Carlos smiled and handed the list to Cade who shook his head in dumb wonder, “No doubt about this bastard,” he thought, “he gets results.”
His attention returned to the Colombian who ordered, “Tie his hands.”
Millers eyes were darting furtively from face to face, he was expecting to be released. What was happening? “Why should I believe this list?” Salazar asked. He turned his cold gaze on his victim and reached for the zip. Miller fainted. The Colombian chuckled and left the room, when he came back he handed Cade a carving knife he took from a wooden block set in the kitchen. “Finish him.” he ordered.
“What…What did you say?”
“Kill him.”
“It’s not…I can’t…I don’t do that. That’s not my job.” Cade protested and felt the point of Salazar’s knife at his throat.
“Do you think, Efeminado, that you are less guilty than I in all of these killings? Of course not, and I am sure that one of your juries would mete British justice to us equally. It is time that you came of age. Now kill him.”
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
“If I have to kill this man then you will remain and keep him company.” Salazar applied pressure to the blade at Cade’s throat.
“He’s looking at me. I can…I can see his face.”
“He is unconscious you cur. Turn him over. I will turn him over. There! Now do it!”
“I can’t. I don’t know how.”
The Colombian positioned the point of the kitchen knife between ribs and over the heart of the prostrate Miller. “Now put your weight on it.” he said, returning the blade to Cade’s throat. As Cade’s knife penetrated Miller’s body it was wracked with muscular spasms transmitted up the handle into his hand. Cade scrambled backwards across the floor to prop himself against the far wall, breathless and sweating profusely.
“There it’s done. We have such a tenuous grip on life, do we not?” Carlos was amused. “Come! We have dwelt too long.”
Chapter
61
Russ Byers parked the car and pushed through the doors of the police station. It was always busy at Darlinghurst no matter what time of day or night he returned to the station. There was always a crisis and never enough personnel on duty to cope. He liked to finish his shift in the field. That way he could avoid some of the hours of unpaid overtime he regularly racked up.
There was a fuss at the front desk. If only he could get to the locker room without attracting attention he could log off and slip away unseen. The constable on the desk looked up. Shit!
“Russ there’s a message for you.”
Byers gave him a weary “OK. Thanks Col,” he shoved the While You Were Out page in his pocket and went on through to the locker room. He sat waiting for the hubbub in the operations’ room to subside so he could make his ‘escape’. The word always amused him because, in truth, he was as much a prisoner of crime as those he arrested. He remembered the message and dug it from his coat pocket…
Ring Warren Parsons 8.00 tonight. Urgent
...there was a Cairns number and Byers guessed it was Parsons’ home number. The message gave him enough impetus to pass the front desk and continue on to the car park refusing all requests to ‘stay a while Russ, something important’s come up’.
It was six in the evening when Byers arrived home. He had never married. The only living thing there to meet him was a battered, neutered old cat with a missing ear. After its first visit to the vet Byers had christened the animal Extom. The missing ear was the result of its final conflict with a younger more virile opponent in their common, carnal pursuit of a pretty young tabby with a pink ribbon around its neck.
Each of the three lost something that night. The young victor lost its sexual aggression, temporarily at least. The pretty young thing lost its virginity and its innocent view of the world. Extom, as yet unnamed, lost its ear and its nocturnal dominance of the back lanes and fences of Darlinghurst. It limped away from the battle towards the deserted factory where it lived and foraged among the neighbourhood garbage cans. And where it supplemented its diet with an occasional slow, well fed rat.
It passed a sunny verandah which was usually in darkness as it returned home from a normal night’s reconnoitring of Darlinghurst and King’s Cross. The animal was late, crippled as it was this morning, and the warm spot beckoned invitingly. The old tom paused there to rest and wash its wounds. Just a little rest.
Detective sergeant Russell Byers pulled the front door shut behind him as he left for work that morning and almost trod on the cat, unconscious and weak from loss of blood. The lone, helpless animal triggered a sympathetic reaction in Byers. He was alone and a bit lonely himself. He lifted the warm body and carried it into the house; it struggled back to the surface from the depths of its pool of dark protective comfort for a token bite and scratch. Byers smiled and lay the animal gently on the carpet. He telephoned work and said he’d be in late. He then fingered a long list of veterinarians in the yellow pages until he found one close by.
Extom lost something else as a result of that night. Its empty scrotum was the price it had to pay for the return of its life and for the right to eat at Byers’ place. Upon reflection it came out a winner. And although the cat didn’t connect it with the loss of its nuts, which it could no longer find to preen, it didn’t seem to be important any more to prove itself a nocturnal force. It ate regularly and it grew large. Its fearsome size with its battle scarred face and its missing ear caused strangers to reassess their imminent safety. Whilst to its mentor and anyone Byers anointed with his friendship, Extom was a pussy cat.
On this evening the two hours till eight were filled with cooking, eating, cleaning up and then snoozing in front of the TV news. Byers in an armchair and Extom on his lap.
The dial tone had hardly begun before it was interrupted, “Hello. Is that you, Russ?”
