Game Changer

by J K Nen

  “Guys, contact the families of the other victims and ask if they had any crystal ball,” Logan called the constables operating the call centre. “Sedge, do we know where they have been manufactured?”

  “It doesn’t say,” Sedgewick replied. “There are no manufacturer tags or details.”

  “Maybe we can get the media to help with this one,” Castle spoke from the doorway.

  Commissioner Veronica Castle looked like she had just walked off the set of ‘Sex & the City’. In a tan jacket, white fitted pants and a salmon pink turtleneck top, she looked like a glamorous fashion editor.

  “Assembling the media could take time,” Sedgewick replied. “Can I post the pictures of the crystal balls on the department’s Facebook and Instagram?”

  “Sure, we may get a quicker response,” Castle conceded.

  Sedgewick got hits within minutes as people responded with links to five New Age shops. Officers were quickly despatched to those locations.

  “So now what we are looking for is the webpage or Facebook page the women were all linked up to,” French concluded.

  “Not forgetting Picasso,” Sedgewick quipped.

  A few hours later, a constable stuck his head around the door and asked for Sedgewick. When she returned, she had a triumphant grin.

  “We have an address for the crystal ball distributor,” she crowed. “All five shops bought from one distributor, appropriately named The Mystic Grotto. It’s in the Blue Mountains.”

  "Get the chopper ready,” Castle ordered and hurried to a judge’s chamber for a court order, Logan on her heels.

  From the helicopter, Logan watched the countryside speed by. Commissioner Castle sat up front with the pilot. A SWAT team on another helicopter followed closely behind. Police from nearby posts were already on their way by road.

  A month-long New Age festival attracted tourists to the region. According to folklore, the Three Sisters of the Blue Mountains harnessed mystical powers. Depending on one’s purpose, they were used in the dark arts or as protection in white witchcraft. The town teemed with hordes of gypsies, witches and warlocks.

  When Logan entered the Mystic Grotto with the search warrant, a mad scramble ensued as customers fought for the door.

  The manager, Sylvie Pattinson, was a large woman with dirty blonde hair, bloodshot eyes and botchy skin, made more unattractive by her petulant attitude. Her ‘muffin top’ figure looked boxy in the tie-dyed caftan she wore over black pants. Logan had no patience for petty tantrums. She had Sylvie and her four employees taken to the station where Castle waited.

  “You won’t talk huh? “Commissioner Castle stated, perfect eyebrow cocked in derision as she studied the motley crew. “For impeding this investigation, I am shutting down your shop indefinitely, and you lot can spend the next few days cooling your heels in jail.”

  A collective groan rose as Castle and Logan made a dramatic exit from the room. From behind the mirrored windows, they watched the group dynamics shift. The employees gathered at one end of the room, imperceptibly distancing themselves from their boss.

  “She’s just bluffing, “Sylvie said.

  “Is closing shop and spending days in jail worth all this?” Cory, a dreadlocked blonde man with a lip ring, asked.

  “Cops always bluff, it’s all part of their game plan,” Sylvie insisted.

  “Well, whether she’s bluffing or not, I’m not spending another minute in here just so you can protect some guy you’ve never met,” Cory shot back.

  “You’re just jealous,” she responded defensively. “And he will visit soon.”

  “When the pigs fly? He’s not coming, and you’re wasting your time.”

  “Because he’s been busy,” her voice faltered.

  “That’s just guy talk,” he told her bluntly. “He doesn’t give a shit about you. All he wants is a fall guy and now he’s set you up for murder too. No, scratch that. Multiple murders.”

  She turned away, refusing to listen to him. Others voiced their opinion in support of Corey.

  “He does love me,” she said in a small voice. “You guys don’t know him.”

  “Sylvie, he’s a serial killer. A psychopath that’s smarter than you, me or anyone else in this room,’ Corey emphasised. “He’s never going to come and see you because he’s already seen you.”

  “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

  “He’s seen you, Sylvie, and he’s just using you because you are so gullible and desperate.”

  Cory pounded on the glass.

  “Hey, I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he yelled. “Just get me out of here.”

  The women wasted no time getting back in there.

  They discovered Sylvie Platt had developed a cyber-relationship with Zeus. His avatar was a picture of the king of the gods. He asked Sylvie to direct traffic to his blog by gifting crystal balls to single mothers who signed up with his Facebook page. He paid handsomely in cash for this service.

  Sedgewick got into the Mystic Grotto’s customer database and found the names of all victims amongst thousands of other names.

  “I just don’t get it,” Logan told Sylvie. “All these women you gifted crystal balls to turned up dead and it didn’t occur to you that somehow your cyber boyfriend could be involved?”

  “We gave thousands away so if a handful turned up dead, I wouldn’t know,” Sylvie claimed typical ignorance.

  No one ever saw Zeus. He only contacted them by Facebook Messenger. Casual staff were paid cash to deliver the crystal balls in random places. Cash was left in Sylvie’s mailbox in return. Emma, one of the staff, had met Zeus once but he wore biking leathers and kept his helmet on. She only recalled that Zeus was tall and muscular, with a “deep, sexy voice.”

