by Bob Goodwin
‘Yes, we will get a doctor for you, I promise. What about the boy?’
‘No, the doctor. My husband.’ She coughed again. For a moment, she stopped breathing. Her lips turned slightly blue. She coughed again, dislodging a plug of mucus, then quickly sucked in more air.
‘Johnson, go downstairs and call an ambulance. She’s not staying here any longer.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Cathy, leaving the room without delay.
‘Your husband is not home, Melissa. Do you know where he’s gone?’ She shook her head. ‘Are you frightened of him?’ She nodded. ‘We are taking you to hospital. You will be safe there. Tell me why he scares you.’
‘Danny, my son.’ Melissa’s brow was moist. Cochran gently pulled back the covers. She placed her hand over the inspector’s forearm. ‘My son.’
‘Surely the doctor wouldn’t harm his own child?’
‘Not his, mine. My son. Danny. My boy,’ panted Melissa.
‘He’s your son. I know Danny’s your son. Doctor Goldsmith, he is the boy’s father, isn’t he?’ She shook her head. ‘Well who the hell is then?’ said Cochran with surprise.
‘Teddy,’ she replied weakly.
‘Teddy. You don’t mean Teddy Duncan? Edward Duncan of Kingsview Terrace?’ She nodded. The inspector patted her hand then massaged his brow with his fingers. ‘Jesus Christ!’
* * *
The shiny black station wagon was parked in readiness at the rear of Kym’s house. The back seat was lying flat, and there was ample room for a stretcher. Kym had everything carefully organised. Simon would not be given the narcotic antidote until after they had arrived at the ceremonial area. The plastic bag containing the snake-handled knife and keys, handled by Stacey, was in the glove box, and several hooded gowns had been packed into a suitcase.
Two stern-faced men dressed in black suits lifted the stretcher. They quickly and quietly positioned it in the back of the vehicle and removed the two supporting poles and separators. They returned to the house and soon emerged with a specially designed bottomless coffin. The glossy, dark wooden box with golden handles, crucifix, and trimmings was lowered slowly over the stretcher. Darkness engulfed the drugged Simon Stacey.
Looking the part of a bereaved widow, with black dress, wide-brimmed hat and black lacy veil, Kym took her seat in the car. The driver looked at her. She nodded, and the vehicle slowly departed.
* * *
‘You see, Johnson,’ said Cochran. ‘The good Doctor Goldsmith is not the boy’s real father, even though his name appears on the birth certificate. Teddy Duncan was probably manipulated by Goldsmith with threats to harm the child if he didn’t do as he was told. Keeping Stacey occupied on the night of the fire may have been one such task. It may have been his failure to do that which cost him his life. Although I think it would only have been a matter of time before he would have been silenced.’
They pulled up to the curb outside Devlin’s flat. Cathy was driving.
‘A little further down the road. Turn around and park away from the street lights on the other side. Let’s not make our presence too obvious.’
‘This whole thing sounds like it’s been planned well in advance,’ said Cathy. ‘But why did they have to kill Alison and Robbie Stacey?’ The car pulled up in the shadows.
‘It seems they are keen to eliminate anyone with past connections to the cult who no longer aspire to their warped way of thinking,’ said Cochran. ‘The unknown male body may have been one such person, but I think that’s unlikely. No, I think Stacey arrived just in time to find his family being incinerated, saw this jerk prancing around naked in the yard and blew him away next to the swimming pool.’
‘So, you think this guy was one of those devil cult people?’
‘Jesus, Johnson!’ Cochran shook his head slowly and took a deep breath. He turned and whispered in Cathy’s ear. ‘I really think he’s a streaker from Lang Park who lost his way, saw the fire, and thought he’d join the barbecue.’ Johnson pulled herself away.
‘Sometimes you’re a real arsehole, you know? Just because you’re pissed off with the department there’s no need to make me look and feel like a bloody fool, J. C.,’ retorted Cathy boldly. Cochran was momentarily silenced. Being called an arsehole was nothing particularly new, but very few people called him J. C.
‘Why did you call me that?’
‘Why is it necessary to humiliate people, particularly women? You’re a man. You’ve got a dick. We all know that. There’s no need to go slapping people around the face with it, is there?’
