Her eyes gleamed at the prospect of being on the trail of the killer. Despite her repugnance for what Walker had done, Dusty was still determined to solve the case.
“There could be other victims,” she continued, “but the obvious place to start is with the three girls who outed him.”
The thought of what Paul Walker’s victims must have suffered gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was reluctant to locate any of them. It didn’t seem fair that she, whoever she was, might end up in jail. The law had let her down by acquitting her abuser. Now I was going to help the law to take her freedom away.
Unwilling for that to happen I delayed trying to locate the victims. Instead, I continued researching Walker. He had, I discovered, grown up in Portsea with one sibling and later took up a teaching post at a primary school in Melbourne.
The school where Paul Walker had worked was understandably loath to talk about him. They had done their best to remove any cyber links connecting the school with Walker. However, on the internet it’s always possible to find old files. I found enough to put together a dossier on the dead monk.
He had been popular with fellow staff members and students. Once a week he gave up his lunch break to hold an art class for kids who had talent in that area. Up until the time the three girls made their accusations, there’d been no indication he was anything other than a dedicated teacher who worked hard to help students do well. Somehow, the fact that he’d been able to hide his dark side so completely made him an even more sickening and sinister individual.
Another procrastination strategy was to step up my enquiries re Moose. Dusty had suggested I contact his associates first to ‘suss them out’. She would then go and see any who would be willing to talk about Moose, or showed even the merest hint that they might be willing. She suggested I ask them if Moose had mentioned a leather sandal or thong.
“What if Moose took Ram’s missing thong as some kind of joke?” she said. “If you ask them about it, they probably won’t realise the significance of it and won’t see any harm in talking about it.” She crossed her fingers for luck and held them up for me to see. “Someone out there might know what Moose did with Ram’s sandal.”
I had previously contacted the list of associates supplied to us by Jake but to no avail. The usual response from Moose’s friends was that they had nothing to say except to declare Moose was a ‘good bloke’. That probably just meant he was no worse a criminal than any of them. His neighbours described him as ‘a bit rough but otherwise okay’. I extended my research and found a couple of his ex-girlfriends. One refused to speak with me and the other one’s only complaint about Moose was that he was ‘a bit tight with his money’. No-one remembered Moose joking or boasting about acquiring a single leather thong. It occurred to me that most of these people probably bought marijuana from Moose and didn’t want to risk upsetting him.
When I reported my disappointing results to Dusty, she was philosophical. Although she hadn’t dismissed him as a suspect, her interest in Moose was not as strong now that she was focusing on the sexual abuse victims. Consequently, she was not quite so tolerant when I admitted I’d not yet had a chance to trace any of the girls who had accused Walker. Dusty saw through my lame excuse and fixed me with a piercing look.
“We do need to interview them, Sean.”
“They were only kids when Walker…” I didn’t want to bring pictures into my mind by finishing the sentence.
“I understand why you’re not enthusiastic about finding the girls. Don’t forget, until I solve the case we don’t know for sure if the killer was one of Walker’s victims. Finding them might mean establishing their innocence.” Appreciating my uncertainty, Dusty took pity on me.
“Come on. Let’s take a break.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her phone. “We’ll go to Alexandra Village and see what they have to say about Walker.”
After parking the car in one of the back streets, we set out on foot through the town to the other end of Port Douglas. The buzz of diners in the cafes followed us as we walked along Macrossan Street. Queues of people waited at the Gelati Bar. Children pointed excitedly to the menu on the back wall urging their parents to buy the flavour they wanted.
We continued on to the end of Macrossan Street, turned left into Wharf Street and soon reached our destination. The retirement village was set back from the road nestled behind an impressive cluster of tropical vegetation dominated by tall palms. Dusty peered at a label on one of the palms at the entrance.
“Don’t ask me to read its Latin name but it’s commonly known as Alexandra Palm. So now we know how Alexandra Village got its name.”
