by Alex Focus
Chapter 9
Sydney - Friday: September 25.
I usually sleep like a log. Once I hit that bed, I'm out like a corpse. But that night, sleep eluded me, in spite of my tiredness. A lot of tossing and turning, blankets and sheets winding around my body in impossible ways, the pillows feeling like concrete, things bouncing around in my head, unpleasant things, memories of past cases all mixed up with the present - enough was enough.
"Fuck it! I've had enough." I shouted to no one and got up. I hit the shower and then drank the now cold coffee that Sergio had brought up earlier, lit up a smoke and returned to the harbour lights. As I sat, some of the twirling ideas in my head were coming down to roost. I might as well do something about them, I got up and I went online.
I used a number of search engines, some available to the public like Google and Yahoo, others that were strictly used by law enforcement personnel. Some hours later, I found what I had been looking for and many hazy veils lifted off. I was now pretty sure who the paedophile-killer was. I had no proof that would stand up in court, but that had never stopped me before, so I did not let that worry me now.
I signed off feeling good and bad at the same time. Life sucks in so many ways, and for some of us it sucks a lot more. So I went back to bed and was out like a light.
It only seemed a few minutes after my head had hit the pillow, the feather soft pillow, which my mobile barked at me. Bleary eyed, I picked it up, noticed that it said 5.14 am and that the caller I.D. said "Laserman", which meant that Steve was calling.
"Hey," I mumbled. "Don't you ever fuckin' sleep?"
"Hey, tell me about it," he said. "Listen ? Err ? where's your car?"
"You mean Doris?" I asked, snapping awake.
"Yeah, you have another? Where is it?" he asked.
"Downstairs, in her parking spot, as always," I said, getting edgy.
"You want to go and check?" he said.
"What's this about, Steve?" I asked.
"Just humour me. Go and check," he said impatiently.
I quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, barefoot and bare-chested I rushed down the stairs past the closed espresso caf? and found the small carport that I rented from a neighbour, who was now too old to drive. I had taken the mobile with me and when I got there, I said to Steve, "she's not here, Steve!" My tone was on the far side of desperate.
"Pick you up in five," He said and hung up. I tried calling him back but the bastard would not answer. Wearing the same jeans and now a T-shirt, moccasins with no socks I was waiting for him when he pulled up. Before I could say anything, he lifted up his hand, "no questions, just sit there, we don't have far to go," he said.
I was about to say something but decided to sulk in the corner instead, and looked at the scenery as it whizzed past us. We arrived at a park not far from where I live. The presence of two fire engines confirmed to me the extent of the bad news that I had coming. Steve showed his badge and we pulled up right next to the blackened skeleton of what had been the best-looking Eldorado in Australia.
I said nothing.
I did not get out of the car.
I stared straight ahead. I remembered how much Sonia had liked Doris. Her enthusiasm when she drove it for the first time. Now, finally, even this tenuous connection with her was gone.
Steve got out, talked to the fire chief on the scene, and then stepped back in the car.
"The chief says it was set alight using some type of Molotov cocktail, thrown in through the driver's window, which had been smashed ? I guess to steal it in the first place. I am sorry mate," he said.
"It's not over, then" I said in a monotone.
"It don't look like it," he said.
"I guess I knew it wasn't going to be over," I said.
"Yeah, me too," he said.
"As Raj would say: Si vis Pacem, Para bellum," I mumbled.
"Which means?" he asked.
"If you want Peace, prepare for War." I said numbly.
"Yes. We'll have to take the fat-lady with us to Melbourne, I guess, and explain to Tarasoff what the word 'over' means in Australian," he said, nodding.
"Looks like it," I agreed.
"We are booked on the two pm flight," he informed me.
"Good," I said. "That gives me a few hours to tie up a couple of loose ends."
"Do you want to meet at the airport or will I pick you up?" he asked.
"I'll meet you there," I said.
"Sure thing," he said. Then, we drove off.
I did not look back.
That blackened skeleton was not Doris; it was just a pile of rusty metal, soot, nuts and bolts. It now meant nothing to me. So I told myself.