‘Very succinctly stated. What I meant is, why did you call me J. C., not why did you call me an arsehole?’ Cathy clenched her teeth and released a short, sharp squeal.
‘There you go. You’re doing it again. Making me look stupid!’
‘Oh, my God.’ Cochran threw his head back. ‘You don’t need my help to do that. Jesus Christ, you’re starting to sound like my wife.’
‘Well ha ha, bloody ha! Very funny,’ said Cathy, as she huddled up against the car door, took a torch from the glove box, and began reading through the case documents once more.
* * *
It was nearly nine o’clock when Dempsey noticed Charlie Madden leaving the Bodytone Club with Deborah.
‘Something’s happening at last,’ remarked the detective. His two inexperienced companions, stretched out comfortably in the back seat of the vehicle, opened their eyes and looked at each other with some concern.
‘Sir, this is Dempsey,’ he announced into the radio as he rotated the volume control. ‘Madden and Watson are leaving. They’re just getting into his car now. Over.’ The radio crackled loudly as he awaited instructions. After a few seconds, Cochran’s harsh voice blurted forth.
‘Follow them. Leave the pretty one there to keep an eye on things. I want to know every turn you make. Is that clear, Dempsey? Over.’
‘Roger. All clear. Out.’ He turned to the two in the back. ‘Okay, pretty one. You heard the boss, off you go. Now you’ve got a two-way radio. Your job is just to observe and report, nothing more. Just hang around here near the car park and keep a low profile,’ he said reassuringly. She tentatively left the security of the vehicle.
‘And don’t look so worried,’ he added as he drove away, following Madden’s car. They headed northward out of town and up the highway. After fifteen minutes the plain white sedan made a right turn and headed down the Bribie Island Road. Dempsey slowed near the turnoff to lengthen the following distance and avoid suspicion. After notifying Cochran he proceeded along the narrow, potted bitumen course.
‘This is a most unwelcome development,’ said the inspector with some dismay. ‘Madden may have some involvement in all of this, and if he does, we can’t let Dempsey and a newbie handle it on their own. On the other hand, if we commit ourselves to a Bribie Island beach party we may end with egg on our faces and a dead kid.’
‘How do you make a decision like that? Perhaps if — ’ Cathy was interrupted by the two-way.
‘J. C. this is Snake at city base. You receiving me? Over.’
‘Roger, Snake, and don’t call me that. Over.’ Cochran looked over at his partner and raised his finger. ‘Don’t you say a word.’
‘A report just in says there are candle lights and chanting going on at Nudgee Cemetery. Thought you might like to check it out. Over.’
‘Isn’t there a patrol car in that area? It’s a good thirty minutes from here!’
‘Sorry, J. C., none available for at least an hour, maybe longer.’
‘Okay, Snake, okay. Leave it with me. And don’t call me that. Cheers.’
‘Sorry, J. C., cheers.’ John Cochran clenched his teeth and growled like a dog.
‘One of these days, Snake,’ he mumbled into his double chin before squeezing the radio hand piece once more. ‘Marshall, are you awake?’
‘Marshall awake and receiving.’
‘Did you hear all that? Over.’
‘Didn’t miss a word, sir.’
‘No n
eed to be a smartarse, Marshall. Get on it right away, will you?’
‘Will do. Out.’
Cathy put her fingers on the ignition keys and looked over at the inspector, who reclined back into his seat and closed his eyes.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ grunted Cochran.
‘Shouldn’t we be going, too? Isn’t that what we’ve been waiting for?’
‘I doubt it. Our lot are unfortunately a bit more sophisticated than that. I’m sure they won’t be on public view prancing around some gravestones. Anyway, Marshall will call if he thinks it’s more than a bunch of wankers.’
Over the next quarter of an hour, Cochran received another two calls from town. In the Indooroopilly Shopping Centre car park, a naked man had been seen dancing inside a huge flaming circle of beheaded cane toads. He had attracted quite a crowd. On the other side of town, at Mt Gravatt, there had been several complaints about a well-dressed man and woman who were conducting a door knock appeal for human organs. While that in itself was a little unusual, the householders became quite distressed when told the organs were needed to feed homeless youths. The man was then opening his suit coat to display an assortment of butcher’s utensils.
