by Robert Sims
There was a feeling of inquisition, and Rita was suddenly aware of being the lowest-ranking officer in the room, not to mention the only woman.
Nash looked down at the report sheets spread in front of him, frowned, took off his glasses and waved them impatiently. ‘This case you’re working on - the blind prostitute - are you getting anywhere with it?’
‘We’re narrowing the field,’ answered Strickland carefully.
Nash’s gaze focused on him. ‘And what exactly does that mean?’
‘While we’re waiting for the DNA results, we’re getting through a lot of interviews, eliminating potential suspects. As you know, we’ve only got a vague description to go on. We’re also chasing what leads we’ve got - the car, T-shirt, bondage gear, and so on.’
Nash knew the sound of evasion when he heard it. ‘So would you say you’re making progress?’
Strickland hesitated, sensing a procedural pitfall in front of him.
‘It’s early days yet, but I’d say we are. The DNA should make all the difference.’
‘Let’s hope so. The longer this goes on, the longer we have the media on our backs. And that’s just the first cock-up in your investigation.’
Strickland swallowed hard and said nothing. He stood rebuked.
Nash was more than just a high-ranking officer, he was also an accomplished bureaucrat and an expert at internal politics. Assigning blame was part of his expertise. The cold-hearted stare over his steel-rimmed glasses had curtailed more than one career.
Nash turned his unsmiling gaze on Rita and said, ‘Which brings us to a cock-up of monumental proportions. What on earth possessed you to go barging in on Tony Kavella?’
‘I was following a lead,’ she said, puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what the problem is.’
Nash answered with a sigh of irritation. ‘The problem is that Kavella’s out of bounds. He has been for three months. Since his acquittal, in fact. That’s how long the Taskforce Nero surveillance operation has been in place.’
‘Surveillance?’
‘You’ve jeopardised that entire investigation. A huge amount of work and police hours could now be wasted. And worse still, if you’ve alerted Kavella, he may actually achieve what we’re trying to prevent.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Rita feebly.
‘He’s putting together an alliance of rival organisations on a scale we’ve never had to deal with before. A sophisticated partnership of criminal gangs - diversified through drug smuggling, distribution, counterfeiting, tax fraud, illegal immigration, money laundering, extortion. It’s an extremely clever move in the wake of Melbourne’s underground wars, given their high body count. And it poses a huge threat. Get the picture?’
Rita had a sudden feeling of nausea, realising she’d committed a career-wrecking blunder. She wanted to believe it wasn’t her fault
- that she wasn’t to blame because she’d been told nothing of the surveillance. But in her heart she knew she’d been too eager to go after Kavella again. Revenge had clouded her judgement.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could think to say. ‘I didn’t know about the operation.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Nash brutally. ‘It was on a need-to-know basis. But in any case there are procedures to follow before questioning a suspect. Professional discipline must always come before inspired guesswork.’
Like Strickland, she stood rebuked. But she knew that last comment - about guesswork - had a malicious undertone. It was personal, and she knew it. Nash set no store by criminal profiling and disapproved of her psychological training. To him it was a distraction and, more to the point, foreign to the process of real police work. In his opinion she was being indulged as a woman and pampered because of her academic background. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone in that view.
‘Did you check with your senior officer before you went barging in?’ he barked.
The question was loaded. Nash was giving Rita the chance to pass the blame onto Strickland, knowing that whichever way she answered it would be held against her. Fuck it, she thought. It was too late to undo the damage, so she might as well stand her ground.
Besides, she wasn’t prepared to grovel.
After an apologetic glance at Loftus she looked Nash in the eye and said, ‘It seemed like a good lead. I made my own judgement call.’
Nash threw his steel-rimmed glasses onto the desk in a gesture of disgust, but Rita continued, almost abrasive now. ‘If you’re worried about Kavella, you can relax. He has the same opinion of me as you.’
‘And what’s that?’ asked Nash.
‘That I deal in psycho-babble.’
