by John Byron
‘Good afternoon, commissioner. You’re on carphone, Detective Sergeant Janssen’s with me.’
‘Commissioner Carr,’ added Janssen.
‘Afternoon, detectives. I’ll be brief. I’ve just come from the premier’s office.’
Janssen shifted in the passenger seat. This could be anything.
‘How was that, sir?’ asked Murphy.
‘It’s an honour and a privilege to serve, as you know, but in other respects it was fairly disagreeable.’
‘Sir?’
‘Media pressure is ramping up, Murphy. I know you’ve been managing those bastards. So have I. So’s the minister. But the TVs decided among themselves that your … progress would be the topic de jour this morning for the premier’s big announcement at the Children’s Hospital.’
‘Oh, shit,’ said Murphy.
‘Correct.’
‘Please don’t tell me he was high and dry.’
‘No, he’s been reading our briefs, thank God. He held his own. But he signalled emphatically that he wouldn’t mind some results. And he has a point, gentlemen.’
The detectives exchanged a bemused glance. Like all frontline cops, they loved it when people who sat on their arses for a living – the brass and politicians, basically – reminded them of the urgency of taking killers off the streets.
‘We’re doing all we can, sir.’
‘So I told him. And requested more resources. He agreed to that, subject to us diversifying our approach.’
‘Diversifying how?’
‘Apparently he spent the summer holidays working through some sort of corporate leadership self-help reading list. Hagakure The Art of War, that kind of thing.’
‘The Prince?’ ventured Janssen.
‘I believe he’s already across that one, detective. That’s why he’s premier.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ muttered Murphy.
‘What’s that, detective?’
‘Just the windscreen wipers, sir. How does this affect us?’
‘He suggests you could make headway by, and I quote, “disrupting your tired old methodologies”.’
‘Meaning what, sir?’
‘Meaning he will devote additional operational funding if we can concoct an initiative that approaches the problem laterally.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Murphy said. ‘Sir.’
‘Just sort it out, detective. Continue your investigation, but contrive something with genius and originality. Or the appearance thereof. Doesn’t matter what it is.’
‘But like what, sir?’
‘I don’t know, Murphy, but that’s the nature of innovation, isn’t it? Anyway, isn’t creative destruction your specialty? I’m sure it will come to you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘First thing tomorrow. Goodbye, detectives.’
Murphy was pensive after that, so Janssen left him alone. He’d learned a long time ago to let his boss think things through in his own time. The rain sputtered out into a background sulk with the odd desultory spit.
They turned off Parramatta Road, but then Murphy turned right again instead of left and parked in front of the Forest Lodge Hotel’s forlorn Japanese maple. They climbed the stairs to the pub’s front bar.
‘New?’ asked Murphy. Janssen nodded. Not his preferred beer but that was beside the point.
They sat near the unoccupied pool table. Murphy took a deep draught and emitted a long sigh, then wiped the froth from his lips. They drank in silence until the beer was gone, then Murphy looked at Janssen and tilted his head at the bar. Janssen took the empties up and returned with a couple more schooners. Murphy took the top off his second, picked up a Tooheys coaster and tapped it on the table a few times before grunting and drinking again.
‘Okay,’ he said finally. ‘So, what do you make of Mack’s dissection theory?’
Janssen had not expected Murphy’s chain of thought to lead here, but he went with it. ‘I had my doubts at Glebe, but now I think it has merit. It certainly fits.’
‘Yeah, but you know this murder caper, Janssen. It’s never that tidy.’
‘That’s true usually, but these are different.’
‘Still. The medicos seem to want it too much.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘They’re nostalgic for their med school years – it appeals to them. From there it’s confirmation bias.’
‘They’re trained to resist that kind of thing.’
‘Nobody’s immune.’
‘Yes, we could all be accused of that,’ replied Janssen diplomatically. ‘Experience pushing us beyond the evidence.’
‘Fair enough.’ Murphy tilted his glass in acknowledgment of the tacit criticism of his own stubbornness. ‘It’s not just the forensics who are on about it,’ he confessed.
‘Why, who else?’