Steve dropped me back home; I went up and fell into bed again. I did not wake up until the alarm sounded at ten am.
I rang down to Sergio's and asked for two short blacks. I showered and dressed. When I came out, the breakfast was waiting for me. I phoned for a taxi and got the driver to drop me off at the Hertz dealership.
I had prepared myself to rent any old thing from the rental company. When I got there, I noticed that a nice black Mustang was available, so I said, "Why not? It's not my fuckin money!" Then I used the money I had taken from those two goons to pay for it.
It was a very comfortable car and the V8 had a nice muffled heartbeat, but it wasn't Doris. I took it for a slow drive to Lidia's house. It gave me time to think, to figure out how I was going to do what I must do.
When I arrived at Lidia's house, I slowed to a stop at the gate. Joe was slow in coming to greet me as he did not recognise the vehicle, but when he saw me, he did an exaggerated double take and opened the gate for me. "Nice ride, Louie, but I liked the other one better," he said, shaking his head imitating a fine wine connoisseur.
"Me too, Joe, but some arsehole torched my Doris this morning. Now I am stuck on rented wheels," I explained, still not believing it.
"Are you shittin' me? But ? that's a fuckin' sin! I hope you find the prick that done it and break his fuckin' legs!" He exclaimed, outraged.
"You can take that one to the bank, Joe," I said.
"Good on ya, bury the cunt!" He agreed enthusiastically. With disappointment painted on his face, on my behalf he added, "Sorry to tell ya, Louie, but Mrs. Harrison is not here. She is spending a few days with a friend." He winked at me. "But, Henry is here," he finished, trying to be helpful
"Thanks Joe, I guess I'll go and have a chat with him. Where will I find him, do you know?" I asked.
"He has a little flat above the garages. I guess he'll be there, taking it easy with the boss away," and he winked at me again.
"Thanks," I said, winking back not really sure what we were winking about.
"Sure thing Louie and I'm real sorry about your loss, mate," he said, in a sincere mournful tone.
"Thanks Joe, I appreciate it," I answered, saluting him loosely as I drove past.
The bank of four garages was detached from the main house by a small garden in full bloom. On the other side of the garages, there was a small carport where Henry parked his own car. I parked the Mustang alongside his burgundy Toyota Camry. A short flight of stairs lead from the carport to the unit upstairs. I knocked once when I got to his front door.
He opened the door almost immediately, but was startled to find me there, visiting.
"? Hi," he said, a bit awkwardly. I was not sure if his initial hesitation was because he was very casually dressed in a white singlet, shorts, and bare feet, or because I had caught him at an inopportune moment.
"Hey, Henry," I said. "Sorry to border you, I thought we might have a chat."
"Sure, Louie, come in. What happened to your nice car? In for a tune-up?" He asked, looking below at the black Mustang, parked next to his own car.
"I wish, Henry ? Nah, no tune-up is going to help her now. Some arsehole torched it this morning," I said.
"Shit! I am very sorry to hear that. Know who did it?" he asked.
"Not yet, but when I do, I will
introduce him to his Maker," I said.
"Amen," he answered, nodding.
He led the way to a, sort of, family room with an attached kitchenette. It was not unlike my own flat, but bigger and without a view. I could see two doorways on the far wall. From the small portion of tile floor showing, one was obviously the bathroom. The door to the other room was closed, but I guessed it would have to be the bedroom. The family room was extremely neat; as expected from an ex-soldier, its d?cor was this side of Spartan. He directed me to one of the four leather armchairs and headed off toward the small kitchenette.
"Beer or coffee?' he asked.
"A beer would be nice, thanks," I said, sitting myself down.
I noticed that there was no television in the room, but there was an Apple computer with a huge screen. I recognised it as a Mac Pro. I had drooled over one not long ago. It was a serious computer.
He came back with a stubby of my favourite beer, a Carlton Draught. I signalled my thanks and took a long pull at the bottle. It was still early in the morning, but seeing Doris all burnt to rust had left me with a very dry throat.
"Very nice," I said to him, nodding toward the Apple Mac.
"The best," he agreed, smiling.
"You're into computers then?" I asked.