“Now, that’s what I call good detective work.”
Dusty responded to my teasing with a mock scowl.
A surprise awaited us inside. Coming towards us as we opened the door in all her bejewelled glory, wearing a magnificent silver turban that glistened in the light, was Carmen Miranda.
“Daa…rlings,” she drawled. “You have come to dance? It is too late. My class, it is finished.”
Dusty laughed. “Do you hold dance classes for the residents?”
“Residents. Staff.” Carmen waved an arm in elegant dismissal of her obvious popularity. “They all love to dance with Carmen. It is the exercise very good, isn’t it?” She started toward the door. “I go now. I must fetch Sylvia and Eric.”
I recalled her mentioning those names before. Rocky had suggested she might be referring to a couple of dogs that were boarding with her.
“Are they the dogs you’re looking after?”
Carmen looked up at me. “Dogs?” Confusion registered on her face but cleared almost immediately. “Oooh the leetle doggies! They are no more with me. I have only the birds, my pretty birds.” She made a flying motion with her hand. “You will come to my home one day? We will drink the wine together.”
As was expected of me, I held the door open for Carmen. She swept out with a regal flourish. Strange that Rocky didn’t know about her birds. Maybe they were a recent addition to Carmen’s household.
At the reception desk, Dusty stated our business and we were directed to the manager’s office. We passed a common area where elderly residents were seated in a semicircle lifting hand weights in unison under the guidance of a young female instructor.
The manager, a plump woman in her mid fifties, greeted us with a friendly smile, introducing herself as Myrtle Hoskins.
“We were all devastated when we heard about what happened to Ram,” she said, her face arranged to express appropriate sorrow. “He was the loveliest man. Such a beautiful reading voice.” A sigh of resignation. “We’ll do anything we can to help you find the person who took his life. Not that it’ll bring the poor man back but…” She trailed off with a helpless gesture, blinking behind her glasses.
When Dusty fished for any hint of animosity toward the monk, Ms Hoskins was aghast at the mere suggestion of such a thing.
“Ram was loved and respected by everyone; residents and staff alike. He was gentle, patient and generous with his time. You never got the sense he was doing us a favour; it was more like he saw it as a duty, a duty he enjoyed.”
“Clearly, Ram had no enemies here,” said Dusty as we stepped back out into the warm air.
Chapter 24
On our walk back to the car, we heard the distant sound of someone strumming a guitar. The music became louder as we drew nearer, but was abruptly replaced by raised voices coming from a simple weatherboard house set back from the road behind unfenced lawns and surrounded by palms. Just before the steps leading up to the verandah, a sign proclaiming The Clink Theatre disabused me of the notion that the building was someone’s home. On the verandah with his back to us was the owner of one of the voices: Rocky.
“There’s no need to do this.” Although I couldn’t see the female speaker, I could hear the distress in her voice.
Rocky cajoled her. “Beth. It’s for the best.”
> Dusty touched my arm lightly and whispered. “Beth? The ex-fiancé?”
“I need the job, Rocky.” Beth beseeched him. “You’re not being fair.”
“You’ll be fine, Beth. I’ll give you an awesome reference and make sure other employers know what a fantastic chef you are. Actually, a friend of mine needs a chef for his new cafe.”
Dusty and I started to move on. Lingering any longer would look like we were spying on them.
“Oh. Rocky!” This was uttered with a mixture of frustration and resignation.
A few moments later, a flash of bright pink passed us. A young woman with shoulder length wavy hair, wearing shorts and a pink top marched ahead of us. She seemed oblivious that she’d bumped me accidentally as she passed and strode on to eventually stop in front of a parked car in the next block.
“Designer clothes,” observed Dusty.
Funny how women can instantly pick that sort of thing. What I’d noticed was that this was the same girl who’d been having a tense discussion with Rocky outside the Cafe last week.