‘Jo and Sylvia were reminded of that medieval anatomy book of hers.’
‘Really?’
‘You saw her lecture, what do you think?’
Janssen was surprised Murphy knew he’d gone, but he stayed with the topic. ‘I think they have a point. Maybe we should look at the images.’
‘Yeah, I’ve seen the slides. I see the resemblance, but I’m not convinced.’
‘But if they all think it’s related …’
‘That’s my point. Everybody who sees a link is either a medico, a nurse or a bloody art historian specialising in the body. It’s all a bit cosy.’
‘And me.’
‘And you. Who may or may not be impartial.’
Janssen didn’t know what Murphy was insinuating, but he left it alone.
Murphy gazed silently out the window for another five minutes, slowly working his way through his beer. ‘Come on, drink up,’ he said when he was done, but Janssen abandoned the rest of his schooner instead and they went out to the car. The rain had stopped but it was still gloomy. They drove across Ross Street and parked behind the morgue.
They found Mack in the tearoom with the forensic pathologist who’d performed the Newman post-mortem.
‘Anything new for us, Dr Forrest?’ asked Murphy.
‘You know most of it already, detective,’ she replied. ‘Caucasian female, mid-thirties, nulliparous, extremely fit. Sexually active but no recent penetration, no pregnancy, no diseases, no suspicious injuries, no abnormalities. She hasn’t even had her tonsils out. Killed around midday on the Friday, flayed shortly thereafter, then progressively stripped of her skeletal muscles over the next two or three days.’
‘How did she die?’
‘Not sure yet, but she has two unhealed punctures in her left median cubital vein with matching wounds in the skin, just like Williams.’
‘That’s the pattern,’ said Janssen.
‘I anticipate we’ll find pancuronium and thiopental in the blood.’
‘When do you expect the toxicology?’
‘Supposedly tomorrow, but who knows?’
‘Any trauma?’ asked Janssen.
‘Yes, she put up a good fight,’ said Forrest. ‘There’s a blunt injury over her right ear, with significant subdural bleeding. Dislocated right patella and broken left ankle without associated swelling, so peri-mortem. Bilateral defensive wounds on her forearms. She’s also been smothered.’
‘But not to death?’
‘No. Nil petechial haemorrhaging on the face and lungs, no foaming in the airways. But there’s a haematoma around the mid-face and jaw.’
‘A pad of fabric?’
Forrest nodded. ‘This’ll be your midazolam. We’re checking remnant fibres under a scanning electron microscope.’
‘You have that kind of equipment here?’ Janssen was surprised. All they ever heard about were cutbacks.
‘New South Wales Coroners?’ The pathologist snorted. ‘Yeah, nuh. It’s at Lucas Heights.’ The nuclear science facility housed a wide range of high-tech scientific equipment, in addition to the nation’s research reactor.
‘Any tissue samples?’
‘Nothing obvious, but we’re doing swab analysis.’
‘Any other connection with Williams?’ asked Murphy.
‘Professor McCalman did that post while I was on leave, and he’s now in Saint Petersburg at a conference. But from what I hear, the approach and the level of proficiency seem about right.’
‘Any possibility it’s a copycat?’
‘You couldn’t rule it out on the pathology, but you tell me: you didn’t release his cause of death, did you?’
‘No, we kept all that to ourselves,’ said Janssen. ‘Method and pharmacology.’
‘If it’s the same drugs, that’ll clinch it,’ said Mack.
Murphy turned to him. ‘I had a strange discussion about this case the other night.’
‘Yeah, I’ve had a few of those.’
‘Someone I know has an unusual take on it. I had my doubts, but it fits with your dissection theory.’
‘What’s the angle?’
‘Some famous medieval textbook. Father of modern anatomy kind of thing.’
‘You’re talking about Vesalius,’ said Forrest. ‘De Humani Corporis Fabrica.’
‘Do you know it?’ asked Murphy.
‘Everybody knows it,’ she replied, ‘it’s the urtext.’
‘So what’s the theory?’ asked Mack. ‘Our killer’s working off the Fabrica?’
