The 13th Black Candle

by Bob Goodwin

  ‘It is indeed. Thank you, Johnson. Keep reading. Is that from your own library?’

  ‘Devlin’s flat. It was with some other books in the bedside locker. I went for another look around there this morning after chatting to the girls.’

  ‘Okay, so this was never noticed before on any of our visits?’

  ‘I don’t believe so, sir. Not that we were looking specifically at book titles. But it is the sort of thing that would stick in your mind if you saw it, and I think I would have remembered. Maybe it was planted there at the same time as Adrian Devlin’s dental records.’

  ‘Yes, Johnson,’ nodded Cochran. ‘Now you’re thinking.’

  ‘This is not a book you’ll find in your library. It has no barcode, no ISBN, and no publishing information.’

  * * *

  Cathy Johnson arranged some plates and lunch on the desk in the debriefing room. She had brought along a range of healthy options. The inspector grunted as he prepared something for himself from the selection.

  ‘Okay, Johnson, I’ll eat it. Give us a break.’ The inspector reluctantly bit into the filled pocket bread. Several alfalfa sprouts stuck out from one corner of his mouth as he chewed on the cottage cheese and salad. ‘Tastes like grass,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Healthy grass. Now make sure you eat it all so you won’t get hungry later,’ replied Johnson. Richard Dempsey gave a secretive thumbs up to Cathy. He was amazed at her dealings with the cantankerous character. It was something of a miracle. His surprised expression didn’t go unnoticed.

  ‘And you can shuddup before you say anything, Dempsey. I am trying to lose a little weight. Is that so bad?’ he snarled.

  The phone on the wall of the debriefing room rang.

  ‘Get that will you, Johnson?’ She smiled as she got up from the small desk at which the trio was sitting.

  ‘Johnson speaking.’

  ‘Schliemann here. I want to talk with Cochran.’

  ‘Hold on, Mr Schliemann.’ The inspector needed no invitation. He dragged himself to his feet and with a little difficulty, managed to swallow the mouthful of sprouts and tomato.

  ‘Schliemann, this is Cochran. Have you decided that you, or your newfound friends, might have something you want to tell us?’

  ‘Listen. This information has just come to hand. And you might like to look into it. Stacey rang earlier. He was in a hurry. It was just a short message asking me to check out one Doctor Goldsmith. Do you know him?’

  ‘His child was kidnapped recently.’

  ‘That’s right. I made a few enquires. Seems he was Alison Stacey’s obstetrician. He delivered Stacey’s child by caesarean section ten days early.’

  ‘And what’s so unusual about that?’

  ‘According to one of the nurses in the labour ward, Goldsmith’s claim of foetal distress as a reason for the operation was completely unfounded. She assures me that everything indicated mother and child were doing fine.’

  ‘And what does all that mean? Plenty of doctors induce births for their own convenience. Perhaps he had a game of golf on the due date?’

  ‘The ball’s in your court now, Cochran. You find out.’

  ‘Where’s Stacey?’

  ‘No idea. Good-bye.’

  ‘Hey. Schliemann. Hello?’ The inspector glared angrily at the receiver. ‘The bastard’s hung up on me.’

  John Cochran left Dempsey with instructions to find out what he could about Goldsmith, and to gather all the case notes on the kidnapping. He and Johnson would pay the doctor a visit. While there was no real evidence to indicate his involvement, it was clearly a coincidence worth checking out. If he was innocent, thought the inspector, there would be no harm done. If he had something to hide, then putting a little pressure to bear may force an error of judgement or perhaps put a slight hitch in any plans.

  * * *

  The magnificent modern-style home was towards the outskirts of Brisbane, at Bridgeman Downs. It needed to be; there was no way such a massive house would fit on a regular suburban block. The police vehicle proceeded through the open wrought-iron gates and stopped behind a late-model metallic-blue Volvo 760.

  There were several long garden beds now in full bloom with carnations, daisies, and assorted marigolds. The gardens extended from the front white brick fence, alongside the circular driveway, and down both side fences to within a metre of the front porch.

