but into a family that followed North Sydney Bears or St Kilda. What I’m saying is, this was a big deal: two great Aussie swimmers and only one could win gold. Natasha settled in beside me on the sofa. The guys trooped out to their blocks. And suddenly I was hit with this thought: was he watching this too? Right now. In a family lounge room or a pub with beer flowing, or in an apartment reeking of unaired bedclothes and pizza. Of course I had no clue whether the abductions were the work of one or more people but one was easier to picture.
I’d been on the case a week now and every minute I felt further away from any end point. George Tacich had given me nine disks in all, each one crammed with information. There was one disk for each of the girls, every aspect of their lives broken down into headings and subheadings, just like I’d done for Caitlin. There was a disk which covered those who lived or worked in the main Claremont commercial block, a disk relating to all cases of sexual assault solved or unsolved going back eight years, a disk relating to tips – hundreds and hundreds of them – the good people of Perth suggesting everybody from star footballers to fictional TV characters. Two disks were dedicated to people who knew or were known to have come into contact with two or more of the girls. The last disk was the summary disk. The one that narrowed the focus to what they hoped would be manageable proportions and included all reliable witness statements. This was the disk with the critical time lines as well as the main persons of interest. The only thing I had not been afforded by George was direct interview transcripts. So what I had was extensive. That was the good part. But the task ahead made Hannibal’s Alps seem like sugar cubes. I felt exhausted before I started, and when I did start I felt overwhelmed. I had crammed the lives of all these people into a sack and been dragging it with me from dawn till the early hours. Tonight, for an hour, I got to place it on the floor and snuggle into Natasha.
Hackett jumped out early and we waited for Perkins to apply pressure. It never happened. Thirty laps of the pool, Grant Hackett wrote his name in history, Perkins the bridesmaid. Natasha had made us a stir-fry. I gobbled it down.
‘You’re not going to call ahead?’
The way she asked made it sound like it was stupid not to.
‘No.’
‘They’re all going to think you’re the guy. You’ll creep people out.’
‘An old guy like me at Autostrada.’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s why I want you to come.’
‘An old guy with a mother reeking of breast milk?’
‘It would be an improvement.’
She’d tried to get her mother to mind Grace but it was Sue’s bootscooting night.
‘What are you hoping to find?’ She scooped up my empty plate before I could think of seconds.
‘I have no idea. I just want to see the place, get the feel.’
The doormen at The Sheaf looked me up and down. I was wearing my best sports coat, Country Road slacks and a decent shirt. A year earlier when business was booming they would have advised me to look elsewhere. Eventually the tall Tongan nodded and I stepped into the pub, a classic old-timer with a ’90s makeover, the pub I mean, though the description was as apt for me. It was still quite crowded, most eighteen to twenty-five, a dozen up to early thirties. My only peers were a couple of well-dressed guys and their wives who’d been to dinner or a show and popped in to make u
se of the babysitter’s last half-hour. In this main room a female DJ was pumping out poppy music. I had no idea whether it was current. The last stuff I’d listened to in this mode was Bananarama. I liked them. They had a sense of humour. A lot of people were dancing, an ecstasy and water crowd, I guessed. I ordered a Heineken off a barman. Early thirties, he might just remember vinyl.
‘Wasn’t there a band here?’ I had to shout.
‘Thursdays and Sunday Sessions. Used to have a band early on Saturday but not any more.’
I sipped, felt eyes on me. I drank half my beer, checking out the place. The abductor couldn’t be drunk and gesturing like this young guy fresh out of private school I was looking at right now. Too much precision required. He might be talking with mates but not really engaged, all the time watching. I caught a young woman looking at me from the side of the room. The guy with her wasn’t quite right. Not western suburbs enough somehow, not relaxed like he was on his own turf. He had the clothes but this wasn’t his scene. My guess: George Tacich’s undercover crew. I took myself up the old wooden staircase, had to turn sideways as two young women squeezed back down. The phantom I was seeking might have done this, felt a little charge as the girls squeezed past, followed them with his eyes, told them in his mind he’d be arranging a little more one-on-one time later. The top floor was more of the same, music, dancing, a smaller bar. Darker though, easier for him to glide through and watch.
George Tacich and his task force had narrowed the field considerably. They’d examined the lives of all three young women across virtually the same areas I had split Caitlin’s life into: School, Church, Work/Uni, Entertainment and so on. They had also looked in detail through phone records of the girls and their families. The points where two of the girls intersected on something were many: Royal Perth Yacht Club, St Brigid’s Church, Highway One Motor Mechanics, and so on. Emily and Jessica had attended the same ballet school when in primary school, Emily and Caitlin had both at some point held holiday jobs at The Grove Shopping Centre in Cottesloe. Jessica and Caitlin had both spent holidays as younger women grooming horses at the Claremont Showground. Jessica and Emily both had pictures on their walls from the same picture framer in Mosman Park. The Scanlans and O’Gradys had once used the same reticulation firm. There were hundreds of these points of intersection. Fortunately the areas where all three of them intersected were much less, though still substantial. The one the press had focussed on was they had all at one time or another been students of St Therese’s, a high-end Catholic all-girl school, which had been a convent run by nuns until lay staff gradually took over in the 1970s. That they had once been students there should have led to some other lines of investigation, and indeed the obvious ones were covered – teachers, fellow students, non-academic school staff who were common to the girls. All the same, some things had been missed or at least weren’t covered in the summary. How did they get to school? Did they all catch the bus, were they dropped by parents, or did they ride or walk? This was the kind of detail I’d been noting as I combed the disks all week. If they all rode the same bus maybe some psycho rode the same bus, year in and out, to his job. As I had nowhere near enough resources I hoped the police had winnowed out the chaff, saving the good stuff for the summary disk. Here I was focussed on two simple areas: was there anybody who all the girls trusted sufficiently to get close?; and, what similarities had there been in the girls’ movements on the days they disappeared?