‘Something like that.’
‘It’s not such a reach. I doubt he’s improvising, so he’s using something. Might as well be Vesalius.’
‘Yeah, but I get the sense there’s a bit of a cult around this book,’ said Murphy.
‘People do get excited about the Fabrica,’ said Forrest thoughtfully. ‘There’s a new edition in English, actually. It’s quite expensive, but apparently it sold well.’
‘So there are connoisseurs out there,’ mused Janssen.
‘Oh, yeah. I’m not sure it’s a scene exactly, but there are definitely some obsessives around.’
‘Want me to talk with this medical friend of yours?’ asked Mack.
‘If you don’t mind,’ replied Murphy. ‘Only she’s an art historian, not a doctor. Across the road, actually.’ He nodded towards the university.
‘Oh, right. Might need to avoid the morgue, Spud. Even the average GP would struggle with these remains. An amateur … yeah, better not.’
‘Just a conversation for now, Mack. I’ll line it up.’
‘Okay. What’s her name?’
‘Joanna King,’ said Murphy. ‘She’s my sister, actually.’
Wednesday 20 June – morning
‘Righto,’ said Murphy, calling his unit to order. ‘It’s official: our man’s a serial killer. You were right, Nguyễn, and I was wrong. Fortunately for you, I am a big man in all the ways that count. You may approach.’
The junior detective walked up the front to a cacophony of clapping and whistling. Murphy handed her a remote control, which would get her into the executive carpark. ‘That riceburner shitbox of yours better not mess up my nice clean concrete,’ he said. ‘One month then it’s back to the provinces.’ Nguyễn held the remote up in victory then returned to her place.
‘Okay, enough clowning around,’ continued Murphy, gesturing towards a map on the wall featuring two red pins. ‘Glebe in April, and now North Curl Curl, with the exact same weird shit. Precedent suggests there’s more to come. Eventually he’ll make a mistake, or get unlucky, or we’ll just accumulate enough data to nail him. But eventually won’t cut it, because the taxpayers of New South Wales would prefer to die of old age than being carved into little pieces. So we’re officially a task force now. Cox is coming back over from Fraud to help out with our other cases, so we can put most of our energy into hunting down this bastard.’
‘So if it’s serial, what’s the defining theme?’ asked Nikolaidis from his usual spot on top of the sturdy filing cabinet.
Murphy nodded at the SOCO, who stood to face the room.
‘The puncture wounds are identical, and I’m confident we’ll find the toxicology matches when it comes in,’ said Mack. ‘But the main connection is the strong anatomical dissection theme.’
‘I don’t really get that angle,’ said Harris. ‘All I saw was a shit-ton of cutting.’
‘I know others who feel that way,’ said Mack, tilting his head at Murphy, ‘but any doctor would recognise the pattern from anatomy class. A painstaking surgical precision and a textbook orthodoxy.’
‘What’s the morgue say?’ asked Chartier.
‘Forrest agrees with me: she did the Newman post. McCalman was the pathologist for Williams, but he’s still away.’
‘Look, I share your doubts,’ Murphy told Harris, ‘but there’s a classic anatomy book that could be an angle.’
‘What book?’ Harris asked.
‘It’s called De Humani Corporis Fabrica Libri Septem,’ said Mack, gesturing at a copy of an old illustration pinned to the squad’s incident board. ‘Fabrica for short. Published in 1543 by Andreas Vesalius, the father of modern anatomy. We think the killer might be working off it.’
‘Why that book?’ asked Nguyễn.
‘The libri septem is Latin for “in seven volumes”. The first volume’s on the bones and cartilages. The second’s on the muscles and ligaments.’
‘Williams and Newman,’ said Chartier. A shiver went through the squad.
‘Gamóto,’ Nikolaidis said. ‘That’s a whole other level of methodical.’ He slid off his filing cabinet and crossed to the incident board to inspect the illustration. It depicted a crowded dissection scene with a commanding figure in the centre looking out at the viewer.
‘But what’s the significance to the investigation?’ asked Nguyễn. ‘Is this book super rare or something?’
