***
While she waited for Salt on the front steps of the station, two young constables wandered by. With her sunglasses on, she watched their approach, saw their eyes go to her skirt and fought the urge to smooth imagined or real creases. It’s too tight, she told herself. The pair looked at her ankles as they came up the steps. Should have worn flat shoes.
‘Detective,’ one said and nodded.
‘Constable,’ she said as they walked past. Did they wink at each other? She flushed and felt anger towards Cardilini, realising how differently she was treated when he was with her.
***
The café owner on James Street ushered Spencer and Salt out to a storeroom at the rear of the building. He was in his fifties with smooth, open features, blue eyes and dark hair going grey. He considered Spencer for a moment.
‘There’s nothing I can add. It was so long ago.’
Spencer checked her notes. ‘You spoke to the police on two different occasions.’
‘I was shown pictures, I thought I’d seen the girls around but I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Then you spoke to detectives about another young woman. About a year later.’
The café owner looked to Salt before replying. ‘Yeah. Again, it’s hard to tell. Faces, I see lots of them coming and going.’ Spencer nodded and turned the pages of her notebook. The café owner looked from Spencer to Salt. ‘If that’s it, I’ll go now; there’s a new girl out front, I don’t trust her.’
‘I can stand out front if you like, Detective Constable Spencer,’ Salt said smartly, knowing full well it would put the punters off.
The café owner backtracked. ‘No, no, that’s okay. I’ll answer your questions.’
Spencer held out a photograph of Bridget Law. ‘Tell me about this girl.’
The café owner studied it for a moment. ‘Australian. If it’s the one I’m thinking of. At first, she was nice, then once she started to get connections she became a bit high and mighty. Threw money at one of my staff once. She had Nic with her at the time so no one was going to argue.’
‘Nic?’
‘Yes,’ the café owner answered as if ‘Nic’ were universally known.
‘His full name?’
‘The detectives I spoke to knew who I was talking about. I don’t know his full name.’
‘I think you do. Shall I ask the constable to wait outside?’
The café owner smiled to himself. ‘You have my statement. I have nothing to add.’ He headed back inside but Salt stood in his path, his face passive, unreadable. The café owner stopped. Spencer showed him the second photo, but he shook his head. ‘Couldn’t even say that’s her now.’
Spencer pointed. ‘1962? We believe her name to be Karen. What do you remember of her?’
‘Young, pretty, she came in here with the others. Really, you must have all that.’
‘Was she with anyone in particular?’
‘Not that I noticed. I already said all this.’
‘Did they both know Nic?’ Spencer asked.
‘You’re from East Perth station, right? Ask there. Can I go now?’
Spencer nodded to Salt. He got out of the man’s way.
***
‘Have you heard of this Nic?’ Spencer asked Salt once they were back on the street.
‘It might be Nic Gismondi, the owner of the Blue Ribbon.’
‘The Blue Ribbon? The police hangout? You been there?’
Salt nodded. He said that the young woman from 1962 had been there, too.
‘We should go and talk to Nic in that case,’ Spencer said. Salt hung his head. ‘What?’
‘Maybe let Detective Inspector Bishop know you’re going.’
‘Why, is this Nic dangerous?’
‘No, but usually detectives who know him are the ones who speak to him.’
‘I see. Tell me about this Blue Ribbon.’
Salt cast his eyes around for a moment. ‘It’s a nightclub. The licensing allows longer hours, more friendly to coppers working late. It offers a menu all hours. There are three bars, at least that I’ve seen, usually detectives hang out in the Opal room and uniforms in the back bar. Both are away from the main bar.’
‘What’s the attraction of the place?’
‘The hours.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Private, close. Nic’s friendly, welcoming – he doesn’t let the public hassle the police or try to move in on the two bars.’
‘I see.’
After a pause Salt asked, ‘Are you working on a particular case?’ Spencer pondered the question. The answer was simple, but she held her tongue. He said, ‘Without Bishop’s go-ahead it might get you into trouble.’