‘So you don’t think he’s been alerted?’ he asked, his voice still harsh, but clearly more concerned with the continued viability of the operation.
‘Like you, he thinks I’m on a revenge mission.’
Proctor leant forward in his chair. ‘This is very important, Van Hassel. We haven’t been able to bug his office or do long-range eavesdropping. He’s got electronic defences in there, so he assumes he’s being watched. But did he give any hint of suspecting a major operation’s being mounted against him?’
‘Just the opposite. He’s more confident than ever.’
Proctor turned to Nash and said, ‘Maybe it’s not blown after all.’
‘I don’t like playing hunches,’ said Nash, then turned to Jack Loftus, who’d sat through the proceedings with a long-suffering look on his face. ‘What do you reckon, Jack?’
Loftus took his time answering, scratching his ear and shrugging.
‘She ought to know,’ he said at last. ‘She’s got a degree in it.’
Nash sat back, unconvinced. ‘I must say I’m in a quandary. Kavella will be seeking feedback on our reaction, possibly right now. If I discipline her, he’ll suspect we’re onto him. But if we let Sex Crimes focus on him, he’ll batten down the hatches and the surveillance operation will be a waste of time, money and resources.’
Proctor folded his arms. ‘Maybe there’s an alternative way to deal with this.’ He was a different species of cop to the others in the room. He was tall and patrician, with a steady gaze and an air of being permanently at ease. His professional detachment was legendary - no one had ever seen him flustered - and he tended to view crimes as intellectual puzzles. ‘Maybe we can turn Van Hassel’s headstrong behaviour to our advantage.’
Nash was doubtful. ‘What are you suggesting, Jim?’
‘That she’s not disciplined, and that her line of inquiry is officially ruled out, for all to hear, in Jack’s briefing this afternoon. That way Kavella gets the feedback we want.’
‘What feedback?’ Rita asked impatiently.
‘From the police detectives who are in Kavella’s pocket,’ Proctor explained.
An abrupt silence followed, as if he’d let slip unmentionable information.
Morale had already hit a new low with the disbanding of two squads at Melbourne police headquarters amid headlines such as rough justice and dirty rotten cops . The reputation for beatings and drug deals was thanks to overzealous interrogations and the jail sentences for detectives doing business with gangland figures.
The murky image of cops operating on both sides of the law in the city’s underworld wars was something no one wanted to revisit.
Nash sighed. ‘What are you doing, Jim? The more who know about your unit’s remit, the more it risks being compromised.’
‘Van Hassel’s now in the loop,’ Proctor replied. ‘So I’m suggesting we use her. Instead of spooking Kavella, she may be a way of forcing his hand.’
‘Wait just a minute,’ butted in Loftus. ‘I don’t want her used as a cat’s paw. Kavella’s far too dangerous.’
‘Calm down, Jack,’ said Proctor. ‘I’m talking disinformation, not provocation.’
‘But there’s history between them and he doesn’t need further reminding. We know he’s killed before to settle a score.’
Proctor ignored h
im and turned to Rita. ‘What exactly was the lead you were following today?’
‘A smartcard embossed with the name Plato’s Cave,’ she said, taking it from her pocket and handing it to him. ‘I spoke to the victim, Emma Schultz, again this morning. She said the attacker showed her the card and talked about cyber sex games. In light of her visit to the club, and Kavella’s track record in organising sexual sadism, I decided to question him.’
‘There’s clear logic there,’ conceded Proctor, turning the card over in his hand. ‘And Kavella’s response?’
‘He told me to stick it up my arse, but didn’t immediately deny the card was from his club.’
‘What’s it for, precisely?’ Proctor wanted to know.
Rita shrugged. ‘The crime lab can’t tell us, other than to say it’s some sort of super-smartcard. It’s heavily encrypted.’
