Evil Under the Stars

by C. A. Larmer

  “You think he’ll let you?” asked Lynette, incredulous.

  “I was the first to attend the body. I did confirm her death.”

  Goodness me! thought Alicia. Anders just volunteered to help.

  She wondered if he even realised he’d just landed himself in the middle of the case, but his relaxed demeanour suggested otherwise. She nodded quickly lest he change his mind.

  “So what can we do to help?” asked Missy. “I want in on the action too!”

  “Ditto,” said Perry.

  “Er, it hasn’t even been a week yet, people,” said Claire. “A little too early for us to play Miss Marple isn’t it?”

  “Spoilsport,” spat Perry.

  “No, I think Claire’s right,” said Alicia, surprising herself along with Anders who was staring at her, amazed. She laughed. “Hey, I love a good mystery as much as the rest of you, but let’s just give Jackson a chance to do his job.”

  Perry looked sceptical. “Defending our boyfriend’s honour are we?”

  Protecting his relationship with Indira was closer to the truth, Alicia thought. Jackson hadn’t said as much, but remembering the chicken sandwich incident, she got the distinct impression she ought to keep her distance.

  “Let’s just be patient and let the detectives do their thing. But I promise to keep you all in the loop, okay?”

  They begrudgingly agreed, Claire and Anders looking relieved while Missy tried hard to mask her disappointment. She knew what Alicia was saying and respected her for that, but as far as she was concerned, if the case continued to stall, she would step up and start investigating whether the cops liked it or not.

  Miss Marple never shied away from poking her nose in where it wasn’t welcome, and nor would she.

  Chapter 19

  Liam Jackson was ready to snap. He’d been scanning security camera footage all day and, despite several promising leads, still couldn’t identify the two “perverts” who’d somehow vanished, let alone the sixtysomething with grey hair and a peppery black moustache. He glanced at his phone, wishing Mrs Joves would call. He needed the distraction.

  It was now Thursday afternoon, a good twenty-four hours since he’d asked Reverend Joves to pass on his number. He wondered what the woman was playing at.

  Why wouldn’t she call him straight back?

  What was the wife and mother hiding?

  “I thought Jarrod drew the short straw on that,” Indira said, breaking into Jackson’s thoughts as she stepped into the viewing room, a can of soft drink in hand.

  He yawned. “Yeah, he did the hard yards, but I wanted to see the final cut. I’m a witness after all, but damned if I can spot any of the buggers. I mean, I can see a few blokes clearly smoking near the exits, but any of them could be the guy Maz was sitting next to. As for the capped blokes…” He rubbed his scruffy hair, scruffing it up further. “Just not sure which if any are ours. None look up at the cameras, not one. What are the chances of that?”

  “Smart thinking or bad luck?”

  He shrugged and stared at his phone again. “Maybe I should work the Joves angle. Pay Ezekiel’s mum a visit? See why she hasn’t paid us the courtesy of getting in touch.”

  Indira shook her head firmly, a smile lighting up her face.

  “Leave that for now. I think we’ve got a break in the case.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah, baby.” She offered him the drink, but he declined, so she placed the can down and leaned against the table. “Okay, so I had another chat with the security guys. One of them was working the front exit and swears he can’t recall any older bloke with a dark moustache, smoking away. Doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. He just can’t recall.”

  “Maybe our moustached guy didn’t have a smoke. Maybe he just told Maz that, for whatever reason.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “Or maybe he used a different exit. I’ve just learned that the man we need to talk to is Guy Peters. He was on the side exit, the one on the eastern side, and that’s where most of the smokers congregated apparently, because it was close to the bar and it had a better view of the film from that angle and blah blah blah.”

  “Oh, so they could drink, puff and watch at the same time?’

  “Yep, your classic multitaskers.” She laughed. “Problem is Guy Peters has gone AWOL.”

  “You are freakin’ kidding me?” Not another missing person, surely?

  “Don’t get in a flap. He’s on actual leave. Took his family up the coast on Monday. I’ve had a quick word with him via mobile, and he’s very apologetic, says Constable Thompson took his full statement and gave him permission to go.”

  “What else did he say? Did he remember the moustached bloke?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It was a bloody scratchy line, but he says he might be able to help. Has offered to return. Will be back by the close of day. I can question him properly then.”

  “Let’s hope he’s got something to contribute, otherwise you’ve just ruined his family holiday.” Jackson blew a puff of air through his lips. “And the two mates, the ones in caps? What about them?”

  “They are slightly more elusive, but we may have a break there too.”

  Jackson sat up straight. “Seriously? That’s great news.”

  “I said ‘may’ so no need to high-five me yet.” She took another sip from the can. “We still can’t get a firm description from anyone. Those two guys are like ghosts who walk. It’s extraordinary. Loads of people remember them loitering, perving, but no one can tell me anything other than ‘two tattooed blokes in caps.’ It’s like the disguise you wear when you’re not wearing a disguise.”

  “Did you speak to the barmen as well? Surely they can give you more?”

  She held up one finger. “This is where it gets interesting. So Brandon’s no use to us, all thanks to Morrie, but I did have another word with his buddy Wally Walters, and he reckons he never served them.”

