Monty was closing the gap. She wanted to follow him, but staggered first to the uniformed officers scrambling from their cars.
‘Block the exits,’ she gasped. ‘You need to surround the perimeter. You can’t let him get out of here. Inspector McGuire’s in pursuit, I’m following...’
She attempted to rejoin the chase, but found herself held back by a pair of strong arms.
‘You’re in no fit state, Stevie. Stay with me.’ It was Wayne and he pulled her close. She felt the rain on her neck, heard distant voices and the crackle of car tyres as the uniforms dispersed. She didn’t have the strength to fight any more. As she buried her head in Wayne’s shoulder, she knew he was the only thing keeping her upright.
Tye’s only chance of escape was up, and by the time Stevie lifted her head he was already on the flat roof of the power station with Monty clambering up the maintenance ladder after him. One of the cops aimed a powerful spotlight and she held her breath as she saw Monty ease his way from the ladder onto the roof, his silhouette swaying in the wind. Soon he was pounding across the roof after Tye, who was heading towards a higher level of steeply pitched tin.
Tye sprang onto the other roof with ease and began to shuffle his way along it, one foot on either side of the pitch, negotiating himself around the mushrooming ventilation ducts as he came to them. Stevie guessed he was counting on there being another ladder on the end of this roof to take him back down. As there weren’t enough cops to surround the whole fence line, they might lose him yet.
She saw Monty hesitate as he climbed to the higher level. She could tell by the violent sway of his body that the wind up there was almost cyclonic. She stopped breathing, willing him to maintain his balance as he lurched from one upright vent to the next.
Waves of nausea and dizziness rippled through her body and once more she had to lean into Wayne. She heard him gasp, felt his body tense. She wanted to look but couldn’t lift her head. A shudder passed through him and into her.
But the shuddering wasn’t coming from either them, it was coming from the ground. It gathered momentum until the sound of tearing rafters and screaming metal fractured the air around. At that moment an invisible force seemed to suck the middle section of the roof down, taking both men with it.
‘Monty!’ Stevie’s cry was carried away by the shriek of the wind.
two weeks later
27
A clever sociopath is often smooth and charming and can give the impression of having a highly developed social conscience.
De Vakey, To Catch a Killer
Stevie stood among a small cluster of people in the lush memorial park, listening to the priest say his final words over the descending coffin. The sky was a sacrilegious blue, dotted with a few puffy clouds, the air clear as polished glass. A fresh breeze ruffled the service program in her hand.
Wayne, Angus and Barry stood together on the other side of the grave. One of De Vakey’s arms was draped over Justin’s shoulder, the other linked to a woman Stevie presumed to be his wife Vivienne, though really, it was anyone’s guess. Justin’s nurse friend stood on his other side and held his hand. A few nameless strangers, no doubt friends of Justin’s, stood behind, ready to offer the dead man’s son their support.
There was no one else. Baggly didn’t appear to have any friends of his own. An unpleasant man, Stevie brooded, a liar and a hypocrite, he’d nevertheless been as much a victim as any of the other players in Tye’s drama of manipulation and revenge, and he had paid for his frailty with his life.
And what of her own frailty? Tye had preyed upon her weaknesses in the same way as he had preyed upon Baggly’s. During the last two weeks her mind had desperately tossed around variations on the theme. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to Monty. Head bowed, gazing at his feet, he clutched the fluttering funeral program in his bandaged hands. Was he praying or thinking? They’d hardly spoken of the night at the power station, other than what was necessary for the reports. She’d tried several times to broach the subject of Izzy’s paternity, but found she so badly wanted what Tye had said to be true, she couldn’t risk shattering the illusion, if illusion it was. Monty had been no help. Every time she’d found herself attempting to stammer out what Tye had said that night, he’d silenced her with a finger on her lip, and a gentle admonishment, ‘Later, Stevie, later,’ as if she was still too traumatised to talk about it, as if she was a piece of delicate crystal that needed protection. Fuck him.
She took a deep breath; none of it mattered now. Once the funeral was over she would take Monty to the pub and brave the topic of Izzy’s paternity with him. She wouldn’t let him silence her this time. There was a position available for a DS in Broome and she’d applied for the job, confident she’d get it. She would return to the Kimberley, start again, and provide for Izzy a childhood as precious as her own had been. From a distance of two thousand kilometres, any further contact with Monty would be his choice.
With her mind made up, she felt free to take in the rest of the funeral attendees. She glanced back at De Vakey. Now her anger with him was gone, all that remained was a sense of relief that things had progressed no further, and a somewhat cynical sadness for his wife.