Proctor sat back, rubbing his chin. ‘It’s quite possible you’ve stumbled onto something we’ve failed to pin down in three months’
work. We know he’s invested in a big hi-tech system housed next to his office. He bought the adjoining building from Victor Yang - it used to be a Chinese laundry. Then he reinforced and soundproofed the walls and, apart from fire escapes, sealed the exterior entrances, with access only from his premises. He got planning permission for office suites, but what he really uses it for, we don’t know.’
‘I saw a connecting door,’ put in Rita. ‘Steel-plated.’
‘Exactly. It’s his private fortress, and we can’t get into it with listening or tracking devices or phone taps. But you’ve managed to get close, and in his face at the same time. I think we can take it further.’
‘If you’re thinking of entrapment,’ Nash warned Proctor, ‘I refuse to sanction it.’
‘I’m thinking more of encouragement - spur him into action to give himself away. And for all we know, Van Hassel is right about Kavella’s involvement in the mutilation; he’s capable of it. Our separate investigations may have reached common ground.’
‘What sort of encouragement?’ asked Nash.
‘The Delos Club. She could drop the name in front of him, sometime in the near future, when their paths cross again.’
‘But we don’t know where or what the Delos Club is,’ pointed out Nash.
‘We know it’s pivotal,’ argued Proctor. ‘A secret meeting place, perhaps. We’ve got it on tape three times in conversations between Kavella and other gangland figures. If it’s a genuine club, it’s not listed as such. The word “Delos” pulls up about a million results on a web search, but other than learning the island of Delos was Apollo’s birthplace, we’re none the wiser. What about you, Van Hassel? Can you shed any light? You know how Kavella’s mind works better than most.’
‘He’s a psychopath,’ she answered. ‘He likes toying with people, including their heads. Symbols and emblems are what he’s into, and don’t forget he studied classics for a while - look at the name of his nightclub.’
‘I don’t want a profile,’ said Proctor. ‘I’m asking for ideas.’
She paused, before continuing. ‘The island of Delos was the headquarters of the Delian League in the fifth century bc when the Greek city-states united against the Persians. It became the basis of the Athenian Empire. I’d say the Delos Club is the code for the association he’s forming.’
‘My God, it fits,’ Proctor breathed. ‘He’s empire building.’ He faced both Nash and Loftus squarely. ‘And I think Van Hassel’s just proven her value to my op.’
‘That remains to be seen,’ said Nash, as he turned his cold gaze on her again. ‘And don’t forget, young woman, I’ve got you in my sights.’
‘Calm down, Van Hassel,’ said Loftus. He had asked Rita to accompany him back to his office. ‘They’re just following procedure.’
She paced up and down, swearing - a delayed reaction to the ticking off she’d received from Nash.
‘Procedure, my arse!’ she said. ‘You know as well as I do it’s only an excuse.’ She stopped pacing and stood at his window, looking at the city skyline. ‘What it’s really about is resentment. They won’t accept what I do.’
‘Give them time.’
‘Time for what?’
‘To get used to the idea of profiling.’
Rita shook her head in exasperation. ‘It’s like waiting for a new primate to evolve. I haven’t got the patience.’ She pulled a frond off his potted fern and began to shred it.
‘They’ll come around,’ Loftus said wearily. ‘But in the meantime patience is something you’re going to have to learn. For the sake of your career.’
‘Maybe it’s just the wrong career.’
‘There’s nothing wrong about it at all,’ he said, ‘if you’ll just leave the politics of the job to me. And perhaps you’ll listen to me the next time I warn you not to do something. That move on Kavella
- you did clear it beforehand with Strickland, didn’t you?’
‘He was under pressure at the time. He was just about to go into a press conference.’
‘So you let him off the hook instead of yourself ?’
‘What’s it matter? It’s an attitude I’m up against.’
Loftus sighed. ‘I admire you, but your sense of honour might be misplaced.’
She turned and looked at him sharply. ‘I always do what I think is right.’
‘That’s fine up to a point, but don’t add to the obstacles in your way. And you bloody well keep me informed if Proctor decides to enlist your services.’
She turned back to the window, plucked another frond from the plant. ‘Are you lecturing me, Jack?’