‘No, originals are rare, but many libraries have a facsimile, and it’s all over the web,’ said Mack. ‘And there’s a plush new English translation just come out, the New Fabrica.’
‘You’re right, Nguyễn, it might not help, but it’s an angle,’ said Murphy. ‘And we might be able turn it to our advantage in other respects.’ He shot Janssen a significant glance. ‘So we’ll get someone in to take us through the book, help us get our eye in.’
‘What about Australian sales of this flash new version?’ asked Nikolaidis, turning away from the picture.
‘Good idea, Niko,’ said Murphy. ‘It’s published in Switzerland, though; could take a while.’
‘I wonder if they’re all top-secret like the banks,’ said Harris. Everyone laughed. ‘What? I’m serious.’
‘We know you’re serious, Harris,’ said Murphy. ‘That’s what’s funny.’
‘Forrest said there’s a bit of a cult around Vesalius, so there might be enthusiast groups,’ said Janssen.
‘Oh there will be,’ said Nikolaidis. ‘If it exists, there’s trainspotters of it.’
‘How about your abattoir angle, Matthijs?’ asked Chartier.
Janssen grimaced. ‘It’s not a well-documented workforce, and there are thousands of them. Same with kangaroo-shooters. There are not so many taxidermists and they’re easier to find, but they all check out so far. The RSPCA has had plenty of sick stuff in the last twelve months, but that’s business as usual. Nothing that looks relevant to us. I don’t think this approach is going to get us far.’
‘What’s the hold-up with toxicology?’ Nguyễn asked Mack. ‘It’s been over a week.’
‘They’re doing the best they can,’ Mack replied, defending his laboratory colleagues. ‘They’re chronically under-staffed.’
‘I thought this case was on priority.’
‘It is,’ said Murphy. ‘But we’re not the highest priority on priority.’
‘Try waiting for a doping assay,’ said Harris, evidently trying to recover some dignity. This was something he knew about; he’d been attached to Vice where he’d worked the racecourses. ‘Takes them fucken months.’
‘Two points define a line,’ said Murphy. ‘I want everyone to start cross-checking the pape
r trails for connections – financials, phone lists, email address books, calendars, the works. Triangulation, boys and girls: what do these two have in common? We find that thread, we find our man. There’s heaps to do, so get back to work, the lot of you.’ The detectives immediately began chattering as they returned to their desks. Murphy turned back to Mack as Janssen joined them.
‘How’d you go with my sister?’
‘We had a good yarn,’ said Mack, ‘then Forrest and I had another look at the remains. I think Dr King’s right. They really do look like what you’d have left after a system dissection.’
‘And there’s the order of the dissections,’ said Janssen.
‘Right. I tell you what, if he goes again, it will clinch it.’
‘Why, what’s the third volume?’ asked Murphy.
‘Veins and arteries. It will be very messy, and very obvious.’
‘That’s all we need,’ said Murphy. ‘I’m wondering about this angle, Mack. Maybe we need more from Jo than a seminar.’
‘Something ongoing, you mean?’ asked Mack. Murphy nodded. ‘It’s a good idea, she knows that book really well. And she’s smart. But how would you fund it? Surely you’d have to pay the uni for her time?’
Murphy looked at Janssen. ‘I reckon we can sort something out.’
‘Well I’d be happy to support that,’ said Mack. ‘Even if you know what you’re looking at, you don’t always know what you’re looking for.’
‘Do you reckon she could handle it?’ Murphy asked. ‘This is pretty hardcore.’
Mack considered the question for a moment. ‘I think so. She was squeamish at first, as you’d expect, but once she was looking at it as an expert she seemed better. Not great, but better.’
‘Good enough.’ Murphy nodded. ‘Thanks, Mack, your endorsement will help. I’ll let you know how we go.’ The SOCO headed for the lift.
‘Is this your clever new idea for the premier?’ asked Janssen, once they were alone.
Murphy smirked. ‘I reckon we pitch this for the premier’s bullshit innovation play, cover Jo’s charge-out costs and then leverage some extra resources.’
‘Hence your change of heart about the Fabrica.’