Leaning her body up against the passenger side of the car with her back to the footpath, the woman buried her head in her folded arms. Dusty slowed her pace.
“See if you can work your magic, Sean O’Kelly.”
“Magic?”
“You have a knack for calming out-of-control women.”
Was she thinking of my meeting with Kellie Edwards in the Sanctuary car park or of the times I had helped her through her own angry tantrums? Either way, I wished she hadn’t placed the burden of expectation on me.
As it turned out, my so-called magic skills were not needed. Dusty managed on her own when we drew level with the distraught woman.
“Beth?” Hearing her name spoken in an unfamiliar voice caused her to spin round in surprise. She stared at Dusty, quickly brushing away remnants of tears from her cheeks. Her chocolate brown eyes, crinkly black hair and strong facial features were a striking combination. In fact, the strength in her face was such that tears seemed incongruous.
“Who are you?” A musical voice. Her tone was curious but not unfriendly.
“My name’s Dusty Kent.”
“Oh, yes. Rocky mentioned you.”
Dusty introduced me and reached into her bag for the police sketch of Walker.
“Do you know this man?”
Beth studied the photo. After a few minutes she nodded.
“It’s Ram. He looked better in real life though. This makes him look a bit older than he was.” She handed the photo back to Dusty. “He had a kind face.”
“You were seen talking with Ram just before he died.” A puzzled look crossed Beth’s face. Dusty prompted her memory. “I’m talking about the last time he came into town; the day before his death.” Recollection now gleamed in Beth’s eyes, quickly followed by a flash of sadness.
“I remember.”
“What were you talking about?”
“Nothing. Just passing the time of day.” Seeing Dusty’s curiosity, Beth explained. “Ram was kind to me one day; just after Rocky and I broke up.” She looked back toward the Clink Theatre from where the strains of Rocky’s guitar could be heard again. A blush crept up her neck and tinged her cheeks.
“I was at the monastery and went into the garden for some quiet time. Instead, I got all worked up and started crying.” A rueful smile crossed her face. “Rocky had just broken off our engagement. I took it pretty hard. It was my own fault though. I should never have pressed Rocky about getting engaged. I knew he wasn’t ready for a commitment.” Her eyes rolled upward in a self deprecating gesture. “So there I was bawling my eyes out when Ram came across me and sorta calmed me down. He just sat silently on the other end of the bench. That’s all he did, but I felt his empathy.” Beth laughed self-consciously. “It seems whenever I get in a tizz over Rocky, someone nice comes along to make me feel better.” Her smile included both of us. “After that, whenever I saw Ram in town I always stopped to speak to him.”
“Did he mention anything out of the ordinary when you were talking to him in the street that day? Did he seem worried about anything?”
“No. He never really said much.”
“Did anyone else speak to him while you were with him?”
Beth ran her fingers through her hair. Her eyes drifted to the left as she tried to recall her meeting with the monk.
“No.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “Something a bit odd did happen though.”
“While you were talking to Ram?”
“Yes. I noticed Kellie Edwards walking towards us. She was glaring at Ram, as if she was mad at him. I thought maybe she was riled up about something and was sort of looking through Ram, not really looking at him. Later I found out she blamed Ram for her son’s death. That’s so unfair. Her son took his own life. How can anyone stop another person from doing that?”
“Did she say anything to Ram?”
“No. But if looks could kill…”
“What about Ram? Did he say anything or acknowledge her?”
“No. I’m not sure he even noticed. He was always so… I dunno, sort of focused in the moment. He didn’t really get distracted by anything else, if you know what I mean.”
“Yep, I know what you mean.” Dusty jerked her head back in the direction of the Theatre. “Were you and Rocky rehearsing for a performance?”
The music had stopped. Looking back, we saw Rocky walking in the opposite direction with his guitar slung casually over his shoulder. Beth watched Rocky’s retreating back for a few moments before answering Dusty’s question.
