by Robert Sims
But we can’t make a move till we have positive identification or it could cause a real shit-storm with Barbie, as well as landing us with another bout of bad publicity. In the meantime, dig up what you can and I’ll back you when necessary.’
‘So I’m flying under the radar with your blessing?’
‘Don’t push it, Van Hassel. Where are you heading now?’
‘Next on my list is Eddy Flynn.’
‘Call me with an update.’
She tried phoning Flynn but got no answer, so she started the car, pulled out onto the beach road and drove towards the inner suburbs.
Flynn lived in an upmarket apartment block overlooking Albert Park. It was a modern white building set behind a stone fountain, a fringe of birch trees and a crescent driveway. Rita parked at the entrance, got out and pressed the buzzer for his apartment. No answer. This was getting frustrating. She looked at her watch - nearly nine-thirty. She noticed a buzzer for the caretaker and pressed it.
‘Yeah? Who’s there?’ came the response.
‘Police,’ she said, holding her ID up to the security camera.
‘Orright. Hang on a tick,’ came the reply before the door clicked open.
As Rita crossed the entrance lobby, the caretaker emerged from his ground-floor flat to meet her. He was brawny and square-jawed with bleached hair flopping across his forehead - the type of man who looked at home on a surfboard. He was wearing baggy shorts, an Eminem T-shirt, a pair of thongs and an inquisitive grin.
‘I wish this bloody weather would break,’ he said amiably. ‘So what’s up?’
‘I’m trying to get hold of one of your residents here,’ she said.
‘Eddy Flynn. Do you know if he’s around or away on holiday?’
‘Nah. He wouldn’t tell me anyway. Keeps to himself. But I noticed one of his cars was in the garage this mornin’.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Is he in trouble or somethin’?’ asked the caretaker.
‘I just need to ask him some questions,’ she said.
‘You’re the first cop who’s ever turned up here,’ he went on. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me it’s about that Flynn character.’
‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.
‘Well, y’know. Real narkie bastard. Ignore you for months, then chuck a berko over nothin’.’ He shook his head. ‘Just a matter of time till he got in a blue.’
‘Is that right?’ she said.
‘Yeah, and the rest. Reckon he’s got a cocky loose in the rafters.’
She had to smile. ‘Interesting diagnosis. Any particular reason for it?’
‘I dunno - somethin’ shonky about him. Always on his own.
Never has any mates visit. And the hours he keeps - in and out in the middle of the night, buzzin’ around in that noisy ute of his.’
‘A ute? What colour?’
‘Black.’
‘You said it was one of his cars. What else does he drive?’
‘A bloody little sports car.’
‘What type - a Mazda?’
‘Could be. But all those little bum-bouncers look the same to me.’
‘Okay,’ said Rita, the smile gone from her face. ‘I need to get into his apartment now. Do you have a pass key?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
He went back into his flat and returned with a key ring. ‘There y’go.’ He handed it over. ‘It’s on the fourth. Help yourself.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No sweat. Turn the place over for all I care.’
Her heart thumped as she rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, wondering what she’d find. The door to Flynn’s apartment was at the end of an empty landing. She let herself in and switched on the light.
It was cool, air-conditioned and spacious - a neat, well-furnished residence. There were leather chairs and sofas, colour coordinated curtains and cushions and rugs, hi-tech fittings, imitation Art Deco shelving and sliding glass doors that opened onto a balcony with a view over the park and lake. She did a walk-through from lounge to kitchen to bathroom to bedroom and back again, then stopped, a little perplexed. It was a startling contrast to where she’d been during the afternoon - her visit to Maynard’s place. This was the complete opposite - a perfect specimen of a single pad. And yet, something wasn’t quite right.
It took her a while to spot what it was. Then she realised. It was too perfect. This apartment was straight out of a brochure - not just fastidiously tidy, but also impersonal. She could see no family photos on display - in fact, no photos at all. There were no books anywhere, no magazines scattered around. The CD and DVD
collections stood in their racks in pristine condition. And the shelves were sparsely decorated with minor objets d’art that could have come out of a catalogue. As she surveyed the rooms, just one thing stood out - one item that betrayed some wayward individual taste. It was a picture on his bedroom wall - a framed print of Gustave Dore’s Red Riding Hood, with its sinister image of the wolf, its claws exposed, in bed with the little girl . As she stared at it, a cold sensation crept down her spine. She felt like she’d missed something.
It was right in front of her.
The picture was mounted on walnut panelling. But the central panel wasn’t just part of the wall. At waist height there was a recessed handle. The panel was also a door. She reached out and opened it.
Inside was a small adjoining room - used as a computer den.
She walked in and gasped at what she saw. There were screens and keyboards and electronic decks, with VR accessories of goggles and gloves. Like the rest of the apartment, it was neat and spotless.
But unlike the other rooms, this one had photos on the wall - maybe a hundred of them - tacked in rows to corkboards. They were all explicit, hard-core and illegal - a nauseating gallery of child pornography. Lining the shelves below were hundreds of labelled discs with numbered references from Kidophiliax, a paedophile website that had evaded law enforcement agencies around the world. Rita appeared to have walked into its production room.
