by Unknown
‘We believe they were unable to have children of their own and so fostered a child from one of the notorious orphanages in Romania, known as leaganes,’ she continued, pointing to the other photograph on the whiteboard. ‘Gervas Kirzek.’
I began taking notes, as was everyone at the table except the SOG sergeant. He didn’t need to know any of this for his mission. All he needed was an address.
‘According to intel,’ Johns went on, ‘and this comes straight from the spooks in Canberra, Kirzek was born in 1960 in a village outside Brashov. We don’t know who his biological parents were, but ASIO believe he was fostered out of the orphanage at age four, after which he lived with the Vitazuls until he was eighteen. He joined the Securiate where he remained until the age of thirty when –’
‘The security what?’ the superintendent asked.
‘The Sec-u-ri-ate,’ Johns said, writing it on the whiteboard. ‘The Communist Party’s secret political police. They were responsible for guarding the internal security of the Ceauescu regime and suppressing any dissident groups that criticised or challenged it.’ She crossed her arms and turned to the photo of Kirzek. ‘I’ve seen pictures and read personal accounts of the tactics they used to achieve this. They trained their recruits in slaughterhouses and used live pigs as practice. Trust me, they were barbarians.’
I thought about the boy who’d been murdered in Talbot Reserve and Cassie’s words reverberated in my mind. Some sicko cut his throat so deep it damn near severed his head. I wanted to tell them about the laptop, the disk and the connection with Justin Quinn, but decided to wait until the end of the meeting.
‘In 1990, the Ceauescu dictatorship collapsed and the Securiate scattered,’ Johns went on. ‘Some fled to the US or Britain, others left for more remote and accepting countries in West Africa or South America. Kirzek disappeared for seven years, then guess where he turned up?’
Several people answered at once. ‘Australia.’
‘Right, but not Melbourne,’ Johns replied, pointing at the picture of the elderly man. ‘The foster father, Karl Vitazul, sponsored him and Kirzek was granted residency. This is where it gets interesting. Kirzek spent seven years in Sydney and clocked up a decent docket, mostly for sex offences and assault. Then in 2004 the stepfather died and Kirzek saw an opportunity to start afresh and pick up some inheritance, so he moved into the Elwood residence and took over the café, then buys himself a BMW, under the old man’s name, of course.’
‘What about the foster mother?’ I asked, writing it all down. ‘Is she accounted for?’
Stello glanced at Eckles, who glared across the table at me. Eckles had probably told Stello I wouldn’t be involved any further in the investigation. Cassie was right. The only reason Eckles had called me back was to keep an eye on me. The Federal Police, on the other hand, obviously weren’t privy to this.
‘Good question,’ said Johns. ‘Immigration records show Vitazul entered Australia with his wife. But we checked with death registrations. She died in 1997, just before Kirzek arrived in Australia.’
I made a note about this as Johns elaborated.
‘So you have an elderly man running a café in Melbourne. His wife dies and suddenly he’s alone. He contacts his foster son in Europe, tells him he’ll sponsor his immigration to Australia. They set it up, and Kirzek moves out here. Now let’s think about the psychopathology. He’s been part of an institution for the greater part of his life.’ She pointed at the picture of Kirzek then began counting fingers. ‘First, the orphanage. Second, the foster care system. Then, when he’s eighteen, he joins the Securiate, where for ten years he learns how to disembowel pigs – and probably humans – with a filleting knife. Then, all these years later, he shows up in St Kilda as your suspect. Isn’t really surprising, is it?’
Everybody stared at the photo of Kirzek and for a while nobody said anything. Then, finally, Eckles spoke up. ‘Well, thanks for that, Fiona. If it turns out this prick is our guy, we’ll make sure he spends the rest of his life in another kind of institution.’ Getting up, he turned to Stello. ‘I want to wrap this up. How are you placed?’
‘All set. We’ve put this photo out through all media networks and got extra staff at Crime Stoppers to take the calls.’
Eckles nodded. ‘So what now?’