  Logan and Steele video called Sedgwick and French. Sedgewick interrupted occasionally for a detail she had missed. Once she was done, she clicked on the Mystic Grotto’s Facebook page.

  “Eureka!” she shouted.

  CHAPTER 29

  The taskforce crowded around the video console in conference with Logan and Castle, as Sedgewick commandeered the meeting.

  “I created a fake account,” she began. “I’m Mia Hopper, single mum of two living in Bondi.”

  Using her fake account, she unearthed the Facebook page connected to Mystic Grotto.

  “It’s a page for single mothers, appropriately called Solo Momangers,” Sedgewick opened the page on multiple screens. “They give freebies from movie tickets, stationery, kitchen appliances and even babysitting vouchers- the perfect fly-trap. To join, you must be a single mum, tell them how many kids you have, whether they are male or female and their ages. You must also fill in an online quiz.”

  They watched, mesmerized, as she filled in the quiz questions related to her parenting style, her priorities and typical responses to daily events. She hit ‘Submit.” The response that came back sent a ripple throughout the room.

  ‘Congratulations, you are Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, Beauty and Procreation. You are an alchemical goddess. You are extraverted, compassionate, sensual, passionate and have a lust for life.’

  Sedgewick pulled up membership lists from the Grotto files Logan had emailed. All the victims had received several gifts from the site.

  “He gets their addresses by contacting them via Facebook Messenger that they’ve won prizes or complementary gifts,” Sedgewick revealed. “The first gift is generic; every mum that signs up gets a free crystal ball.”

  “The spy-ball,” Naidu drawled.

  ‘But do they sell anything, besides give free stuff away to single mums?” French asked.

  “Doesn’t seem like they do, looks like they just recommend what other online shops are selling,” Sedgewick answered.

  “You’ve got to be filthy rich to be giving stuff away without any kind of sponsorship,” French said thoughtfully.

  A phone call interrupted Sedgewick. She broke into a victory jig when she hung up.

  “We got him, guys!” she
yelled, as she raced for her desk. “We got him!”

  She opened the email the lab team had sent her and put up the pictures on the screen.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Z, also known as Zeus, pseudonym for Dr Christopher Vernon,” she announced as she revealed the picture of a familiar face.

  There was a stunned silence. Dr Chris Vernon provided free medical services to the women at the homeless shelter half a mile from the police headquarters. The friendly doctor cycled to work and lived in the modest suburb of Redfern. He usually stopped by the police café for coffee.

  “Sedgie, are you sure?” Logan asked in disbelief.

  Sedgewick did not reply, busy typing furiously and pulling up files onto the giant screen. The unassuming doctor was incompatible with their perception of Z.

  “First the Picasso shoe,” Sedgewick began. “It’s registered to Christopher Vernon.”

  “It could be any Christopher Vernon,” Shepherd countered.

  “The address in the Picasso files is the same given on Dr Vernon’s driver’s license,” Sedgewick posted the documents side by side. “In fact, there is more to our unassuming doctor than meets the eye.”

  Vernon, aged thirty-nine, had been a prominent surgeon who quit at the pinnacle of his career at the John Hopkins University to join Doctors without Borders in Iraq, Bangladesh and Croatia. In addition to being independently wealthy from a laser tool he patented that could seal blood vessels during surgery, he was heir to a vast fortune from his wealthy Greek billionaire father. Zeus Enterprises, a conglomerate of global businesses, had an impressive portfolio including Neptune Shipping, Ares Defence Technology, Aphrodite Cosmetics, Dionysus Wineries, Hades Mining and Hephaestus Metal Refineries.

  “Both parents are deceased. Mother Christina was biracial, Aboriginal and white, lawyer and indigenous activist. She died from alcohol poisoning twenty years ago. Older sister Elena lives on Palm Beach. No other is family listed.”

  Despite his good looks and excellent physique, he was a recluse and notoriously camera-shy. He owned a number of properties around Australia. Listing ancient Greek history as a hobby, he took annual pilgrimages to the Greek islands.

  “He pilots his own plane and helicopter,” Sedgewick continued. “One gigantic flight risk.”

  He also owned a fleet of ships and a yacht. Sedgewick pulled up a list of all his properties. There were more than fifty residences and high-rise buildings in Sydney and Melbourne.

  “Wow, he could be anywhere,” Burns exhaled audibly.

  “You’re right,” Sedgewick conceded. “His mobile is off so we can’t really track him.”

  “No, he’s still in New South Wales,” French disagreed. “Patterns are important, he needs to finish what he started. You can be sure he’s already picked out where he’ll stage Paulette’s body. He’s not about to improvise.”

  Logan was frustrated. She was about to board the 45 minute helicopter ride to the city, but afraid she would miss something.

  “I think I got it,” French announced.

  Using the laser pointer, she highlighted an old winery just outside the Southern Highlands.

  “It’s close enough to the city, it has space for a helipad, it’s a short distance from a rural airstrip, it’s in the middle of nowhere, there’s a possibility he has wine cellars underground to torture his victims,” French reasoned. “The winery closed down years ago but it’s still listed in the family’s portfolio.”