Martin Sparrow stood not far from De Vakey’s group. Stevie suspected his publishers had been behind his attendance; it was a good publicity stunt. It was the same company that published De Vakey, and both men had received hefty advances for their stories. The manuscript Sparrow had been helping Michelle put together had been found in John Baggly’s house, along with the missing files from Monty’s flat, stolen by Keyes and Thrummel. With the two rogue cops, plus Baggly under his control, it was no surprise Tye thought himself invincible enough to take out Stevie too. Keyes and Thrummel had not been granted bail.
Sparrow had become a minor celebrity, his diary filling with guest speaker engagements and talk show sessions before he was even out of hospital. There was talk of a national tour for the release of his book at the end of the year.
After a silent minute of prayer, Sparrow took off his sunglasses and caught Stevie’s eye. No wonder he looked on me with such hatred, she thought, I was the lover of a vicious murderer and he knew it. But the malevolent glares he had once shot at her were gone now. In his pale face she saw a new shining confidence that gave him an almost attractive glow, despite the scars and fading bruises. Perhaps now he realised that she had been as much a pawn as any of them.
Sparrow still had to face the burglary charge and an investigation into the copying of police records. But they should be grateful he’d done the copying before Baggly removed the crucial witness statements that vindicated Reece Harper. With a good lawyer, Stevie suspected Sparrow would be beating the rap. Good luck to him.
Justin threw a bunch of early wildflowers onto the lowering coffin along with the first shovel of dirt. After some stilted farewells to Baggly, the mourners began to wind their way through the sunken plaques and the swaying eucalypts to the car park.
Monty awkwardly handed Stevie a cigarette. His bandaged hand brushed against hers, his lacerations and broken fingers the result of clinging to a sagging ventilation duct when the roof had collapsed taking Tye Davis to his death.
When they came to his car, they leaned against the bonnet to finish their smokes. Stevie was in no hurry, Izzy was happy at home with Dot. The sun peeped out from a woolly cloud, making her cheek grow warm.
They had been standing there in silence for a few minutes when Justin broke away from where he had been talking to De Vakey and Vivienne. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said as he approached.
‘What are your plans now? Back to uni?’ Monty asked.
Justin cleared his throat. ‘I’m switching courses, seeing as I didn’t make the academy.’ He shot De Vakey a brief glance. ‘I’m doing psychology now.’
Stevie sensed an impending snort and gave Monty a warning nudge.
‘Good move,’ Monty said. ‘Oh, and did you get that video back from Mr De Vakey?’
&nbs
p; Justin’s flush became a red-faced laugh when he registered the tease in Monty’s voice. Stevie hoped that from now he would be doing a lot more laughing.
‘I forgot to ask De Vakey what was on the video,’ Stevie said when Justin had gone.
‘Cock-a-dial Dundee: the crazy true life adventures of a dialup gigolo. Even De Vakey couldn’t keep his face straight when he told me.’
Stevie shook her head. After everything that had happened, the normality of it was absurd. ‘As long as he doesn’t watch it at my house again.’
‘I think he’s learned his lesson.’
‘Seems like he has a new hero,’ she said after a pause.
Monty didn’t hold his snort back this time.
‘There was a moment or two when I even thought De Vakey might have been our killer.’
Monty raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’
‘With a job like his, nothing would have surprised me. It turned out he’d already been in Perth two weeks when you sent for him. He was in town when Linda Royce was killed. His wife thought he was in Perth for a seminar, that’s why he went through the farce of having me pick him up from the airport. From the flight schedules and the phone records from his hotel I pieced together his movements. Instead of a conducting a seminar, he was conducting an affair with Ms Cassandra Yardley, proprietor of the Black Velvet gentleman’s club. Apparently it’s been going on for years.’
Monty rubbed his chin. ‘Well, I’ll be.’
Stevie’s faraway gaze rested on a convoy of slow-moving cars winding their way towards the car park. Another funeral procession, she thought, until she caught a glimpse of the Channel Nine logo. There was an increase in speed as the cars neared their destination. She looked around the car park, relieved to see that Justin had left. The unwanted publicity would be difficult enough once the books were published, he didn’t need it now while his emotions were still so raw.
The same couldn’t be said for James De Vakey. He was basking in the centre of a group of clamouring reporters.
‘Oh, God, let’s go, Mont,’ Stevie pulled at the sleeve of his dark suit jacket. Up until now, her near-death experience at the hands of Tye Davis had been kept from the press and she wanted it to stay that way.
‘No, wait,’ he said, stepping closer to the fray. ‘They’re not interested in us. Let’s hear what De Vakey has to say for himself.’
She reluctantly followed Monty to stand within earshot of the crowd.