Spencer looked at her notebook. ‘Not very impressive on my first outing.’ She snapped it shut. ‘You go back. I’m going to look at some shops.’ She started to walk away then turned quickly. ‘And you needn’t say that back at the station. I’ll ring when I want you.’
Salt nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Monday, 29 November 1965
10 a.m.
After driving through the night, Cardilini arrived in Geraldton around 8 a.m. The service station and repair shop he was after was easy to find: it sat on the main road just north of the town centre. The buildings lay under a huge sign, ‘Con’s’, in blue on a white background – the same blue of the Greek flags painted above the double work bays. When he pulled up at a petrol bowser a young man in a wheelchair came out to serve him.
‘What do you want, mister?’ the young man asked brightly.
‘Fill it up. Are you Con?’
The young man took a hard look at Cardilini in his regular shirt and trousers but without a tie or jacket. Cardilini imagined he was thinking ‘copper’. The young man gestured towards the shop entrance. ‘You’d better see the boss.’
Half a dozen cars were parked neatly on the left-hand side of the garage. Inside, three figures in overalls were hard at work. Cardilini entered the adjoining shop to a tinkling bell and a shock of air from a fan. A little boy played with toy cars on a mat. Behind the counter, an attractive young woman with honey-coloured curling hair and clear blue eyes sat at a desk laden with a series of ledgers. Another desk, slightly lower, held a till. Again, Cardilini asked to speak to the boss.
‘Yes,’ replied the woman. Her eyes and face also seemed to say ‘copper’. It was a phenomenon Cardilini had grown used to. Criminals had a certain sensitivity when it came to the police. When alerted, it flattened their features, deadened their eyes and heightened their aggression. Cardilini looked around. The young woman hadn’t moved. He guessed he was speaking to the boss.
‘I wanted to talk to Con.’
‘And you are?’
‘I just want a chat.’
‘Same question.’
‘Who are you?’ Cardilini asked bluntly.
‘Mrs Michelakos. Con’s wife.’
‘Okay, Mrs Michelakos. Is it a problem if I talk to Con?’
‘I won’t know until you answer my question.’
Cardilini sighed. He hadn’t really wanted to be flashing his badge around. Local coppers got quite sensitive about that sort of thing and officially he wasn’t supposed to be here at all. He was stalled by the tinkle of the door and the entry of the young man in the wheelchair. He decided to come clean. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Cardilini from East Perth. I need to talk to Con about Archie and Melody Cooper.’
The woman and the young man in the wheelchair exchanged a knowing look. While Cardilini waited for a response, the young man wheeled himself behind the counter, ruffling the little boy’s black hair on the way. He stopped at the desk with the till and charged Cardilini for the petrol. ‘One pound, two shillings and three pence.’
‘Con’s busy, you can ask me,�
� Mrs Michelakos said. The young man gave her a sharp inquisitive look that she didn’t answer.
Cardilini handed over two pounds, watching the interplay between the pair. ‘It’s Con I want to talk to,’ he insisted, pocketing the change.
‘I can check,’ the young man said to the woman.
‘Bernie,’ she stopped him with raised eyebrows. ‘Can you tell us how the Coopers are going?’ Her features had softened just enough to tell Cardilini he was holding the aces so he waited. She sat defiant for a moment before she looked to Bernie, who wheeled his way back into the workshop. ‘That’s Bernie O’Farrell. He was in an accident. He got into university.’ She added with proprietorial pride, ‘Con modified a car so he can drive himself around.’
***
Cardilini remembered the event. Bernard O’Farrell was walking home from a friend’s house one afternoon in July 1964. Tyre marks on the road indicated a car swerved onto the verge and ran him down. The car didn’t stop and Bernard wasn’t found until early the following morning. The impact threw him some fifteen yards into the bushes. The car was never found, nor the driver. After local searches and checks it was concluded someone passing through must have committed the hit and run. However, rumour persisted that the Kopecki family were caught up in it in some way, but nothing could be found to link them to the crime.