Chapter 34
Stakeout
Detective Dempsey and his uninitiated partner sat in the dark, peering through the car windscreen. They had followed Madden and Watson to a secluded Bribie Island beach house without being spotted. Strategically positioned about thirty metres from the small house, they had driven the car off the road and a little way up a sandy path, parking amongst a small crop of acacia bushes. Madden and Watson were inside with at least two other people who were visible as silhouettes against the lightly coloured curtains. Dempsey had notified the inspector, who in turn had instructed Hogan to join his more regular companion. Cochran considered the beach location to be an ideal spot for some unsavoury satanic-type activities, and Charles Madden was still on his suspect list.
‘You stay here and watch from the car. I’m going for a look around the other side of the house,’ said Dempsey. ‘You know we are on the lookout for a child aged about two years. And we are very concerned for the child’s safety, right?’
‘Yes, sir. I know that, sir,’ said the recruit.
‘I won’t be long. So just relax and be observant. If there’s an emergency, sound the horn three times. And by the way, how long have you been out?’
‘Two weeks,’ squeaked the young constable. He coughed and repeated himself. ‘Two weeks.’
‘That long, eh? What the hell are you doing here? This is unbelievable.’ Dempsey shook his head. ‘Departmental decision makers. As long as they protect their own arse, eh?’
‘I volunteered, sir. There’s a shortage of staff and I thought the experience would be useful. The police commissioner, Mr Lewis, has announced there will be one hundred new recruits starting this month.’
‘Did he? Well fuck me, Junior!
‘I realise that’s not much help right now, sir.’
‘Your astuteness is astounding. And keep calling me sir. I like that,’ said Dempsey. He opened the car door then turned back to his young partner. ‘Oh, one more thing, Junior. If I hear that horn and find and there’s no emergency…’ he smiled and placed his hand over his revolver. ‘I’ll be forced to blow your balls off and then advise our Commissioner, Terry Lewis, of your shortcomings.’ With that Dempsey disappeared into the darkness.
Junior sat well forward in his seat with his nose almost touching the windscreen. The glass fogged. He moved back slightly and polished it hurriedly with his handkerchief. Every few seconds his gaze would dart to the sides, probing into the darkness, searching anxiously for the remotest sign of movement. With the slightest turn of his head he found he could tune in to every sound like some form of acoustic radar.
* * *
John Cochran completed the fifth circuit of a walk to stretch his legs and then dropped heavily back into the front passenger’s seat.
‘Ah, that’s a bit better,’ he groaned, as he twisted himself into a comfortable position. ‘Take a walk, Johnson. It’ll do you the world of good. Help you think.’
‘I hardly think five laps around the car is going to do that much for my circulation, sir. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay where I am.’ She eyed the inspector up and down, rolled her eyes, and then continued studying the paperwork using a small pocket torch.
‘I know what you think of me. Those silly little glances of yours. Let me warn you now, this is neither the time nor the place to be getting up my nose.’
‘If you know so much, tell me,’ said Cathy assertively, not put off by the threat. ‘Come on, tell me what I think. You think you know me that well. Let’s hear it then.’
‘Oh dear, do we have to get into this, Johnson? Look, I know what you think about me, so let’s just leave it at that. If you want to argue the point, perhaps some other time.’
‘I knew you didn’t know. That’s a bluff answer and you know it. I was right. Thank you.’ Cathy assumed a smug grin and looked back at the documents on her lap.
‘Okay, Johnson, you want to hear it?’ said Cochran defiantly. ‘Well listen up, and then you tell me who’s right. You think I’m a fat, lazy slob who wouldn’t know what the word healthy meant even if he had it tattooed on his arse. You believe I have no personal strength to change my habits, and I treat any new recruits and all women like garbage. To round it all off you think I’m a rude, demanding, uncaring, sexist pig.’ Cochran sat back in the car seat and crossed his arms. Johnson stared at him while rubbing her chin between thumb and forefinger.