‘We’re heading back to the Elwood house. They’re still down there and last I heard the guy’s a keeper. No BMW in the garage, but a fair stack of movie magic. Lights, cameras and all sorts of action.’
Eckles looked across at the SOG sergeant. The man’s black T-shirt was stretched tight over thick slabs of muscle and across his chest was an imprint of the SOG helmet and a machine gun. Beneath it were the words: Always Bet on Black.
‘Good as gold,’ the sergeant said. ‘Just give me an address and we’ll take him down.’
‘Right then, that’s it.’
Everyone else stood up, ready to roll. Eckles leant across the table and put a hand on my shoulder.
‘Not you, sunshine. We’re not done yet,’ he said, nodding towards his office.
He closed the door and drew the blinds so no one could see in. ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this,’ he said.
‘Doing what?’ I asked.
‘Shut up!’ he cut in. ‘I didn’t ask you to speak. When I want to hear your voice, I’ll ask you to speak. Now sit down.’
‘I know why you’re angry, but we don’t have time for it now.’
‘What?’
‘We don’t have time for this. I think we need to –’
‘I don’t care what you think!’ he hissed. ‘You don’t seem to understand that. And you don’t seem to get that I’m the boss. I’m in charge. I make the rules. I decide what’s important and what we have time for. Now sit your arse in that chair or I’ll make sure you never work here again.’
‘I know why you’re pissed off, and I’m sorry,’ I said, easing into the chair.
‘Sorry?’ he sneered, leaning over his desk. ‘Sorry won’t cut it. You have no idea how much shit you are in, pal. I personally signed an agreement with ESD to have you on carer’s leave, basically gave you a get-out-of-strife pass, for free.’
‘Oh, turn it up. You made that deal to cover your own arse because you couldn’t accept we missed a curve ball on the overdose.’
Eckles snorted. ‘You missed the curve ball. Not me, not anyone else. You! That’s why I sent you packing. Only you couldn’t cop it. You went after the stepfather, manhandled him like a schoolyard bully. That’ll cost you big time when ESD come around.’
I crossed my arms, silent, fuming.
‘But that’s not all. I know you questioned the kid’s girlfriend. Jesus Christ, McCauley. You took the bloody social worker along for the ride. Mate, I’ve even got you questioning the clerk at the 7-Eleven.’ Eckles let his knowledge hang in the air like a bad smell, then added, ‘If ESD get a hold of all that, it’s strike number three for you.’
‘What do you want, Ben?’ I asked calmly.
‘Tell me what else you know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he said, his face the colour of ripe beetroot, two veins protruding from his neck. ‘What kind of fucking idiot do you think I am? Either give me what else you’ve got on this, or I make a call to ESD and tell them about you gallivanting all over the joint while you’re supposed to be at home on the couch.
‘I have a witness,’ I said, accepting defeat.
‘What?’
‘Well, sort of,’ I started, then explained my contact with Stuart Parks and how he’d pointed me in the direction of Kirzek before the Homicide Squad had officially identified him as a suspect. I also told him about the disk and the pornography of both Dallas Boyd and Justin Quinn, the boy who’d been murdered the previous night, and how Sparks had stolen the laptop from Kirzek’s house in Elwood.
When I was done, Eckles sat wide-eyed and silent. I could almost see the political cogs in his brain turning.
&
nbsp; ‘Kirzek murdered that kid last night, as well as Boyd?’ he said.
‘I think so.’
‘So where’s the laptop?’
‘In transit,’ I lied. ‘There’s a request for the Computer Crime Squad to check it out as we speak.’
‘Not good enough. This is a murder investigation, McCauley. It needs to be with Homicide. I want you to call Computer Crime and have them contact Stello ASAP. Is that clear?’
‘Fine.’
‘I’ve given you too much slack, McCauley. That’s your problem. You’re like a dog off a lead, pissing all over the place. Now it’s time to put you on a choker-chain. Make the call to Computer Crime, then stay the hell away from this case.’
I was about to respond when the SOG sergeant opened the door, now dressed in a black jumpsuit, Kevlar helmet in his hands.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said to Eckles. ‘Thought you’d want to know. Somebody called Crime Stoppers and made an ID on Kirzek. Said he’d just seen him. We’ve got an address.’