"Yep, I was with a branch of the military that focuses on protecting us from digital attacks. That was before I volunteered for some fieldwork disarming the millions of land mines overseas. I guess I had to be better than most hackers," he explained. "So, how is the investigation coming along?" He asked, diverting the conversation away from himself. He sat down on the armchair opposite mine, leaving his own beer untouched.
"Well, I think it's coming along fine," I answered. "Matter of fact, I'd like to use you as a sounding board ? if you have the time." I added, taking another drink.
"Sure, Lidia is away for a couple of days and I have nothing to do," he said. I paused for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts.
"It starts with a young guy, who volunteers to defend his Country by joining the Army. He trains hard and becomes very proficient at his job. He quickly advances to sergeant and eventually he goes overseas to help clear minefields. It is a dangerous job, but he is brave and capable. And he knows that his work will save lives. He leaves behind a young wife and his young son." I paused for another drink. I noticed that I have his full attention.
I moved forward in my chair, elbows on my knees. He continued to appear relaxed, but I see his hands gripping the sides of his chair with considerable force, knuckles white from the tension.
"While this brave young man is overseas, his young wife has an affair with another man. This man is rich and can give her many things. One of these things is a brand new sports car. Of course, our young and brave soldier knows nothing of this. The letters from home are becoming less frequent, but he blames himself for leaving his young wife behind." I stopped to catch my breath. I spied an ashtray on the coffee table, took out a smoke and lit it. Henry was a statue, body as tense as a string on a violin.
"And then," I continued. "Three very bad things happen almost simultaneously. Very, very bad things; our brave soldier has an accident with one of the mines. He is taken to hospital, and ends up spending the best part of six months recovering from his injuries and the many operations that followed them." I could see that Henry was ready to jump up and do something stupid. Surely he knew where I was going and he didn't like it one bit. As if to reach for another smoke, I took out my gun and placed it carefully on the table, within easy reach. I picked up my drink and have another long pull at it, not taking my eyes off him for a second.
"Relax, Henry ? Hear me out," I said to him in an even tone, with no threat or warning in it. I figured that the gun was doing that for me.
He forced himself to relax and finally picked up his own drink and took a long, long suck at it. It worked. The tension in his body visibly diminished.
"The second very bad thing that happens is that his young wife has a fatal accident in her nice, new sports car. This leaves his young son in the hands of her boyfriend. And now the really worse thing happens ? the boyfriend turns out to be part of a paedophile ring." I could see that the tension was back in his body and he looked ready to jump at any moment. I held out my hand. "Relax, Henry and listen!" I said to him in a tone that was no longer friendly. It was an order. He understood orders.
"What would I have done, had I been in our brave young man's shoes?" I paused, staring straight into his eyes. "? Exactly what he set out to do."
His face was as pale as a sheet. For a moment, I was certain that he was going to attack me and run for it. Just in that instant, a funny thing happened: he studied me a little longer and nods. He did not bother with denials, I liked that about him.
"What are you going to do about it?" He was neither apologetic, nor arrogant, just flat. Emotionless. His eyes were cold, blue slits.
"Me? I am not going to do anything. But you are going to stop, Henry," I said.
"I haven't finished yet," he stated with a fierce force in his voice, his eyes suddenly wild, and his lips bloodless. Was there a touch of madness?
"I think six lives or is it seven by now? In exchange for one is pretty close to being even, Henry. I cannot begin to understand how bad it has been for you. Your only son, your young wife, the pain of your injuries ? those ? animals. But you need to stop," I paused to check that he was still listening, and that he hasn't dropped out into fairyland. But his eyes were fixed on me, absorbing every word.
"Look Henry, I found out and so will the police. I guarantee it. I am surprised that Steve Lucas is not here already. You need to stop. Steve is a good cop, and he is more interested in justice than the actual letter of the law," I said.