‘I guess there’s no arguing with that, is there? You were right,’ she replied nonchalantly. John Cochran sat motionless, looking straight ahead. Cathy leaned slightly to her left, trying to get a better look at his face for a clue to his reaction. There was a faint grinding sound. It was his teeth. She bit her bottom lip, unsure now as to whether she had overstepped the mark. The inspector turned to face her.
‘You can be a real bitch sometimes. I think that’s why I like you.’ Cathy released the breath she had briefly held and smiled. ‘Now if you’re quite finished, we should make a move in the direction of that beach house.’
‘Before we go. I just want to check on something. There’s a name on this list that’s been whirling around in my silly brain. It may be nothing, but I want to have a closer look.’ She pulled a pen from her shirt pocket and scribbled down a string of letters on the sheet she had on her lap. Some letters were crossed out and others added with increasing haste.
‘You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, are you? Next thing we’ll be playing I spy.’
‘That’s it. Number 17!’ squealed Cathy with excitement. ‘Sons for Lucifer. I’ve done it, J. C. I’ll bet that’s the dead guy; the corpse at Stacey’s!’
‘Now hang on. Speak slowly, and explain exactly what in the hell you’re talking about.’
‘This is the list of persons who resemble the dead guy at Stacey’s. All of them have supposedly been eliminated, twice! But this name,’ she said, sticking the page in front of Cochran’s nose and pointing at the spot with the torch. ‘This name, Orson Ruscliffe, is an anagram for sons for Lucifer. Satanic sacrifices of young boys. It must be right. I’d like to run a check to see if he really has been accounted for.’ John Cochran puffed up his cheeks with air and then blew it out slowly.
‘Are you for real, Johnson?’
‘Of course I am. I know I’m right. I just know,’ she insisted. The inspector passed the two-way across.
‘You call it, Johnson, and pray that you’re wrong. If you’re not, then we’re gonna have some really heavy shit to deal with.’
Cathy called through to Senior Constable Blake and gave him the details to check. As she returned the hand piece to its clip, the penny dropped and she realised Cochran’s concerns and the implications of her inquiry. No wonder he had hoped she was wrong. If this fellow turned out to be the unknown body at the fire,
there was either some gross neglect of duty or a cover-up. Possibly a mole in the department. The excitement of her discovery was soon replaced with a lengthy five minutes of uneasiness while they waited for the return call.
‘Constable Johnson, Blake here. Is J.C. with you?’
‘Yes, he is. Go ahead, please.’
‘Orson Ruscliffe comes from South Australia. There is definitely no record of any inquiry into his whereabouts with the boys down there. His name used to be Oswald Madison. He changed it by deed poll four years ago. At present, he is thought to be holidaying in Queensland, location unknown. No past convictions but has been suspected of involvement in child pornography. Did you get that? Over.’
Cathy felt a rush of blood to her face and her heart beating in the back of her throat. She looked at Cochran.’
‘Well answer the man, for Christ’s sake! He might have more to tell us yet.’ The inspector clenched his fists and pushed them hard into his knees. He broke eye contact with Johnson, looked at the floor, and shook his head slowly.
‘Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a knot,’ retorted Cathy.
‘Johnson, are you receiving me? Over.’
‘Yes, yes. We’ve got all that thanks, Senior. Do you have any dental records?’
‘Shit, Johnson, I’m not a bloody magician, course I haven’t. The only other thing I’ve got at the moment is that it has been reported that he operates some sort of group or club. It can go by two different names. Either the 13th Black Candle or Bodytune. Over.’
John Cochran snatched the hand piece from Johnson.
‘Spell that second name, Snake.’
‘Bodytune. B-O-D-Y-T-U-N-E. Hey, have I done good or what?’
‘You’ve done well. A bit too well. Cheers and out.’ He hung up the radio. ‘Drive, Johnson, drive.’
Loose dirt and stones peppered the underside of the car as Cathy pulled out from the curb. The back of the vehicle slid to the left as she negotiated the ‘T’ junction into the main thoroughfare.
‘Jesus Christ! You give a woman a big car to drive and she thinks she’s got balls. Hasten slowly, Johnson, and we’ll all live a little longer.’