Con Michelakos was in jail at the time for stealing morphine from the local hospital. On his release there was conflict between him and the Kopecki family. This could have contributed to the Kopecki family relocating to Perth. Archie, and presumably Melody, left Geraldton shortly after.
***
Con Michelakos stood now in the doorway eyeballing Cardilini. He was wearing his overalls with the arms tied around his waist so just a singlet covered his powerful chest and abdomen. Impressive as he was physically, it was his face and eyes that told Cardilini to mind his manners.
‘Cardilini?’ Con asked impassively. ‘Where’s your family from?’
‘Sondri, northern Italy,’ he said. They were names he hadn’t spoken in a long time. ‘Yours?’ He wasn’t interested but knew the ritual, as ancient as the history of invading warriors.
‘Naxos. What can you tell us about Archie and Melody?’
‘Where can I get a cup of tea and breakfast?’ Cardilini replied to surprised faces. Con looked to his wife. She turned to Bernie. He’d parked his chair near the little boy and was watching the conversation like a doubles tennis game.
‘Do you mind looking after things for a bit, Bernie?’ she asked.
‘Not at all.’ Bernie wheeled himself up to the desk. Mrs Michelakos marked a page, closed her ledger, then walked around the counter and picked up the little boy. ‘We’ll be at Genya’s. Do you want me to bring back anything?’
‘No, thanks.’ Bernie settled behind the lower desk.
‘You can park your car over there,’ Mrs Michelakos told Cardilini, pointing to the other cars. ‘We’ll walk.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Monday, 29 November 1965
11.45 a.m.
‘Grab a table, Con.’ Mrs Michelakos held Cardilini’s arm as Con went ahead into the café. ‘You lot are no friends of ours,’ she said sharply once her husband was out of earshot. Cardilini looked at her, unimpressed. ‘Con has done his time. He knows he was stupid and it caused his family a lot of pain. Are you going to cause us any more pain?’
Cardilini frowned. She had strength, she had determination, she was protective. But he also sensed a vulnerability. He knew the feeling and respected it. ‘No, Mrs Michelakos, I’m not.’
She released his arm but held his eyes for a moment. ‘It’s Helen.’
Cardilini opened the door for her.
Two young women, evidently Genya and Dianne, ministered to their customers. Con had found a table for four beside a large window with a pleasant view onto the street. Helen and the two young women waved and exchanged greetings.
‘Genya and Dianne are buying this café from Con’s family,’ Helen said. ‘They basically run the place and Con talked his father into selling. Part of the deal was I become pregnant again.’ She patted her stomach and smiled. Cardilini wasn’t sure if he managed a smile in return. Genya came over with glasses and a jug of water. Helen ordered cakes, Greek coffee and a pot of tea for Cardilini. Genya took their order and scooped up the little boy, plunking him on her hip before heading back to the kitchen. Dianne brought Con an ouzo.
‘One for you, Cardilini?’ Con asked as Dianne stood there. Cardilini shook his head. When she left, Con poured equal measures of ouzo and water into his glass, making a volatile, cloudy concoction. Cardilini looked away.
***
After cake, ouzo, Greek coffee – and numerous cups of tea for Cardilini – they got down to business.
‘Archie and Melody came to the notice of the Kalgoorlie police in March this year,’ Cardilini said. He paused and looked into the curious faces of Con and Helen. ‘They were working some sort of racket – Archie was cutting Melody for paying customers.’ Again, he paused. Con and Helen were clearly battling to understand what he was saying. ‘Not deep cuts, surface cuts that bled.’
‘Whoa, stop there,’ Con said, looking around. The noise in the café meant it would be hard for anyone to hear them but Con wasn’t satisfied. He looked to Helen.
‘Theresa,’ she said.
Cardilini showed Con and Helen the photo the sergeant at the Geraldton police station had given him of the young woman, Theresa Ruben. ‘Is this who you mean?’
‘Oh my God, you found her?’ Helen asked wide-eyed.
Cardilini shook his head. ‘What’s the connection between Melody and Theresa?’
