by Bob Goodwin
It was 3.00 p.m. Monday afternoon when Dempsey and Hogan returned to the station. Cochran immediately summoned the team, including Carter, to a meeting for an update on developments and consideration of new strategies.
‘Before we hear from the dynamic duo, I want you all to know that Briggs and I have had a long talk,’ said Cochran calmly. He paused momentarily and, as was his habit, leaned forward across the desk. ‘It has been decided that he will be helping Sergeant Carter for the rest of this investigation, unless for some good reason I determine otherwise. Now, if some of you inquisitive persons wish to know why I have made this decision, it involves searching without a warrant. You can ask Detective Briggs for the finer details. Is that in order, Briggs?’
‘Yes, sir,’ nodded Noel sheepishly.
‘Despite this morning’s problem, there are a couple of possible leads that need some careful follow-up. When I say careful, I mean careful. Any information or evidence gained through an illegal search cannot be relied upon to use in court. At the same time, I’m not prepared to ignore anything that may help us in this investigation. It’s your contribution, Briggs, you can share it with everyone,’ said Cochran with some regret. The detective went on to describe what he had seen in Madden’s office, with special emphasis on the gold bracelet, the two cheque butts, and the appointment with Alison. As he spoke he became more enthusiastic about his discoveries, and seemed to be showing little regard for his unorthodox method of information gathering.
‘I have made some enquires,’ he went on, ‘Charden Enterprises is a registered business under the names Charles Madden and Alison Stacey, supposedly providing management services. I wonder what sort of relationship these two really had. I think we should talk with Madden.’
‘You won’t be talking to anyone, Briggs. Let’s get that perfectly clear,’ said Cochran firmly. ‘I can’t help but get the impression that you seem to have already forgotten the quiet chat we had earlier.’
‘No, sir, I haven’t forgotten,’ replied the detective, brought back to reality by the inspector’s voice. ‘There’s just one more point to make,’ continued Briggs. ‘There’s a girl called Angela who works as a part-time personal trainer. I haven’t been able to establish if she is the same Angela who was seeing the elusive Adrian Devlin.’
‘Okay, there’s a job for you two, Dempsey and Hogan. See Madden, eat a bit of humble pie, apologise, and find out what you can. Now, listen up, all of you!’ barked Cochran. ‘We have located that old fella, George Hartley. He’s the bloke who started the sex club that Alison Stacey was involved with. And surprise, surprise, he’s in the psychiatric ward. In Ward 21, with Stacey. It would seem Stacey is remaining one step ahead of us. Hartley is off the planet, under sedation and in isolation, but we’re in regular contact with the hospital, and I have been informed that as soon as he comes round, we will be able to have a brief interview. In the meantime, we need to make more of an effort to find out what we can about this club. It may turn out to be another dead end, but I want more information, and I want it quick. Dempsey, what have you got for us?’
Detective Richard Dempsey flicked through his notebook. He was fanatical about recording every snippet of information.
‘Come on, Dempsey!’ ordered Cochran.
‘Yes, sir, I’ve got it here,’ said Dempsey. ‘We talked to everyone we can think of, but no one seems to know this person called Ralph mentioned in the suicide note; it’s as if he doesn’t exist. No joy either in finding out where Adrian Devlin is. As for enemies of the Stacey family, another blank really, apart from a passing comment by Donald Granger that one or two bookmakers didn’t like him, but that was a couple of years back.’
‘Okay Dempsey, you’ve told us what you didn’t find out. Now please tell us something you did.’
‘Stacey’s not normally a big beer drinker,’ continued Dempsey. ‘He has a reputation for throwing up after a few stubbies. He usually prefers scotch or red wine. It could have been his bottle that was forced down Duncan’s throat.’
‘Maybe. Anything else?’
‘A little more concerning that suicide note. Apparently, none of the furniture in the flat was ever Stacey’s, and while some is old and a little out of shape, none of it is broken; at least it wasn’t before we got stuck into it,’ quipped the detective, only managing to amuse himself. ‘The only things in the flat that belonged to Stacey were a couple of framed pictures.’ Cochran was still leaning over the desk, but was now staring at the ceiling. The room was in silence.