Eckles raised his eyebrows. ‘Where?’
‘Apartment in South Yarra. We’re ready to crash and bash. You wanna roll?’
‘Sure.’ Eckles followed the sergeant out then turned back to me. ‘Don’t fuck this up, McCauley. You get that laptop to Homicide and piss off home.’
29
I MADE NO EFFORT WITH my information report for the Homicide Squad, indicating only that the laptop had allegedly belonged to Gervas Kirzek and had been seized from a local crook. After burning a copy of the disk for my own reference, I attached the original to the report, but didn’t state that there were images of Dallas Boyd or Justin Quinn on it. It wouldn’t make any difference to the homicide investigation anyway. Stello would still require Computer Crime experts to run through it, and this wouldn’t be a priority. Not when SOG was about to arrest the prime suspect.
After printing and proofing the report, I taped it to the laptop and sealed it all in a courier’s box. My connection to the case was over and I felt flat and dejected. At the same time I felt shallow for being so self-centred.
‘Hey, Ruby,’ Cassie called from the mess room. ‘Check this out. Our guy’s on the TV.’
An ABC news anchor stood outside the St Kilda Road police complex describing how detectives hunting a man over a series of murders in the St Kilda area were about to bring in a suspect for questioning.
‘A series?’ Cassie said. ‘He kills two people and all of a sudden he’s a serial killer.’
‘Two that we know of,’ I muttered as a picture of Kirzek appeared on the screen. It was the same photo that had been released to Crime Stoppers. Beneath it was the label ‘Mr Fatty’.
‘I was right,’ Cassie said. ‘They are adding him to the Three Misters.’
‘Mr Fatty.’ I snorted. ‘Who the hell gave them that?’
‘A witness,’ Cassie said.
‘What witness?’
‘Apparently a hooker told Homicide she saw an overweight man running away from Talbot Reserve after Justin Quinn was killed. She obviously leaked it to the media. Probably copped a quid for it too.’
I shook my head in disgust. A media title gave killers clout and status, and often impeded the investigation. It annoyed me that Dallas Boyd’s actual murder hadn’t received any media coverage, yet a flock of journalists and cameramen were camped outside headquarters waiting for his killer’s arrival. Kirzek was a celebrity now. No doubt somebody would get a six-figure advance for writing a book about him.
Cassie turned up the volume as, onscreen, an unmarked police cruiser slowed to turn into the car park at the police complex. A man was huddled between two detectives in the back seat. I stepped up to the screen as the news anchor explained that a suspect had been taken into custody by the Homicide Squad. But when the news cameras pressed a light against the side window of the car, I was staring at a man I’d never seen before.
‘That’s not him,’ I said to Cassie. ‘It’s not Kirzek.’
‘Huh?’
‘Look!’ I said, pointing to the figure in the back seat. ‘It’s not him.’
‘Then who the hell have they got?’
I was dialling Eckles’ number when there was a sound of running footsteps and Mark Finetti entered the room, a startled look across his face.
‘You guys need to haul arse,’ he spluttered. ‘That kid from today, your informant, we just found him outside the squat off Acland Street. Looks like he had a fight with Freddy Krueger.’
‘Sparks?’ I said, my mouth dry.
‘Yeah, stabbed to death.’
The narrow street was blocked at the entrance, blue and red police lights pulsing against the darkening night sky. Hundreds of festival goers were packed against the crime scene tape, like fans queuing for a grand final. Finetti wound down his window and began yelling at the crowd to move, but it made no difference, so Cassie flicked the siren on. When that didn’t work I got out of the car and physically ushered the rubber-neckers to the sides, giving us just enough space to get the car through. We signed the attendance log and stepped under the plastic tape. Already the forensic process was in full swing. A team of crime scene officers had their cameras and toolboxes ready, while another team had assembled floodlights to illuminate the driveway where Sparks had been killed.