“Yep. How’s things, Warren?” Parsons must have been sitting at the phone, whatever it is it’s pretty important, was the old cop’s immediate thought.
Parsons leapt straight in. “Not good, Russ, we’ve had a number of murders up here since you left.”
“That’s the price you pay for being a cop in a throbbing, thriving metropolis. Tell me about it, you ought to be down here.”
Parsons ignored him and went on. “There was a body found yesterday out at Bungalow, a bloke named Mick Miller…”
“Rings a bell,” said Byers.
“Yeah, but that’s not the half of it. He was face down with his hands and feet tied and a kitchen knife in his back. The Medical Examiner said he’d been tortured with knife pricks before he died. But that’s not why I rang you. When they lifted him to put him in the bag they found a list of names and addresses under his body…Wait…Before you interrupt, I sneaked a look at some of the evidence and the interim reports while homicide was out to lunch. Russ, it’s a list of the people we interviewed about Brannigan plus two or three more. There were two names crossed off. One of them was that good looking blonde who worked in hospital reception, Elaine Johnson. She was killed in a sick sex murder. The other one was an aide from the hospital. When they checked his address they found his body. It looks like he’s gone feral, Mate.”
Byers was silent for a while.
“Russ. Are you still there?”
“Yeah Warren. I guess you mean Brannigan. Have you informed the others on the list of the possible danger?”
“Not yet, I’m not on the case. Anything I do I have to do off my own bat.”
“Well, I reckon you should do that Warren but I wouldn’t mention Brannigan to them just yet. Warn them to be careful of anyone who doesn’t seem kosher. They won’t reopen his case down here so I can’t get up there officially but I might wrangle a few days leave. I’ll be in touch, thanks for ringing I appreciate it.”
Byers sat in the armchair till midnight stroking Extom, the cat w
as content to enjoy the unexpected attention for as long as it was offered. Brannigan a vicious killer? Byers couldn’t imagine that to be true. But who knows what ten years of virtual solitary isolation could do to some men’s minds. Possible? Well, perhaps.
Next morning Byers called the roster officer at Darlinghurst. He pleaded compassionate reasons for seeking a week’s leave, “What’s the matter Russ? Y’pussy crook?” he chuckled down the line. Everybody who knew Byers, knew his cat.
“No Bert it’s something very private and I’d rather not discuss it. How about it, can you do it for me?”
That night Byers was on the red-eye express to Cairns and Extom was living with the old lady next door. Parsons met him at the airport at midnight and took him to his home. “You can bunk down here in the spare room,” he offered, “that way we can save time travelling. Want a beer?”
“No thanks. Stick the kettle on and then tell me about the killings. Which was first?” Byers asked.
“There’s been three definitely related. There’s been another that may be linked. If it is then it’s the second. It was the helicopter pilot who took us up to Princess Charlotte Bay that morning. He was found stabbed to death beside his machine on the southern end of Four Mile Beach at Port Douglas. The ME got a good profile of the knife blade from a single wound to the heart.
“The third victim was a nurses’ aide from the hospital, he was Warren Smith from Redlynch He seems to have suffered an identical wound to the pilot, but he hasn’t been examined yet, he wasn’t found until after the list was discovered under the fourth victim’s body. Now the fourth victim was also a nursing aide from the hospital. Mick Miller of Bungalow, and apart from the kitchen knife in his back, he had a number of superficial wounds none more than an inch deep. They think they were inflicted in some sort of torture session before he was killed. The list found under him is very interesting.” Parsons paused for breath.
“Do you think I’ll be able to see it? To examine it?” asked Byers.
“I’ll get a copy.”
“What about the girl, do you know much about her?”
“It’s pretty sad. She was victim number one and except for the death blow there was no violence involved. It seems she was a willing participant in whatever deviant sex games were being played.”
“Why the last comment?”
“There was semen in her anal cavity, none in the vagina. If there had been evidence of photographic equipment being used, or even of a third party present, then homicide would have considered the making of a snuff movie, they say. But everything pointed to a normal dinner date until she paid the ultimate price. Her head was almost severed.”
“Sick bastard. We’ve had some murders in Sydney over the years similar to that.” Byers was thinking of his Night Monster. “What about DNA tests, are they being carried out?” He asked.
“Yeah, Russ, they’ve sent samples to Melbourne and to Sydney. We should get first results back about the end of next week. But they won’t be able to match ‘em against Brannigan’s until they catch him.”
“Well, that’s right, but at least the case will be building, and that would be another nail in the killer’s coffin. If I’m not here when the results come back do you think you could send a copy to me, in Sydney?” Parsons nodded and Byers continued. “Now what about victim four, the kitchen knife, did it belong to the victim?”
“Seems as though it did, there was a wooden block on the kitchen bench top that housed a set of sharp knives minus one, same brand as the one in the blokes body. The ME’s report suggested it wasn’t the blade used to torture.”
“Was the body in the kitchen?” Byers asked.
“No it was in the front of the house, two rooms away. Why?’