It was now imperative to find out what was on Flynn’s computer.
She slotted in the Plato’s Cave smartcard and tried to log on. The system immediately recognised the card, responding with a series of security steps, but these were beyond her limited hacking skills and the system denied her access.
She phoned Strickland and told him what she’d found.
‘Right, I’ll send one of the computer boys straightaway,’ he said.
‘I’ll join you there later when I’ve got a search warrant. We don’t want to trip up over procedure.’
Rita left the computer den and went and stood by the balcony doors, giving her a clear view of the driveway.
She watched and waited, counting off the minutes as the first heavy spots of rain started slapping against the windows. Lightning flickered intermittently. Her eyes scanned the late-night traffic for any sign of either of Flynn’s cars heading towards the apartment block. His return now would be bad timing. But within ten minutes an unmarked police car arrived, and moments later she let an officer from the Computer Crime Squad into the apartment, directing him towards the secret room.
‘Gross,’ uttered the officer, taking in the mass of images. ‘This guy is one sick bastard.’
He sat down, slotted in the card and bashed away at the keyboard, while Rita returned to the window to keep watch. It wasn’t long before he emerged, shaking his head.
‘It’s no good,’ he told her. ‘The card gives entry to the system all right, but there’s a sophisticated set of security protocols. I could take all night and still not be able to hack into it.’
‘Shit.’
‘Is there anyone you can ask who’s familiar with the system?’
‘Maybe there is,’ she said, pulling out her mobile and trying Josh Barrett’s number again. This time he answered.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘I’m at Eddy Flynn’s place,’ she said. ‘I need you here. Now.’
He could hear the urgency in her voice but was mystified. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’ll explain when you get here. Do you know where he lives?’
‘Actually, no.’
She told him the address and said, ‘As quickly as you can.’
The computer crime officer returned to the den while Rita resumed her position by the window.
Rita was still watching when a black Falcon ute pulled into the driveway below. It stopped at the front entrance.
She swore under her breath. At any other time it would have been a welcome sight - the arrival of the type of car identified at the scene of the Hacker’s third attack. It was like another piece of the jigsaw slotting into place. But right now it complicated things.
She was busily working on a cover story to explain her presence in the apartment when a figure got out of the car and glanced up at the building. With a gasp of recognition, she forgot any idea of pretence.
He looked sleek and trendy in his black leather jacket, black shirt and chinos, his hair slicked back. He moved with a casual sureness that she’d seen in him before. How could she have miscalculated so badly? The figure who’d emerged from the car wasn’t Flynn at all. It was Josh.
This changed everything.
Her mind was racing as he pressed the buzzer downstairs. She released the security lock and spoke to him through the intercom, telling him to come up. Her voice was calm, though she felt anything but. She opened the apartment door, leaving it ajar, and backed off a few paces. Then she unclipped her holster and told the computer crime officer to stay where he was and keep out of sight.
Josh strolled into the apartment, a pair of dark glasses hanging from his pocket.
She told him to close the door behind him.
He pushed it shut and said, ‘So this is Flynn’s place?’
She pulled out the gun and pointed it at him. ‘Get down on your knees. Put your hands behind your head.’
He looked at her dubiously. ‘Is this some kind of sex game?’
This time she shouted at him. ‘Do what I tell you!’
With a scowl, he knelt obediently and asked her, ‘Have you gone barking mad?’
She brushed that aside. ‘That car you’re driving. Is it yours?’
‘It’s a company car.’
‘You’re lying. I checked the Xanthus records. No utes on the books.’
He swallowed nervously. ‘They’re not registered to Xanthus.’
‘Why not?’
‘Barbie keeps them on the books of a loss-making firm he bought.’
‘Why?’
‘Some accounting dodge he’s up to.’
‘What firm?’
‘I can’t remember the fucking name. Some poxy software business in Wodonga. He bought it, asset-stripped it and flogged off the bits he didn’t want. And when he took over Xanthus he swapped around some of the stock - including a bunch of utes. Satisfied?’
It sounded plausible but she wasn’t convinced. ‘What about Mazdas?’
‘He pulled the same rort with them. They’re registered to a mothballed company in Ballarat.’
‘How many? And what models - what colours?’
‘Four black MX-5s.’
‘Who drives them?’
‘They’re shared out - mostly among the design team.’
‘Flynn?’
‘He’s got one.’
She was still holding the gun on him. ‘What about Ormond Keppel? Did he have one?’
‘Yes, so what? Is it a fucking crime to drive a Mazda?’
‘Some people might think so.’ She lowered the gun, holstered it and smoothed back her jacket. ‘Sorry, Josh. But you gave me a fright.’
He got up off his knees and brushed himself off. ‘Well I’m pissing myself.’ He shook his head. ‘I just don’t get it.’
‘You’re about to.’ She beckoned him to follow. ‘Come with me.’
She led him through the bedroom and into the computer den, where she introduced him to the computer crime officer, who got up admitting, ‘Sorry, still no luck.’
Josh saw the photos on the wall.
‘Weird.’ He frowned. ‘Is this why I’m here - Flynn’s into kiddy porn and you want me to help bust him?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘What then?’