After a moment, Cochran slapped his hands together. ‘Bingo! Framed pictures, of course! Does anyone recall the picture on the inside of the bathroom wall? It depicted a chimpanzee with its head stuck in a toilet bowl, the caption below read, “Good-bye Cruel World”. Hogan, did you check out Devlin’s toilet?’
‘Yes, sir, I looked in the cistern.’
‘Well next time, Hogan, perhaps you’ll be a little more thorough. Who knows? It might be just the incentive you need to stop biting your fingernails. Ralph, that name from the suicide note exists, all right. Ralph is in fact the toilet bowl, and I’d like to bet that there’s something else in there, too, maybe that tape.’ Cathy Johnson looked perplexed and turned to Marshall.
‘I don’t get it, Dan,’ she whispered.
‘Ralph, vomit, throw up. It’s slang. You know, the sound you make with a good chuck — rrr…alff! It’s a reference to the toilet bowl, as is the picture of the chimp with its head in the dunny. And Good-bye Cruel World is also a suicide reference. It all fits. We should have seen it sooner.’
‘You mean my Think Lobby Wardrobe, Who’d Rape Garth wasn’t right?’ said Johnson, dropping her bottom lip in a half-hearted search for sympathy.
‘Sorry, Cath,’ laughed Marshall, as he patted her on the head.
‘Okay, let’s move!’ grunted Cochran sharply. ‘Johnson and Marshall, you come with me. Dempsey and Hogan, chase up Madden and talk to that Angela girl. I’m sure Madden will have her details. Carter, get on that telephone and call some of the local escort girls, see if they know anything about this sex club. I’m sure Briggs will be able to supply you with the phone numbers. And Briggs, remember I said telephone only; if there’s any visiting to be done, Hogan can do it when he gets back. C’mon, let’s go then, there’s no time to lose. I’ve called off the bloody watch on Devlin’s flat!’
* * *
Adrian Devlin’s bathroom was a typical one for most of the lower-priced flats in the area. The only architectural dilemma being how to squeeze all the basic facilities into the six-square-metre floor space. The shower was mounted over a square bath, the size of which would guarantee a close inspection of the bather’s knees. Cochran squatted down in front of the toilet bowl, placed one hand on the white plastic seat and lifted it up. The seat and lid fell to one side. Both holding brackets were broken.
‘Fixed up once and for all — that’s what Stacey said in his note, and this is what he meant,’ explained Cochran, holding up the toilet seat as if it was a prized personal possession. ‘Marshall, check that cistern again, will you? Dear Detective Johnson, can you answer a simple question for me?’
‘Well, I’ll try to, sir,’ replied Cathy hesitantly.
‘How many men do you think it would take to effectively search this flat?’
‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, sir. Three or four I guess.’
‘And how many men to give this bathroom a good going over?’
‘Time permitting, just one should do.’
‘Wrong, Johnson!’ barked Cochran gleefully. ‘The answer is none, because it’s not a man’s job, is it? Now stick your hand down this toilet bowl, and don’t forget to check under the rim.’
‘Sir!’ squawked Cathy in horror. ‘That’s not at all fair! After all I’m just new to this sort of thing. I think you should show me how it’s done. I personally prefer the rule, finders keepers.’ John Cochran closed his eyes and sighed.
‘Marshall, anything in that cistern?�
�� Detective Marshall lifted the ceramic lid, placed it on the shower floor, then peered inside.
‘Yes, but nothing that shouldn’t be here.’
‘Well, check in here then.’
‘Sorry, sir, I think Johnson was right. Besides, my hands are too big for the gloves provided,’ replied Marshall, trying hard to hold back a grin.
‘Okay, you two.’ The inspector pulled a latex glove from his pocket.
‘Now pay attention. There’s a lesson to be learned here. In the pursuit of evidence, no stone must be left unturned, and a detective inspector’s job is to occasionally lead by example. So be aware, that if my demonstration reveals nothing, it’s into the sewerage pipes for both of you.’ With that, Cochran plunged his gloved hand into the toilet water. His fingers reached up around the ‘S’ bend. He cringed as he felt the slimy surface. He probed his thick forearm further forwards.