‘Mr De Vakey, how did you manage to pin the crimes on Tye Davis?’ one of the reporters asked.
De Vakey straightened his already straight tie, smoothed down his new toupee. ‘It was really a straightforward process: a combination of academic theory coupled with a logical examination of the evidence.’
Stevie frowned and nudged Monty in the ribs. ‘What the hell’s he on about?’
‘It’s called taking all the credit,’ Monty whispered back. ‘He used his finely honed profiler’s instincts to single-handedly solve the case, got it all from Justin Baggly, whom he knew all along was hiding some deep dark secret. Didn’t you realise that?’
Unsure if the emotions she felt churning inside her were anger or relief, Stevie decided to settle for a bit of each. Arrogant bloody bastard, she thought but found herself smiling all the same.
Someone else asked De Vakey, ‘So how does it feel to have brought a man like that to justice?’
‘Rather than that, I tend to dwell on how it would feel not to have brought the man to justice. At least now I can sleep again at night with a clear conscience, knowing that I did my best, knowing that there will be no more victims.’
Stevie’s eyes strayed to Vivienne, standing on her own away from the crowd.
‘How did you manage to tie this to Sbresni and Baggly?’
‘You’ll have to read the book.’
Polite laughter all around.
‘Will you return for the trials?’
‘Absolutely. And the Royal Commission into police corruption, naturally.’
‘When’s the book coming out, Mr De Vakey?’
‘My publisher has scheduled its release early next year. I would like to take this opportunity now to add that part of the proceeds will go to the victims of violent crime.’
To Stevie’s relief, Monty had heard enough. ‘This is making my teeth wobble.’ He indicated his car with a tilt of his chin.
Leaning against the car bonnet, each was lost in their own thoughts until Monty said, out of the blue, ‘You know, pinning you against the kombi after that Christmas party was not one of my finer moments.’ He took a breath. ‘You’d had a rough time with Tye, you were drunk, vulnerable. I took advantage of you, I’m sorry.’
The regret she heard in his voice made her own words dry up. She stared back at him with incomprehension. Surely he’d realised she was a willing participant? The alcohol may have spurred them on, but it hadn’t affected her judgement in the least.
Then a thought crossed her mind, so sudden and so startling that the carefully rehearsed words she’d planned for the pub were immediately forgotten.
Did he know? Did he know everything?
‘I never meant it to be like that,’ Monty continued, his gaze fixed on a nearby memorial fountain or maybe the old gum beyond. ‘I’ve been an idiot. Kept things to myself that I shouldn’t have.’ He paused, took her hand and turned to her. ‘I know you’ve applied for that job in Broome and I don’t blame you for wanting to get away, to start again. But I want you to know that I’ve loved you for years and always will. I should have told you earlier, I know, it might have saved a lot of grief all round, but I had no idea if you felt the same. I guess I couldn’t take the risk of rejection.’
Stevie became conscious of her rapidly beating heart. She should be hushing him up, but found she couldn’t deny herself the flush of pleasure his words were bringing.
‘And then after that night in the car park,’ he continued, ‘the way you never said a word to me about it. I felt ashamed, thought I’d ruined my chances.’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘That night in the car park— did you hear me complain?’
He shook his head and gazed at her for a moment, flabbergasted. ‘What? You mean...?
She met his eyes with her own, slid her hand behind his head and pulled him towards her.
Monty finally broke the kiss. He gazed at her with a widening smile then took her in his arms again and engulfed her in a breath-stopping hug. ‘C’mon,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Let’s go collect our daughter. Take her home.’
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following for their help and support: Chris Nagel, Carole Sutton, Larry Votava, Trish O’Neill, John Harman, Leone Baxter, Janet Blagg, Leone Dyer, Margaret Johnson, John Robertson, Sergeant Ann Winton (Western Australian Police) and Superintendent Simon Young (Northern Territory Police, retired). And of course my family for putting up with all the vacant looks and the gruesome dinner-time conversations.
CITY OF LIGHT
Image I
the city rocks while heads roll
DAVE WARNER
‘Jesus Christ. I found one.’
Snowy Lane, preoccupied with a ham sandwich and the odds of making the football team on Saturday, takes the terrible phone call that signals the beginning of a series of events which are to reverberate in his life and shake the city to its foundations ... ‘Gruesome’ has taken another victim and the whole population is rivetted by the emergence of the dark side of the city of light.
...full of surprises and contradictions, wit and suspense ... Another little classic to carry down your own mean streets...
Graeme Blundell, Weekend Australian
Lively, funny, with enough plot for three novels...
Susan Geason, Sun-Herald
rom.Net
An Easeful Death Page 26