  Cochran ambled past the blue vehicle, taking enough time to have a brief look inside. Joined by Johnson, he continued to the porch. It was a spacious area, stylishly paved and sparsely furnished, with a high ceiling supported by four large white pillars.

  ‘As a child, Johnson, I always tried to find the end of the rainbow and that elusive pot of gold.’ Cochran nodded his head as he surveyed the dwelling. ‘After all these years, I finally know where to find it.’

  ‘Where? At a doctor’s residence?’ asked Cathy blankly.

  ‘No, Johnson. The man’s an obstetrician. Between a woman’s legs, that’s where the gold mine is.’

  ‘Give me a break!’

  ‘Hey, look at this place. It’s worth a bloody fortune!’

  The door opened before they had a chance to press the bell or continue their discussion. A middle-aged woman, wearing an apron, stood on the other side of the heavy security door that still separated them.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I hope so. I’m Inspector Cochran, and this is Constable Johnson. Would you be Melissa Goldsmith?’

  ‘No, I would not. I’m the housekeeper. Do you have some identification?’ she said bluntly. Cochran showed her. She unlocked and opened the next door. ‘I’ll see if Doctor Goldsmith can receive you now. Please wait.’ The woman disappeared.

  ‘You would have thought she’d invite us inside,’ said Johnson crossly. ‘After everything the department is doing looking for their child.’

  A tall, stout-chested man dressed in a dark suit approached the doorway. A pair of thick glasses rested on the end of his nose.

  ‘I’m Doctor Goldsmith. What seems to be the problem? Do you have news of my boy?’ He spoke quickly and with a polished English accent as he peered over the top of his glasses.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector John Cochran. I am sorry about your son. We are here concerning another matter that may be related to the kidnapping. Just a minute of your time, doctor. May we come in?’

  ‘You are not the investigating officer, are you?’

  ‘No, sir, but there is some — ’

  ‘No, you may not come in,’ interrupted Goldsmith coldly. ‘I’m busy, and about to depart on business. If it is true that you just want one minute that will be in order. If you require any longer you will need to arrange an appointment with my housemaid or my receptionist at the surgery.’

  ‘This is a very serious matter.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, Inspector, but I have already spoken to the police handling my son’s case. I suggest you do the same.’

  ‘As you’re very busy, doctor, perhaps we could talk with Mrs Goldsmith.’

  ‘My wife is under sedation and is not receiving visitors. She is improving, but this entire ordeal has had a most damaging effect on her health. I would suggest you return in a couple of days and try again. Would you please leave now?’ He placed his hand on the screen door.

  ‘Was Alison Stacey a patient of yours?’ Cochran took a step forward, blocking the security screen from closing.

  ‘She was a patient of mine. Very unfortunate, her accident.’

  ‘She was murdered, as was her son. It was no accident.’

  ‘I am very sorry about that, but it is of no concern of mine. Would you please step aside?’

  ‘Do you know anything about devil worship, black masses, or witchcraft?’

  ‘You are a very rude man, Sergeant. Leave now or be reported to the commissioner.’

  ‘It’s, Inspector, thank you. Inspector John Cochran. Bye for now. No doubt we’ll meet again.’ He moved clear of the screen door. Goldsmith pushed
it closed immediately, turned the lock and briskly walked away. The housekeeper appeared from behind the main door.

  ‘Good day to you both.’ She bowed her head politely. The main door closed.

  Chapter 31

  Lucy

  Although it had been several hours since the capricious Asian had gently cleaned and dressed his cut wrist, Simon’s arm still throbbed with pain. After a prolonged session of pleading to be spared any further drugs, he was not about to be requesting any analgesics. It was more good luck than good management that Kym seemed to believe that his accident had occurred trying to leave the room rather than return. It was a slight, but most welcome, change of fortune, thought Simon, and he hoped it was a sign that the dealer had at last opened a new deck.

  He lay stretched out on his bed, still clad in a skimpy pair of black underwear. While he would have much preferred to have been more suitably clothed, he had deliberately not made any further reference to his near nakedness. He concluded that while she was enjoying looking at him this way she was less likely to be doing anything more diabolical. He was mistaken.