“Rocky’s rehearsing. I’m just helping out with the costumes; I’m good with that sort of thing. Rocky’s doing the music for one of the other plays in the same show. Funny really, cos the play he’s working on is so… Well, it’s about a cross-dressing football player and Rocky is such a…such a man.”
Beth laughed when she saw the puzzled expression on my face. “He’s so straight. That’s what I’m trying to say. Not that cross-dressers are necessarily gay; I don’t mean that. It’s just that Rocky doesn’t seem comfortable with alternative gender stuff. Like, he freaked out when Arabella was here for a festival. Rocky’s Cafe did the catering for a lunch where Arabella was guest of honour and he deliberately avoided her. People were coming up to her all day long but Rocky wouldn’t go near her.”
“Arabella?” Dusty looked mystified. Before Beth could respond, her expression cleared. “Oh, Arabella! I know who you mean.” Throwing a glance in my direction, she added, “But you’d better explain to the Irishman.”
Beth grinned at me. “Have you heard of Arabella? She’s a famous Australian performer.”
I had to admit my ignorance. “Don’t know the name. Is she a cross-dresser?”
Beth shook her head. I could feel Dusty’s eyes on me. Was I about to fail some sort of test? Had I already failed by not recognising an Australian icon?
“Arabella’s a beautiful, sexy woman.” Dusty shared a conspiratorial smile with Beth.
“Arabella’s transgender.” Beth decided to let me in on the secret. “Some men don’t get that she’s not a male anymore. They feel threatened.”
I didn’t really get it either. Dusty relieved my discomfort by changing the subject.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Beth, what happened between you and Rocky today?”
Pain flashed in Beth’s eyes. She chased it away with a wry smile.
“He dumped me again. Dumped me as his chef this time. He thinks it would be better for me if I wasn’t around him so much.”
“Because you’re not over him yet?” Beth nodded. “Very noble of him.” I thought I detected a flicker of sarcasm in Dusty’s tone.
“He’s right,” said Beth. “It’s just that I feel like such an idiot for not being able to let go. I never met anyone like Rocky before. He’s different from most men; strong but gentle. And…” She paused, searching for the right words. “You know how it usually is with a man.” She loo
ked at Dusty. “They don’t really get women. It wasn’t like that with Rocky. He understood me.”
She heaved a sigh, pushed herself away from the car and retrieved her keys from the pocket of her shorts.
Before Beth drove off, Dusty took her contact details and asked her to get in touch if she remembered anything more about her meeting with Ram.
“Now I wonder why Kellie didn’t mention she’d seen Ram the day before he died.” Dusty watched Beth’s car disappearing into the distance thoughtfully. “I need to have another chat with the angry vet.”
Chapter 25
Instead of returning to the car, Dusty beckoned me back toward the Clink Theatre.
“I want to introduce you to someone.”
Mystified, I followed her down the path and up the steps to the verandah of the Theatre where she gestured at a poster in the window.
A shapely woman in a body-hugging glittering white dress with an elaborate feathery cape draped over her shoulders looked to be in full song with her arms flung forward and head thrust back. For a split second I thought I was looking at Rocky’s neighbour but quickly realised my mistake. This beautiful blonde woman was not Carmen.
“Meet Arabella,” said Dusty. “You wouldn’t believe she used to be a man, would you?”
My mouth dropped open. I shook my head vigorously.
“How…? I mean…” I was flummoxed. “How did she… how did he become a woman?”
“She had a sex change operation when she was in her mid twenties. Back in the eighties, I think.”
“In the 1980s?” I had heard of people having sex change operations. I didn’t realise it was happening way back then. Looking at the picture of the very feminine Arabella, I found it impossible to imagine her as a man. “She looks so…”
Dusty smiled her understanding. “I know. As well as the operation, she would have had hormone treatment that gave her all the female attributes girls develop during puberty. Eventually she emerged as a woman, with the characteristics and emotions of any other woman.”
Disguising Demons Page 11