He did not say anything. But his internal turmoil must have been staggering. Slowly, tears formed in his eyes, he did not wipe them away. "I don't think I can stop, it hurts too much, Louie. It's eating me up like a cancer. It's like having a knife in your chest and someone keeps twisting it," he paused for breath. "I found him you know, my little man, my beautiful boy ? after they had ? finished with him. He is still in a mental clinic. Seven years old Louie, seven fucking years old ? and he is locked up in a fucking mental institution." His words were like knives, and I could see them cutting him up as he spoke. "I don't think I can stop. I don't think I want to stop," he finished, convinced.
I looked at him; I looked straight into his eyes. Then, I stood up and walked towards him. I sat on my haunches directly in front of him and put my face real close to his. I kept my tone even, but intense.
"You can, Henry. You can and you MUST stop, Henry. Think about it, man! For fuck sake THINK! You are that little boy's father; he needs you now more than ever. You go on and you will be arrested; you will be abandoning him again. Are you going to do that to him, AGAIN?" I accused. I can see my words hit him, like bullets to the heart. He reeled back, as if I'd actually, physically hit him. But I grabbed hold of him by the shoulders; he was not going to move away, he was not going to shrink from my words. I allowed them sink for a few seconds, and then I pressed on the attack. "You need to stop being a selfish prick, Henry. Stop satisfying your own needs for revenge, your own need to ease your guilt. It's all about YOU, don't you see?" I paused, but I did not let him answer my question. "Now, you need to think of HIM and only him. You understand me? What the fuck is going to happen to him if you go in jail? Tell me that? Who is going to look after your little boy? A bunch of doctors? Nurses? Who is going to give him what he needs most? Love and patience. You go to jail, Henry, and he is in there for life, and he will be fucked for life and YOU, Henry, will have done it to him, you only, Henry, YOU! " I shouted the last words at him as if he were deaf.
I was sure he was going to hit me, but I did not flinch. The moment stretched for a hundred years. He jumped up, away from me as if I was scalding hot. I saw his tightly bunched fists come up. But I pressed on, standing up with him, chasing after him, invading his space once mo
re.
"Think of Frankie, Henry" I said, looking at him. "Think of your little boy, all alone, no mother, no father ? Think of Frankie," I stopped, I was done.
Suddenly, it was as if all the tension escaped his body like air out of a balloon, his tendons and muscles turned to jelly. He collapsed back on his chair, his face was in his hands, and his head was shaking.
"Oh Jesus! What have I done?" he asked himself in a disbelieving tone, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. It was worse than a nightmare, because it had all been real, too real. He stared down at his scarred feet. Big, fat tear drops splashed onto his toes, exploding in hundreds of tiny droplets. His whole body shook, as if he was suffering from a bout of malaria. A low moan came from him, a moan of despair, born of guilt, born of remorse, but mostly, born of love.
Nothing was said by either one of us for a long time, I just listened to his moan as it slowly fades. Finally, he looked up, his bloodless lips, trembling. His face was streaked by tears, but somehow he looked better, as though the terrible pain that had been crushing him was removed, amputated.
"Frankie is the most important thing in the world to me, Louie," he said, his voice a croaky whisper. "Oh fuck, fuck ? FUCK! What an idiot I have been! What a fucking fuck up for a father. Shit, I haven't been thinking straight for so long, that it got to be a habit, I couldn't tell the difference. Selfish, useless cunt!" he said, shaking his head from side to side.
"Go pack, Henry and go to your little boy right now," I said to him.
He looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "But the police ? you said ?" He stammered.
"Go pack, Henry. Leave the police to me. Do it now." I said. He got up and looked at me, hesitated, but the gratitude, the hope in his eyes was my reward.
"Louie, thanks for this chance. Thanks, thanks so much. I think you have saved my life, no, both our lives. I really mean it, thank you, Mate. Listen, the list with the rest of the men on it is on my computer in a file called 'spiders' ? and ?" He extended his hand. We shook and stared into each other's eyes; the energy flowing through that simple contact was like plugging into a power point. Had we been chicks, right about then, we might've hugged each other, and had a good, consoling, cry. Real men are not that smart.
He disappeared into the small bedroom adjacent to the living area and started throwing stuff into army style sacks. I put my gun back into its holster and followed him as far as the doorway. I watched him pack, and wondered what was taking Steve so long. Right then, the phone rang.