‘No, just giving you good advice,’ he said irritably. ‘And leave my fern alone.’
She huffed and folded her arms. ‘So what am I supposed to do?’
‘First of all, I want you to go and cool off.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You’ve got half an hour. Then I’m holding a fresh briefing in the squad room. Thanks to you and Strickland, this case has turned into a can of worms that’s now my personal responsibility.
Apart from anything else, I don’t want it going off the rails.’
As detectives gathered for the briefing, Rita pulled over a chair to sit next to Erin.
‘You look pissed off,’ said Erin. ‘Want to tell me about it?’
‘No,’ answered Rita. ‘I want you to deliver on your promise.’
‘What promise?’
‘Wine. Lots of it.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight. Jimmy Watson’s Bar. I’ll ask Lola to come as well.’ Lola was Rita’s best friend. ‘We’re overdue for a blow-out.’
‘I can do threesomes,’ agreed Erin. ‘I’ll have to check if the couch commander can look after Tristan, but it shouldn’t be a problem.’
The chatter in the room tapered off when Loftus entered and started adding items to the whiteboard. Rita could tell he was psyching himself up to deliver the briefing.
He cleared his throat and turned to face his detectives. He had a printout of Strickland’s crime report in one hand, a pen in the other. Behind him was a wall map of the city and a noticeboard with duty lists alongside a display of crime scene photos. ‘I’ve pulled some of you off other investigations for obvious reasons,’ he said.
‘The attack on the prostitute’s not only vicious, but thanks to the media it’s a high-profile case. However,’ he took a deep breath, ‘I don’t want that to distract you. There’s more likely to be a stuff-up if we go charging off in search of a quick bust. If you’ve got the impression people are breathing down your neck, ignore it. Any pressure for a result will be dealt with by me - personally - from now on. I’m talking internal and external pressure.’ He shot a look at Strickland. ‘Including the press.’
There were nods of appreciation. Loftus was generally admired by his squad members.
‘You may have got wind of another problem over one particular line of inquiry.’ The expression on his face was stern. ‘As far as I’m concerned it was a glitch th
at’s been resolved, and I want this investigation back on track.’
The officers shuffled and exchanged looks, wondering exactly what the glitch was. Rita shifted uncomfortably, then glanced around, trying to gauge if any of her colleagues knew what Loftus was referring to. If so, did they represent a pipeline to Kavella? Just the thought of more corrupt detectives in the building was depressing.
But as at any briefing, everyone was being careful and observant, trying to second-guess allusions. Some sat on chairs, arms folded, their faces wearing customary frowns. Others sat back casually on desktops, legs outstretched. Two or three sipped coffee from plastic cups, notebooks at the ready. Apart from an air of heaviness in the room, it could have been any other meeting in any other office.
Loftus dumped the crime report on top of the desk in front of him and waved his pen at them.
‘Now, although I’m overseeing the case, it will be run by Detective Senior Sergeant Strickland,’ he said, beckoning Strickland over.
‘He’ll bring you up to speed on the details and tell you what your assignments are.’
Strickland peeled himself away from the ranks of detectives and stood in front of them with a hard stare. As always, his presence commanded respect, at least among the men. The women were more ambivalent. As their senior officer they had to defer to his judgement - as the alpha male of the squad they had to tolerate him.
‘Even though the man we’re after is an anonymous client of the victim,’ he began, ‘and there’s only a rough description of his age and appearance, we’ve got a few other things to go on. First there’s his DNA. If we’re lucky and he’s on file, we’ll know once we get the results back from the lab. We’ve also got his prints, but no match so far.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘Next is his car. We haven’t got a number, or even a partial number, but we’ve got the make and model - a black Mazda MX-5. It’ll be slow and methodical work because there are so many of them and we’ve got no descriptive details to narrow the field. But we’ve been this way before, thanks to the Scalper case, so some of the groundwork’s already been done.
Even so, we’re going to have to continue tracking each one of them down, and if nothing else pans out it might end up as our best lead.