  “Must have. Those blokes were knocking back beers like there was no tomorrow, apparently, and no one remembers them having an esky, so they must have bought them there.”

  “Or brought them in with them.”

  He sat up even straighter, his interest piqued.

  “That’s the good news,” Indira said. “Luckily for us, Wally Walters knows his ale. I’m not sure he could pick the guys in a lineup, but he would definitely recognise the brew they were drinking. Says it wasn’t his. Says he noticed two men in caps sitting on the grass, not far from the bar. Says he only noticed them because they were knocking back some crafted brew in a longneck bottle.”

  “And?”

  “And they weren’t serving any crafted brew in longneck bottles at the bar that night. So they must have brought them in. He only remembers it because he was wondering why Brandon hadn’t insisted to the organisers that no one be allowed to BYO. Reckons the takings weren’t as big as they should’ve been, and he’s not getting the commission he was expecting, and whine, whine, groan, groan. Says Brandon couldn’t run an ice-making business in the Antarctic.”

  “Ouch,” Jackson said, and she laughed.

  “Anyway, bitching aside, that might help you narrow things down. Any of your becapped blokes holding anything that might resemble bottles as they entered?”

  He looked at her like she was mad. “You serious? Almost every single punter was carrying something in—picnic hampers, green bags, backpacks—the bottles could be in any of them. In any case, it doesn’t matter. Like I said, none look at the camera, no identifying marks. Waste of time. Although I suppose I could check the cameras from nearby bottle shops, that might help.”

  “Before you do, Wally has an idea.”

  “Really? Wally’s coming through with the goods today. Go on then, what else does he have to say?”

  “He would swear on a stack of bibles they were drinking a dodgy home brew called Chuckies or Chuck Up or something like that. The label’s got an illustration of a guy frothing at the mouth. He’s seen it before, but for the li
fe of him he can’t remember where. ”

  “Sounds like classy stuff.”

  “I know, right. But it helps narrow it down. I mean, how many bottle shops sell something that enticing? I’ve never even heard of it.”

  “Me neither. Okay leave it with me. I’ll check it out.”

  Another hour of trawling the phone books and contacting every bottle shop and hotel in the area, Jackson had two names: Chester’s Chuck and the Jolly Codger. The former was the name of the brew, and the latter, the only hotel in the area that sold it. Located in the less glamorous end of Rozelle, it was a dank establishment that was just a few streets and a million miles from upmarket Balmain.

  “You heading there now?” Indira asked when he dropped into her office later that day to pass on what he’d learned. “I’d come with you, but I’m waiting for Guy Peters to show.” She frowned. “If I remember right, that place is a bit of a dive. Let me know if they give you any trouble. Maybe Pauly can tag along to help.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine,” he replied, smiling smugly as he departed.

  He wasn’t about to tell Ms By-the-book, but he didn’t need Pauly, he was taking his secret weapon along.

  ********

  Jackson’s secret weapon tried to hide her disdain as she stepped out of the taxi and onto the cobbled road outside the Jolly Codger. Alicia had been warned to dress down, and she had done so, stripping out of her work gear into jeans and a flowing black top, but now she wanted to slash the knees of her jeans and add a bulletproof vest. The place before her looked like a bikie hang-out, and not just because there were several Harley Davidsons leaning out the front.

  It was a world away from picture-postcard Balmain.

  The front windows were all cringing behind thick security bars, and the paintwork was hanging on by its fingernails. As she peeked through a side door, she was slapped with a blast of death metal and the stench of fried onions and beer.

  Smashing fingers through her chunky blond hair, hoping to mess it up a bit, she then blotted most of her pink lip gloss onto the back of her hand before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

  Jackson was already waiting for her at the bar, nursing a schooner of ale and sharing a laugh with a middle-aged barmaid who was wearing a low-cut dress and a gummy smile. The smile slipped considerably as Alicia walked up.

  “Hey, you made it!” Jackson said. “Beer?”

  She nodded, adding, “Got anything bottled?”

  She had a feeling the barmaid was the spit-in-your-glass type.

  The older woman flicked her eyes towards the illuminated fridges behind her, and Alicia pointed to a standard brew. “Just a James Boag’s Draught, thanks.”

  After the barmaid did the exchange, Jackson indicated a far table and led the way.

  “Looks like you were making good ground there,” Alicia said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

  “Nah, she’s no use to me. Too old.” Then he heard himself and said, “Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant too old for our pervs. She can’t recall serving them. But! She has a daughter who also works the bar Saturday nights, so I have a hunch they’d have zeroed in on the younger barmaid. At least that’s the vibe I’m getting from you lot.”

  “Well, that’s the vibe they were giving out. So how do we find the daughter?”

  “Easy. She’s on her way down.” His eyes headed north. “They live above the bar.”

  “Very convenient. Until then?”

  “Let’s try to order something that doesn’t give us salmonella.”

  After placing orders for beer-battered fish and chips at the bar, they returned to their table just as a young woman entered the room from a set of internal steps.