  “What if it’s a wild goose chase?” Logan could not help playing the devil’s advocate.

  “Let me check his last flight plans,” Sedgewick offered, typing furiously.

  “Where’s the next closest place, you think?” Spiteri said.

  “Well he’s got three other properties in the area as well,” French replied.

  “Not to mention forty plus others all over Australia,” Naidu added.

  “Bingo!” Sedgewick interrupted. “He filed flight plans for Taree Airport.”

  “We’re on our way,” Castle said. “French, get search warrants for all four properties. We move out at midnight.”

  CHAPTER 30

  The team in full combat mode did last minute checks on combat gear, equipment and ammunitions. They would conduct simultaneous raids on all four properties. The Tactical Operations Unit, popularly called the SWAT team, would lead the charge.

  Tamate might already be dead when they stormed the four locations, Logan fretted inwardly. Throughout the operation, there would be radio silence, except through the secure communication system Sedgewick set up. Only the Commissioner and the taskforce team had access.

  Castle commandeered the briefing. Even in a grey T-shirt, safari jacket, khaki cargo pants and combat boots, the woman looked like Lara Croft. With her hair tied back in a bun and perfect make-up still in place, she did not look the least bit tired despite her 4am start that morning.

  At a quarter past nine, Jamila Maddox entered the station, demanding to see Logan. It was time to go to Vernon, and she needed Logan’s help. While the modern police with their technology had been searching for him for months, Jamie’s guide used Paulette’s psychic connection to her shirt, and took Jamie to her. Jamie knew exactly what to do to Vernon when she found him. The woman constable at the reception asked why she wanted to see Logan.

  “Tell her I know Paulette Tamate’s exact location and that Dr Christopher Vernon is Z.”

  French, Castle Logan and Jamie Maddox met in French’s office.

  “How long have you known about Paulette Tamate’s location?” Logan demanded angrily. “How do you even know his name?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jamie replied calmly. “She doesn’t have much time.”

  “So where is she?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  “You’ll show us?” Logan’s tone dripped sarcasm.

  “I am coming with your team,” Jamie replied casually.

  “No, you’re not. You better tell us or I’ll lock you up for impeding a police investigation.”

  “Fine, talk to my lawyer then,” Jamie thrust out her chin defiantly. “I don’t have to help you.”

  “Mrs. Maddox, my name is Veronica,” Castle intervened.

  “I know who you are, Madam Commissioner,” Jamie replied. “Look, I’ll take you to him because I know exactly where he has taken Paulette.”

  “This is a job for police officers, people who are trained to do this,” Castle told her.

  “I understand that, but there is no time,” Jamie explained. “He’ll sacrifice her at midnight. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a full moon out tonight.”

  When no one said a word, Jamie continued, “It will take you one and a half hours to fly to Taree, then drive another 45 minutes to get to the area, and goodness knows how long you move through the property to get to the bunker. Time is of essence.”

  Castle exchanged looks with Logan.

  “This is highly unusual,” Castle sighed, then added, “We have less than three hours to save Paulette.”

  The chopper ride was quiet. Logan glanced over at Jamie. With eyes closed and lips moving in silent prayer, she paused often to apply what looked like oil around her eyes. Then she would draw a line with the substance from her forehead down her nose to the tip of her chin. Twice she extracted dried bark and leaves from her pouch to chew. Growing up in the Highlands of PNG, Logan had heard of the fearsome coastal witches and mediums. She wondered if Jamie was a witch. She brushed the thought aside.

  Some officers had grumbled about babysitting Jamie.

  “If you have a better idea, please share it,” Castle challenged them. “Because we don’t have the time or the resources to send full units to all four properties simultaneously.”

  The three helicopters landed. Local police waited on the tarmac. Everyone piled into six Toyota troop carriers. Jamie rode upfront with Logan. Jamie’s guide, invisible to everyone else, ran ahead of the convoy. Jamie only had to relay directions to the driver.

&nb
sp; They entered wine country. Miles of withered vineyards, courtesy of the harsh winter chill, stretched for miles. Jamie had them stop on a rocky knoll. They got out and proceeded on foot, fanning out in all directions.

  “Stay with me,” Logan whispered, pulling Jamie after her.

  From the peak, the large homestead appeared forlorn. A helicopter sat on a raised helipad. A mountain bike, ATV and an open-tray Toyota ute were in the yard. Logan watched for movement behind her night vision goggles. A black Range Rover with heavily tinted windows parked at the entrance of the house. This was probably how he transported his victims. Logan whispered for everyone to come together. In all, there were 30 officers. With SWAT team leader, Nick Kostov, they quickly laid out the entry plans.

  “They’re not in the house,” Jamie interrupted.

  “What do you mean?” Logan whispered hotly. “How do you know?”

  Jamie ignored her.

  “There is an underground bunker. The entry is on the floor of the pool house.”

  Through whispered communications, the leads quickly reworked their plans. They had exactly forty-five minutes to save Tamate. The caramel-coloured full moon hung low over the valley. Logan shuddered to think what might be happening to Paulette Tamate. The team pushed forward. Logan turned to Jamie but she had vanished.