‘There’s something in here. It’s firm and round,’ grunted the big man as he tried to grip the item. Dan, who had been trying hard to contain himself, erupted into laughter. ‘Shut up, Marshall, it’s not what you’re thinking. Ah, got it!’ Cochran pulled the object free, after a little difficulty negotiating it past the bend. He threw it down on the bathroom floor, sending droplets of water over Dan’s shoes. At first glance it looked like a rolled-up magazine wrapped in plastic. Marshall knelt, took a penknife from his pocket, and cut the single piece of string from the middle of the cylinder. The mystery item unrolled slightly, revealing a tied plastic bag. He sliced open the rough packaging and spilled the contents onto the floor. A name protruded from the top left-hand corner of the bent cardboard file: Devlin, A. R.
‘Devlin’s dental records!’ exclaimed Marshall. ‘I don’t believe it. What the hell are they doing here? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Give me that penknife,’ demanded Cochran abruptly. Dan passed it over, and the inspector’s arm once again disappeared into the bowl. He felt the strain in his lower back as he twisted himself awkwardly to get his hand at the best angle to use the penknife.
This time he found something smaller. He stood, holding something barely discernible between his fingers. ‘Now I ask you, who would put silicone gel on the inside of a perfectly good toilet bowl?’ Cochran’s two colleagues offered no immediate answer. ‘My guess is someone like Simon Stacey, in an effort to secure and hide something small. Perhaps something like a micro-cassette tape?’
‘Is there anything else in there?’ asked Johnson.
‘Yes, but as Marshall would say, nothing that shouldn’t be there. There’s no tape. Some bastard’s been here before us! Two questions; how did they know to look here? And who the hell was it?’
‘I don’t think it would be Devlin. He hasn’t shown up anywhere,’ said Johnson. ‘What about Madden? Stacey told us what a resourceful guy he is and how he knows all his friends’ details. He had the bracelet in his drawer and an appointment with Alison in his diary.’
‘Johnson, I like your thinking. Hopefully Dempsey and Hogan are catching up with him. I wouldn’t mind a chat with him myself.’
Chapter 17
Dinner is Served
It had been a frantic afternoon, but Charlie was sure the fruits of his labour would be well worth the trial of the shopping trolley derby. He’d left Bodytone early and scampered through numerous food stores, carefully selecting all the ingredients for the special evening meal. One by one Madden crossed them off the list he had thoughtfully prepared the previous night. He was like an excited adolescent nervously preparing for his first date.
It was seven thirty. Charlie had finished cleaning his teeth and gargling with breath freshener for the second time. The moment had finally arrived to light the dining room candles and select the music to suit the mood of the evening. He flicked through his extensive collection of LPs. Rejecting the large variety of contemporary music, he ultimately settled on a classical choice — Mendelssohn, beginning with the ‘Spring Song’. Madden smiled as he placed the record on the turntable and let the stylus hover in readiness above the first track. Wandering through the house, he checked each room once again, making a few final adjustments. He put down the toilet seat, fluffed up the pillows on the double bed, switched on the lava lamp, rearranged the cushions in the lounge, and polished some of the cutlery with a clean handkerchief. A last look in the kitchen and he could sit down and quietly await the beautiful brunette’s arrival.
The first course, a vegetable platter with a curry mayonnaise dip, was ready to serve. Charlie had selected the recipes and ingredients carefully. The meal needed to be distinctive and palatable, but at the same time not too heavy on the calories; Deborah would like that. He had decided on foil-baked snapper with a tossed salad for the main course, followed by a small serving of strawberry and mango cobbler for dessert. The Krug, a vintage French champagne he had specially ordered last Friday, would be like liquid gold, and the perfect prelude to the remainder of the evening. Leaving the kitchen, Madden glanced nervously at his watch: 7.45. Deborah was running late. He looked at the shimmering flames on the dining room table; the wax drops were slowly forming narrow pink stalactites down the sides of both candles. Once again on his feet, Charlie moved closer to the table, repositioned the serviettes and looking at his wrist: 7.48. Time was almost at a standstill; minutes seemed like hours.
‘Come on, Deb,’ cursed Madden anxiously, as he ventured again to the toilet. He freed himself from his new blue denim jeans and squirted an infinitesimal amount of clear urine into the bowl.