‘Are Melody and Archie okay?’ Con asked suddenly. When Cardilini told him they were missing Con turned dark angry eyes to Helen. ‘Vladimir Kopecki,’ he said.
‘I heard that you had a falling out with him and he left town,’ Cardilini said. ‘That’s the only connection I have to the name Kopecki.’
Con looked disappointedly at Helen. ‘What do you think?’
‘You can’t do any more, Con. Not now.’ She rested her hand on her stomach.
‘He’s got to be stopped,’ Con said.
‘Who?’ Cardilini said. ‘Tell me what the hell’s going on. I can do something.’
‘No, you can’t. I know how you coppers work. It’s all too hard. A missing girl isn’t enough. You put her picture up in the bloody police station. Doesn’t it occur to you that your lack of response is a green light to any bastard who wants to make girls disappear?’
Cardilini didn’t have an answer; he knew there weren’t the resources available to follow up on each and every case. If someone didn’t walk into a station and stand by the wall with their photo on it for ten minutes the likelihood of them being identified off the street was almost negligible.
‘Is Archie with Melody?’ Helen asked. Cardilini shrugged. ‘They got caught up with Kopecki when Con was in prison.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Con, you have to find him, for Melody and Archie.’
‘You tell him what we think happened,’ Con said. ‘I’ll go back to the shop and make some calls. Maybe I can get an address.’ He finished his ouzo in one gulp, said goodbye to Genya and Dianne and hugged his son.
Cardilini emptied the teapot and signalled for a refill. He was going to need it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Monday, 29 November 1965
12.30 p.m.
‘Theresa Ruben disappeared in November last year,’ Helen said.
‘November? You sure?’ Cardilini asked. The Geraldton police had recorded her missing in December.
‘We play netball. It was the second Thursday in November. She didn’t show up and no one saw her again.’
Cardilini made a note. ‘Is there a reason you’re linking her with Melody leaving town?’
Helen glanced around the café. Half the tables were occupied, she knew everyone – women and men chatting without a care. Many were friends and clients. A couple of young lads who fancied their chances were leaning over the counter, joking with Dianne and Genya. ‘In 1958, Con wasn’t getting on with his father. He wanted him to stop his apprenticeship and go into the family’s real estate business. Around the same time, Mr Kopecki – Con’s friend Bruno’s dad – convinced Con that he needed morphine. Mr Kopecki said he’d become addicted to it due to medical treatment after the war. And Con knew where he could get a hold of it.’
‘He’d steal it from the hospital?’
‘Yes.’ Helen tilted her head back, closed her eyes and exhaled heavily.
‘And that landed him in jail?’
‘Yes, but he wasn’t alone, Bruno was involved. Con will do anything for a friend and he thought Kopecki was his friend. Well. Kopecki had it over Con from that point on and he used it to try and get Con to do other things. Eventually he and Kopecki barely spoke. Kopecki, we later realised, did the same to everyone else – he would compromise them in some way, then use it against them.’
‘What did he want Con to do?’
‘Kopecki had these barbecues at his house. He’d supply the grog for the young crowd, Bruno’s friends. He liked having Con there because if Con was there you could guarantee all the young women would want to be there, too.’
‘You went?’
‘Of course.’
‘What about Melody?’
‘Not when I was there; she was too young. She pretended to be older but she was a real baby. She never went until 1964. By then, Con was in prison.’
‘Did Bruno do prison time, too?’
‘No. Con wouldn’t rat on him, even though it was Kopecki who told the police that Con stole the morphine for him. While Con was in prison, Bruno got very close to Melody and Archie. I warned them, but I was pregnant by that stage. Con and I had gotten married. So had Archie and Melody. Theresa was around at the time but not friendly with Melody. Theresa …’ Helen paused and looked around the café again – tanned faces, white smiles, summer romances – she knew the young ones who would partner up, just like she and Con had. She continued quietly, more to the café than to Cardilini, as if the joy and brightness she saw would hide Melody and Theresa’s dark secret. ‘Like Melody, Theresa cut herself.’
The Final Cut Page 21