"Speak of the devil," I murmured to myself.
"Could you please get that for me, Louie?" Henry asked, still throwing stuff in the sacks, not even looking up, completely focused on getting to Frankie, his young, sick son. I walked back to the living room, feeling pretty good with myself. I picked up the cordless receiver.
"Henry?" Joe's voice asked from the earpiece.
"It's Louie, Joe. Henry can't come to the phone right now. Send Detective Lucas right up, will you, Joe?" I said.
"How the fuck did you know he was here?" he asked, amazed at my extra sensory deception.
"Magic, Joe, just plain magic," I said and hung up.
A few minutes later, I opened the door for Steve, just as he was about to knock, his clenched fist suspended in the air.
"You're late," I said, barring his entrance.
"I should've known you'd be here before me, shit I hate that!" Steve said with mock disappointment.
"Just a few minutes," I reassured him.
"Where is he?" Steve asked.
"He is gone," I lied. We could both hear Henry still busily packing. "You are definitely too late ? He has a sick little boy to look after."
"I know he has ? That's how I got here ? Medical records," he said. "I am not sure I can just let him walk out, Louie."
I gave Steve a playful pat on the shoulder. "Sure you can, Steve. In fact, you must. You punish him and you will punish the boy even more, he needs his father now. You know that, or you wouldn't have stalled twiddling your thumbs waiting for me to get here before you."
"I can't leave the case open, Louie, you know that. Mike or someone else on the task force will work on it. Eventually, if not sooner, they will come looking for him, just like we did," he stated the obvious.
"Not if we close the case, first," I said, playing the part he wanted me to play.
"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing full well what I mean, but wanting me to spell it out, because he had been waiting for it.
"We are going to get a list of some very bad men, Steve ? I am one hundred percent sure that one of them is the real killer," I said, a wry smile on my face.
"I am not sure I can ?" he started.
"I know you can't," I interrupted him. "But I can, and I will ? You just go away and wait for an anonymous phone call." I suggested.
He thought about it for a minute, as if he was really debating it. I knew that his mind had already been made up, even before he had left his crappy desk, back in Parramatta.
"Well, I guess ? Since he is not here ? I'm off. I'll see you at the airport, right?" he asked.
"You bet, mate," I said, smiling and patting his shoulder as I gently closed the door behind him. Henry came back to the lounge room, just as I turned around from the door.
"Who was that?" Henry asked, puzzled.
"Mormons," I said.
"Am I going to be arrested?" he asked, catching on.
"You just need to focus on Frankie, and leave the rest to me," I said and his relief was visible. "But, Henry ? I need that gun." He hesitated. "I need that gun, or this can't go away. And I need it now. I know that I am asking you to trust me completely ? but the gun is essential."
"Trust you? Shit, Louie with what you are doing for my boy and me, I trust you with my life, Mate ? I only hesitate because it's Lidia's gun, I don't want to get her into any trouble. She does not deserve it," he said.
"Don't worry, she will be OK, you have my word on it," I assured him. He nodded and without further hesitation, he reached inside his coat pocket, brought the gun out and handed it to me, butt end first.
It was a nice little gun, a Berretta 21 Bobcat, accurate up to about three metres. I knew a lot of cops that used them as back up pistols, because they only weigh about three hundred grams and will take both .22 and the slightly more punchier .25 cartridges. It was spotlessly clean, as I would have expected it to be, coming from an experienced soldier. I nodded and put it in my jean's back pocket.
"Go, I'll explain it all to Lidia," I said.
"Tell her the truth, I think she deserves that much," he said.
"Sure thing, Henry." I lied. "Now go and take care of Frankie ? take good care of both of you."
"Thank you, Louie ? If there is anything I can ever do to repay you or Steve, please don't hesitate. All the information you need to contact me is on that computer. Keep it, and the computer, it's yours. So long, Mate." Then he was gone, gone, gone. And me? I still felt pretty good with myself. I picked up the Mac Pro and took it to the car, feeling that I have not earned it yet. I had a few things to do before catching that plane. Driving back toward my flat, I didn't even think of Maria, well, not more than a couple of times anyway.