  ‘Jesus!’ screamed Stacey in horror as Kym entered the room. ‘Please, no. Please!’

  ‘I would strongly recommend you remain absolutely quiet and perfectly still,’ said Kym calmly. The black snake stretched out from her hands and slowly wound its way through the metal struts at the end of the bed. ‘It’s a black tiger snake. If you look closely you’ll notice a beautiful, deep blue on the underside. I can see you have a question for me, Simon. The answer is yes. It is venomous. It possesses a potent neurotoxic venom. Be careful. Be very careful. Don’t startle her. Be still.’

  On first sighting of the unholy reptile, Simon had drawn his feet up to his buttocks and pushed his body as far back up the bed as it would go. He now remained motionless, more through fear than obedience to instructions. A lifeless pallor displaced the last remnants of colour in his face as the snake glided onto the mattress.

  Kym was ecstatic. She allowed her shiny blue silk bathrobe to fall open at the top and expose her neat, sallow breasts. One hand slid down her side, across the loosely tied sash, and then in towards her groin.

  The snake slipped silently between Simon’s legs and over his only clothing. Sweat oozed from his face. Kym kneaded the slippery material firmly into her crotch. The sinister pet paused on Stacey’s sternum, and after seeming to study his terrified face, proceeded over his shoulder. He felt the last of the smooth, cool skin against his body as its tail passed over his neck. His eyes swung quickly from one side to the other, trying desperately to see the creature without moving his head.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle,’ said Kym in a loud whisper.

  Totally preoccupied with his own survival, Simon had not noticed Kym’s antics until she spoke. He was instantly reminded of erotic dancers he had seen in Bangkok, and one in particular who also used a snake for stimulation. While it, too, disappeared at times, the audience always knew exactly where it had gone. Finally, the reptile came back into view. It skated past his left arm, across the mattress and onto the floor. Kym stepped forward and took hold of its tail with one hand. Her other hand slipped quickly up to its head. The one and a half metres of cold, black poison coiled itself around her arm.

  ‘Isn’t it just the cutest thing?’ she said complacently. Simon was now breathing deeply and unable to speak. The snake charmer raised her arm and caressed the animal with her cheek before finishing up with a string of kisses up to its head.

  ‘Aren’t you talking to me, Simon?’

  ‘Take it away,’ he panted.

  ‘You hear that, my pet? I don’t think he likes you.’

  ‘If you’ve finished your afterplay, I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone.’

  ‘Oh dear. Come on then. We’re not wanted here. How would you like a nice white mouse?’ Kym lifted the snake to her ear as if listening to it speak, then held it a few centimetres in front of her face. ‘A live one! Why, of course.’ She left the room.

  * * *

  It was thirty minutes later, when Simon’s pulse had returned to something near normal, when Kym returned.

  ‘Hello, Simon. Are you feeling better now? You were looking decidedly poorly before. I have such wonderful friends, don’t you think?’

  ‘No, I don’t think. Not at all. A black dog called Satan and a black snake. What’s its name? Devil I suppose?’

  ‘No, no. It’s a girl. Her name is Lucy. What else but Lucy for a girl and Lucifer for a boy.’

  ‘I knew it. You’re a very sick woman. You need help.’

  ‘Don’t condemn what you do not understand.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you can give me some education. Purely a verbal education of course,’ said Simon. He spoke almost casually. He knew his probe for further information was amateurish and transparent, but a probe nevertheless, and as such must be a trifle better than remaining putty in this woman’s hands.

  ‘Poor Simon,’ laughed Kym ‘I know you too well. You’re like an open book.’

  ‘Really.’ Simon looked away briefly before resuming eye contact. There was a glimmer of hope in her words. A hint of overconfidence. He had seen and heard it many times before. Perhaps his unaccomplished display wasn’t as bad as he had at first thought.