  “The eagle has landed,” Jackson said, checking out her peroxide-blond pigtail and overly made-up face. She was wearing something equally as skimpy as her mother and glanced around irritably before catching her mother’s eye and then being nudged towards Jackson’s table.

  “Did you explain you’re a cop?” Alicia whispered.

  “Hence the scowl. Let me do all the talking, yes?”

  “Gladly.” She sat back.

  The young woman strolled over, clearly in no hurry to talk to a cop, even stopping to high-five a man at one of the tables before finally stepping across.

  “Mum says you wanna see me,” she said, her voice squeaky. “If this is about Tony, I don’t even wanna hear it.”

  “Tony?”

  Her eyes squinted. She folded her arms across her narrow chest. “What do you want?”

  “Do you mind having a seat, Casey? I just have a few questions. Won’t hold you too long, I promise.”

  She glanced around the room furtively, then did as instructed, pulling out the spare chair and dropping into it.

  “So your mum told you I’m from the homicide squad?”

  She shrugged, noncommittal.

  “We’re investigating the murder of a young woman at a park just near here, in Balmain, last Saturday night. Cinema Under the Stars. Know anything about that?”

  She shrugged again. “Some old flick was showing. Something for old farts. That’s all I know. But yeah, I heard some chick got attacked. What’s it to do with me?”

  “Nothing at all. I just want to ask about some patrons who came in here that night. We think they may be able to assist our enquiries.”

  “That’s code for ‘They’re up shit creek,’” she said, and Alicia had to stop herself from smiling.

  Ah, so young and yet so cynical.

  Jackson produced a grainy picture from his jacket. It was an A4 printout, clearly taken from an aerial camera, of two suspects in caps, heads down, heading into the park with something in their hands. Bottles perhaps.

  “Recognise these two?”

  She stared at the photo. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He didn’t respond, so she scoffed. “What’s to recognise? Two blokes in caps. Pop a cap on anyone in here, and that’s what they’d look like.”

  “Not just caps. They were covered in ink. One had a tattoo right up his neck.”

  She made a “Pfft!” sound and then turned to call out, “Hey, Bozza! Micky D! Jason!”

  Several men turned from the pool table to look at them. They were all covered in tattoos, two with tatts up their neck, one with a giant eagle etched onto his shaved head.

  Alicia stared at them and shook her head at Jackson. Those weren’t the guys.

  Casey scoffed and called out, “Sorry, false alarm!” She turned back to the detective. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

  Jackson was not put off. “Take a closer look please, Casey. These two didn’t just drink here. They ordered several bottles of that dodgy brew you guys sell—Chester’s Chuck. Your mum tells me she never sold any that night.”

  “Yeah well she wouldn’t—she hates the stuff. Says it tastes like turps, but the povos all love it.”

  “Povos?” Alicia asked, and Casey gave her a Duh! look.

  “Yeah, povos, poor people. It gets ’em drunk fast.”

  “Sounds like their cup of tea then,” Jackson said. “Problem is, if your mum didn’t sell it to them it must have been you, right? You were the only other person working before eight that night.”

  “Could’ve bought it another time. We have a stack of casuals, you know.”

  She had a point, thought Alicia, but Jackson was not buying that either.

  “Nope, I reckon they got it here that night, around seven, seven thirty. And it was just you and your mum at that time. I reckon they bought a couple of tall necks each and then headed off to the park. And I reckon you served them. Want to tell me why you’re not cooperating?”

  She sat forward with a start. “Am too! Just don’t remember them, okay. You really think I remember every single loser that comes in this place?”

  “This is important, Casey. These ‘losers’ might have strangled a woman. Might have tried to rape her first.”

  Casey’s brow crinkled at that
, but still she shrugged.

  Jackson sighed and sat back, and Alicia wondered whether he was giving up. She sat forward, unable to help herself.

  “You would remember those two,” she said, and the younger woman snapped her eyes across, her brow crinkling further. Alicia continued, “They were oozing slime. Could undress you with one look.”

  She scoffed. “You really want me to start calling out more names? Sounds like every second bloke to me, including the middle-aged, married ones.” She darted her eyes back to Jackson. “Especially the middle-aged, married ones.”

  Alicia shook her head. “Nope, these two were top-shelf slime. They would win the Oscar for Best Supporting Slimeball. They were extra creepy. I’m talking, don’t get caught down an alleyway slime.”

  The young woman’s scowl vanished, and it was clear Alicia’s description had given her memory a kick-start. She scooped the picture up and looked at it properly this time.

  “Yeah, okay, now you mention it, there were a couple of extra sleazy A-holes in here that night. Can’t recall what they ordered, sorry, and don’t recall caps, but yeah, I remember some A-class slime. Called me things like ‘delicious’ and ‘tasty.’” She mock vomited. “I mean, I’ve been called plenty in my time, but tasty? Ew.”

  Jackson smiled, directing it to Alicia. “Sounds like our guys. What else can you tell us about them?”

  “Nothing. Like I said, just slimy is all.”

  “Try and think, Casey. Like I said, it’s really important. They could be dangerous.”

  She glanced at the picture again. “You think they did it? To that chick?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. We have to find them.”

  “We have cameras, you know?”

  “Yeah, your mum says they’re broken.”