‘Listen, dribble dick, you must be as nervous as me. I expect you to do your duty tonight, stand and be counted. I’m told it’s not size that counts, so let’s hope that’s not just an urban myth to make us both feel better.’ The chiming of the doorbell interrupted Charlie’s private conversation. ‘It’s action stations, I’ll see you later!’
On his way through the lounge he released the stylus arm. A soft crackle of needle on vinyl preceded Mendelssohn. Madden cleared his throat and opened the door. His pounding heart sank to his boots as he looked at the wrinkled face of the old man from across the road.
‘What do you want?’ he said sharply.
‘Well, that’s a fine greeting for someone who came to extend the arm of friendship and hospitality,’ came the surprised reply.
‘Leo, mate, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I was expecting someone else.’
‘Your face is as long as a fiddle. It must be a woman.’ Leo peered around Charlie into the unit. ‘Candles. Nice table setting. Classical music. Shit, you are serious!’
‘Serious? Yes, seriously nervous. How stupid is that?’ Charlie looked apprehensively at the car lights slowly moving up the street. The vehicle pulled into his driveway. ‘That’s her car, she’s here!’
‘Well I’d better be going then. I was going to invite you over for a quiet drink, in consideration of you being on your own and all that, but this could be a bad time. Wow, she’s stunning. If she’s got a sister let me know.’
‘You couldn’t handle the pace. Go on, get out of here, Leo, you animal.’
‘See you tomorrow then.’ The old man winked, punched Madden gently on the shoulder and headed for home. His aged friend was right, Deborah looked dazzling. The black cropped bolero and rich, red velvet strapless dress highlighted her streamlined figure. Her long, dark hair was swept to one side, resting almost teasingly over her left breast. She sauntered up to her date, placed her hands on his shoulders, and pecked him softly on the cheek.
‘Hi, Charlie,’ whispered Deb, breathing into his ear. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. Are you ready for me?’
‘Jesus, Deb!’ exclaimed Madden.
‘I’m not embarrassing you, am I?’ said Deb, now kissing him on the neck. ‘I certainly don’t mean to. It’s just that…well, I’ve been so looking forward to spending some time alone with you.’ Charlie quickly glanced around, checking there were no witnesses to the conversation. Leo was still gawking from the other side of the st
reet.
‘I think we should go inside.’ Madden placed his arm around Deborah’s waist, anxious to get her behind closed doors. ‘We’ll be more comfortable talking in the dining room.’
‘Hmm…or panting in the bedroom,’ she replied.
‘Holy shit, you must be the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.’ The feeling in his jeans had stirred from slightly above dormant to maximum in only seconds. The door closed and Deborah pushed herself up against Charlie, forcing him two paces back up against the wall. Her groin writhed hard into his.
‘Wow!’ said Deb, glancing down at Madden’s groin. ‘It has been a while, hasn’t it?’ The back of Charlie’s head bumped loudly against the wall as Deb forced it back with the pressure of her mouth on his. She plunged her tongue deeply, then stopped suddenly and pulled back. She gazed eagerly into his eyes. ‘I’m hungry, Charlie. I want to eat.’
‘Ah, well, um…everything is ready,’ he said, momentarily confused.
‘Yes, it most definitely is.’ She dropped to her knees.
Right at that moment there was a loud rap on the door, followed by the words, ‘Mr Madden, this is the police!’
Chapter 18
Sweet Dreams
Simon joined the eight thirty queue for the Monday evening round of medication. He thought through another day in the locked psychiatric ward. Overall it had been a day of recovery and not discovery. And while he was pleased to have no further symptoms from the overdose of diazepam, it was disappointing that there was no clear indication as to who may know something about the murder of his family. At the moment, he felt he was relying more on intuition than anything else.
Everything in Ward 21 was structured to timeframes from the moment of being woken early to going to bed at night. The three meal breaks, morning tea, afternoon tea, and supper all ran like clockwork. Monday to Friday there was always a nine o’clock morning meeting for 45 minutes for all patients well enough to attend, and in the afternoon from one o’clock on some form of supervised physical activity. On top of all this, there were various appointments with psychiatrists, social workers, and others to slot in. Despite all this scheduling, Simon had been trying to talk to as many staff as he could with the thought of tracking down whoever may be the link to the 13th Black Candle. Some staff were forthcoming with some personal information about their off-work activities and others were not. Mike and Eddy gave him nothing at all.