“It seems odd that a torturer with a knife would bother to travel through two rooms to get another knife to kill with. My gut feeling suggests more than one person responsible. How about fingerprints Warren?” “Yeah, there was a full set of right hand fingers on the handle of the death weapon. Look Russ, it’s pretty late and I’m on early tomorrow. I’ll see if I can copy the investigation files along with the list. Come and see me at the station when you turn to. You can take my car as long as you pick me up in the afternoon.”
Chapter
62
“The Sydney cop is back in town, he came to the hospital to see me today just before knock-off. He asked about Mac of course, but he also asked about Helen and Muriel Payne, Warren Smith, Mick Miller and…” Sep was stopped in mid-sentence by the enquiring frowns of his listeners. “Helen knows who I’m talking about, Smith and Miller are aides at the hospital and old Muriel is in reception. There were four or five other names I hadn’t heard before. Seems like he had a list. When he was leaving he said…his exact words were, ‘Tell them all to be very careful if you see them’.”
The evening meeting at Sal’s farm had become an event they all welcomed. Mac enjoyed it because Helen was there and because he was keenly aware of Sep’s burgeoning interest in Jan. Helen and Jan’s enjoyment was for the same reasons as Mac. But mainly the get-together helped to soothe the nervousness these mysterious happenings were generating.
“There was something else he asked me that I should mention. He asked me what I thought of Mac’s mental state when I saw him last.”
The phone rang and Sal left the room to answer it.
“Well?” Mac asked, seriously, “How was it?”
There was a lot of noise as the rest bantered Mac’s mental health around the table. Sal re-entered the room, his swarthy features had perceptibly paled.
“What is it, Dad?”
“That was Rigby, he and Mavis are coming later. He said a news bulletin on the radio reported another two murders, two aides from the hospital.”
“Miller and Smith?” asked Sep.
“He didn’t know their names, they hadn’t been released.”
“That must be why the Sydney cop is back.”
“Russ Byers? Probably,” said Mac. “It’s a bit disturbing to think he’s concerned about my mental state. I wonder if he thinks I’m responsible.”
“He mentioned Billy and Uncle Harry and he asked about you too, Dad.” Sep told Sal.
Mac butted in. “Did you know the names of the others he asked you about, Sep?”
“No, but I think I can remember them.” Sep concentrated on the ceiling. “There were only four extra to the ones we all know. Let’s see, there was a Parker. I remember him, he was an outpatient at the hospital. He had a broken nose and the best pair of black eyes I’ve ever seen, that is if it’s the same Parker. And there was a McCarthy and a Soames and another one, it’ll come to me soon.”
“Was this Parker a patient before or after me?” Mac asked.
“At the same time,” Sep replied.
Mac gave the knuckles of his right hand a caressing rub and smiled. “I know a McCarthy. Jack McCarthy in the Harbourmaster’s office. I wonder?” He mused. “It makes sense, I’ll talk to Billy.”
“What’s that, Mac?”
“Just thinking out loud.” But Mac was wondering about Parker. Was he one of the three in a huddle with Fat Jack on the dock on the day of the attack? That was when all this trouble seemed to have started.
“Where is Billy?” Helen asked.
“Princess Charlotte Bay the last I heard,” said Sep, “he said there was a mother ship up there, so he could be there for a while. When Uncle Harry comes I’ll get Billy on his mobile and tell him what’s happened.”
A sombre quiet had overtaken the group and the arrival of Rigby and Mavis did little to change the mood although it did become noisier. Rigby had trouble communicating at less than a hundred decibels, and when he was excited the din was deafening.
Sep raised the Paragon by phone and the deckie shook Billy awake. Sep told him all that had been happening since he put to sea and then Mavis and Rigb
y talked to their son.
“Billy’s on his way back tomorrow and the Monterey Star’s coming, too. Old Reg likes to travel with Billy, they’ll probably be a day and a half getting here. I’ll meet them when they arrive,” said Sep, “and bring them out here.”
Chapter
63
“Detective Byers, how have you been,” Bill Jennison extended his hand, “I thought you left us. Have a seat.”
“It’s Russ, Bill, and I couldn’t stay away. I love your city.”
“Is this an official visit?”
“I’m on holiday, I’m staying with Warren Parsons. He tells me things have got a little lively up here.”
“You’re not wrong, Russ. We’ve had several brutal murders in the last week or so.”
“Connected?” Although he knew most of the facts Byers still effected curiosity.
“Well, I know a little more than we’re allowed to publish at the moment, but it seems there could be a connection.” Jennison rattled off the names of the men who were killed and some points of similarity of the crimes. He didn’t mention the Johnson girl so he couldn’t know about the list, it was probably better that he didn’t. Like the pilot, his name was not on it and he could have been lulled into thinking he was not in danger.
“You can’t know this Bill but these victims were all men that young Warren and I interviewed in our search for Brannigan, so were you. Warren reckons he’s ‘gone feral’ to use his words.”
“And you?”
“I dunno. All I can say is if you see him be careful, don’t take any chances,” Byers stood to go. He looked at Jennison for a second or two and then added, “And be careful of any interested strangers, who aren’t vouched for. I’ve got to pick Warren up at the station, I’ve got his car. I’ll be in touch, just take care.”
The Cooktown Grave Page 25