  ‘I’ll tell you something. Faith, loyalty, and absolute dedication to a cause are a rare combination to find in people these days. I have found them. Found them in myself and in others who follow the same mystical teachings of the 13th Black Candle. Teachings that give tremendous satisfaction in this life, and promises of great joy in the next. It’s all about power, pleasure, and fulfilment of the hidden desires that lay deep within us all. You and many others may think it’s sick or perverted; that’s because you live in a world of denial. A world devoid of the ultimate in human experience and achievement. It’s exhilarating, Simon. It’s orgasmic in every sense, believe me.’

  ‘You find murder so pleasurable. Women or children, it makes no difference to you. How can you believe such absolute crap? Pleasure and power. What sort of half-brained, feeble excuse is that for inflicting pain and suffering on other human beings?’

  ‘You want to find out as much as you can, don’t you? You’re thinking about escape and about exposing us all. That’s not going to happen. There’s too much planning gone into tomorrow night, and all possible contingencies have been allowed for, even the unlikely event of your escape. How would you get those cuffs off? You could, of course, try again to take the whole bed with you, or you could sever one hand and leave it behind just for me. I’d like that,’ she said happily. Her face lit up at the thought. She stuck out her tongue an unusually long way, flicked it about in the air and groaned with pleasure, as if she could almost taste the warm blood.

  ‘You know I used to do that as an adolescent,’ said Simon. ‘Standing in front of the mirror, trying to extend my tongue and perform oral gymnastics. I reckoned it would be a sure winner with the girls. But like you, all that happened was that I got a cold tongue and looked like the village idiot.’ The desired result was achieved. Kym stopped fantasising and glared coldly at Stacey.

  ‘Don’t provoke me. If you think I’m a little unsavoury now, you should see me when I’m angry. Anyway, what do you think would happen if you got out of here? Presuming Satan didn’t rip you to pieces first. The police? Yes, they’d love that. They’re looking for you now, and I think they’d be about ready to lock you up and throw away the key. You’re responsible for more than you think.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, Kym. I’m fully aware they suspect me for starting the fire, and they think I’m involved in Teddy Duncan’s murder. I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘Oh, Simon, I must disagree with you. You are stupid.’ Kym stood and headed for the door. ‘There’s a little something in my purse I’d like to share with you.’

  Stacey’s heart started to beat a little faster. What the hell was she going to produce this time? A funnel web spider called Nick? A scorpion called
Mephistopheles? She soon returned, apparently free from any devilish creatures. There was a photograph in her hand.

  ‘You’re a man with an interest in photography. This is only a Polaroid shot, but I think you’ll appreciate it.’ She flicked it through the air. It landed on Stacey’s chest. Tentatively he turned the print the right way up and brought it to his face.

  ‘Oh God!’ He tossed the picture away, leaned over the side of the bed and threw up.

  ‘What’s wrong? I really thought I got Eddy’s best side.’ She retrieved the photograph and looked at it more closely. ‘You’ve got a point. Not that much blood, really. Perhaps another knife wound might have helped. You do realise, Simon, that you’re suspected for his murder. More to the point, your fingerprints are all over the weapon, as well as his set of ward keys. You have been such a naughty boy, Simon Stacey. Tut, tut, tut.’

  Chapter 32

  Cherry Minx

  ‘Well c’mon, Candy. Is she the one?’

  ‘Why do Orientals look so much alike? No, I don’t think so.’ The woman’s brow wrinkled as she moved her face closer to the car window. ‘No, I’m sure that’s not her.’ She shook her head.

  Cochran waved to Dempsey, who thanked the young occupational therapist and returned to the police vehicle.

  ‘That’s it for the hospital. The last two on the list aren’t on duty today,’ said the detective as he hopped into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Take us to the hospital canteen, will you, Dempsey? You can shout me a jam doughnut and this morning’s paper. Then we can make a couple of home visits.’ With his eyebrows raised in mild surprise, the detective glanced briefly at the inspector.

  ‘Is that part of Johnson’s plan, sir?’ he said, unable to contain himself.

  ‘Don’t you start. Obviously you haven’t heard about the new filing system that’s being introduced shortly. I’m looking for volunteers.’