Kim Pendlebury came over to us. ‘Look at this place,’ she said, nodding to the surging crowd and the lone constable who stood guarding the crime scene. ‘We need as many bodies as we can get down here. Cassie, you help out Powers over there, keep these people in line. Mark, I want you on media watch. We don’t want any shifty journos breaking through, got it?’
They both nodded and walked off towards the crowd.
‘So you knew this kid?’ Kim asked me.
‘An informant,’ I said, looking over her shoulder to the crumpled and bloodied body. The sight sickened me and I had to look away.
‘Well, you know how it goes. You can’t go in. I gotta keep it clear.’
‘What can you tell me?’
‘We think the killer staked out the house from over there,’ she said, pointing to a palm tree. A crime scene examiner crawled around on the ground beneath it, examining the road and nature strip. I could see an old syringe and a used condom that the CSO had highlighted with numbered evidence tags, even though they probably weren’t related to the murder. For a second I wondered what sort of photo the image would make. A used condom, a dirty needle and a crime scene cop crawling around a palm tree. Very St Kilda. Maybe they could make a postcard out of it and sell it to the tourists.
‘Why over there?’
‘Well, we got witnesses.’
‘No way!’
‘A couple walked by here just before the kid got sliced. They saw an overweight transvestite on the other side of the street, leaning against the tree, looking like he was waiting for something.’
An image of the trannie I’d seen earlier flashed in my mind and I suddenly felt weak at the knees.
‘That prick, I saw him,’ I said. ‘I was here about five this arvo, looking for Sparks. There was a fat trannie in a red dress right here. I didn’t recognise him, thought he was just another newcomer.’
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the face, a telling detail, maybe a tattoo, anything, but all I could see was the dress. There’d been a blonde wig too, but the dress had been all-consuming. Bright red and bursting at the seams. That had probably been his intention. Make yourself look disgusting, that way no one looks at your face. Perfect disguise.
‘The hommies might want to speak to you,’ Kim said.
‘Yeah. How much did the witnesses see?’
‘Not a lot. They live around here, a married couple. They see trannies all the time, so this was no biggie, except when they got back from their evening stroll us cops were here with the body. Anyway, we didn’t want them skipping the scene so we got Homicide on to them real quick.’
That ruled out any option of me being able to talk to them.
‘What do you
make of the transvestite angle? Real or staged?’
Kim chuckled. ‘All you heteros are the same, if you ask me. Wouldn’t know shit from shine when it comes to our side of the fence. My guess is your guy, Mr Fatty or whatever the hell they’ve called him, put on a bit of lippy and a wig, slipped into a dress and there you go: an overweight transvestite.’
I nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, like you say, not out of place in St Kilda.’
‘Nothing’s out of place in St Kilda. Come with me,’ she said, leading me across the street to a white panel van with a cage on the back, a Port Phillip Council emblem on the doors.
‘Dog catchers,’ she explained, pointing to the dog in the rear cabin. ‘The kid had a mutt. Some kind of pit bull by the look of it. It wouldn’t let us or the ambos near the body so we had to get a dog catcher out. Poor bastard had to ignore the body while trying to catch the dog. In the end he caught the dog then puked his guts up.’ Kim laughed. ‘Bloody ambos had to treat him for shock. Guess he’s still not well enough to drive.’
I didn’t find the story amusing. The dog was asleep on a blanket, probably in shock too. Sparks had had little to offer the dog but he was still loyal enough to defend his master.
‘Hooch,’ I said, easing away from the window.
‘What’s that?’
‘The dog’s name’s Hooch. He’s a bull mastiff. Not a pit bull.’
‘Not going to be anything for long. Not once they get him in the pound.’
I looked around for Cassie and saw Eckles step under the tape and stride towards me.
‘What the hell are you doing here, McCauley?’ he snarled. ‘Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?’
‘Don’t even start,’ I said. ‘This is Kirzek’s handiwork, which to me is one hell of a mystery since you were supposed to arrest him. They even had his face plastered all over the news. What the hell happened?’
‘It’s not your concern, McCauley. Go home before I –’
‘Not my concern? Mate, my informant’s dead. Killed by the same prick you and Stello took off to arrest an hour ago. What happened?’