‘I want you to hack into his computer.’ She ushered him into the chair. ‘We’ve got the smartcard but can’t get past the security checks.’
Still frowning, but without a protest, he swivelled around and examined Flynn’s computer set-up.
It didn’t take long.
‘Okay, I’m in. What are we looking for?’
‘Plato’s Cave.’
‘He won’t have the game here. Barbie would kill him. And how do you know about that anyway? It’s supposed to be an industrial secret.’
‘Never mind. Just look.’
He did a search and got an immediate answer. It filled the column.
‘Well, bugger me,’ he said. ‘He’s downloaded the whole damn thing.
And he’s got a program running on it right now.’
Josh snatched up the cyber-gloves and strapped on the goggles.
Rita watched impatiently as he wiggled around in the chair, his head wobbling, his sensor-stimulated hands manipulating the air as he negotiated his way through virtual reality.
‘I’m in the game,’ he said. ‘And I’ve found the program. Not one I know. It’s called Shadow Duel. Some kind of chase sequence. Must be his own hack-and-slash groove where he -‘
Then he froze. ‘Shit.’
Slowly he removed the goggles and peeled off the gloves.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘You better take a look for yourself.’
He got up to make way for her.
She sat in the chair, pulled on the gloves and tentatively fixed the goggles over her eyes, slotting the headphone attachments into her ears.
They blotted out everything else.
The 3-D images were slightly blurred but they immediately adjusted to her eyesight - and she was inside the game.
She felt a rush of vertigo as a different world opened around her.
Turning her head to either side she found she was looking around a vivid nightscape, on a seashore under a dazzling moonlit sky, the sound of waves crashing in her ears. But there was something else, too, above the receding hiss of the water. Voices; not singing exactly, nor chanting. It was almost like a wailing, charged with emotion. Eerie but somehow erotic. What strange mythic scene had she dropped into? On her left was the sea, foaming with rocks and driftwood. On her right were craggy pinnacles rising above a gorge filled with olive trees stretching into the distance. Ahead of her she could make out a figure moving away along the pale swathe of the beach - the sand ribbed with the bleached bones of skeletons. In one hand she could feel the weight of a sword, its blade stained with blood, in her other hand she carried a shield, and on her head was a helmet.
She loosened an earpiece and asked Josh, ‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’
His voice came back, ‘Someone else on the beach. A female figure. You’re hunting her.’
‘I can see a figure in the distance.’
‘That’s the one. You need to catch up. Use the control pad.’
She could see the small transparent icons to the left of her visual field. She tapped them with her free virtual hand and zoomed in on the figure. The nearer she got, the louder the mad, seductive wailing was in her ears, drowning out the sound of the waves. She realised the voices emanated from the fabulous female creature.
Approaching from behind it was an impressive sight - a statuesque woman, naked under the moon, her curves smooth and elegant, shoulders bristling with white feathered wings. The vision was lurid and fascinating, but clearly dangerous, because it too was armed with sword, shield and helmet. In her right hand, Rita tested the weight of her weapon. She raised it to strike. As she did so, the figure turned and looked at he
r. The sound of the voices was now overwhelming. Rita dropped the sword. This was beyond anything else she’d experienced. As she stared at her adversary, she found herself looking into her own radiant face.
She threw off the goggles and gloves.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Josh.
‘I’ve felt better,’ said Rita. ‘How has he put me in the game?’
‘He’s created his own avatar,’ he explained. ‘The game lets you do that. He scanned you in from your front-page photo.’
‘Great. And what’s he turned me into?’
‘You’ve got the bronze sword, shield and helmet of the Shadow Maker.’
‘One of the warriors of the cave.’
‘Programmed for a duel to the death.’
‘I need you to explain how something relates to this game,’ said Rita, arms folded. ‘Cutting off sense organs.’
‘It’s the challenge of the demon level,’ said Josh. ‘To defeat she-devils you remove their ability to inflict sensory torment - the Gorgon’s eyes, the Siren’s tongue, the Harpy’s claws, and so on.’
‘Tell me the sequence of levels.’
‘In ascending order there’s the Abyss, Warriors, Prisoners, Demons, Monsters, the tower of Hades, Escape and Light - all drawn from Greek mythology, and consistent with Platonic symbolism.’
‘There’s something else it’s consistent with - but in descending order,’ Rita sighed. ‘Role-play, compulsion, addiction and psychosis.’
‘That’s a depressing thought,’ said Josh. ‘But I suppose that’s another thing about games - you end up back at the starting point.’
‘And bronze masks - how do they come into it?’
‘Part of the promotional kit, bronze-coloured latex rubber, easy to wear.’
They were interrupted by the arrival of Strickland, search warrant in hand, followed by Bradby and crime lab scientist Dale Quinn, all crowding into the computer den.
‘So this is it?’ said Strickland, scanning the photos and discs.
‘Who’d have thought by hunting the Hacker we’d stumble onto Kidophiliax. This is amazing work, Van Hassel. How did you put it all together?’
Before she could answer, she found herself looking straight at Eddy Flynn.