Urban myth or fact, it sold newspapers and generated big bucks for the commercial TV stations currently cashing in on one sleazy underworld show after another.
Her recollection hazy, Georgie knew that Schlicht had somehow lost his stake in the markets and dropped away from the underbelly of organised crime. She hadn't seen his photograph for several years and the bushy grey brows, frigid grey-blue stare on a long, bony face that earned Schlicht the nickname 'the Iceman' spooked her.
Not the type of guy you'd want to meet in a dark alley.
Nor was he an obvious subject for a scrapbook.
Intrigued but time poor, Georgie tossed the album onto the Spider's passenger seat for later and headed away from the homestead.
A white Toyota utility came up the driveway as she drove down. There wasn't enough room to pass and the other driver didn't pull over.
Georgie waited for him to reverse and found herself in a standoff. Two men glowered through their windscreen.
They alighted but didn't approach. Georgie sighed and hopped out. A blue heeler barrelled up and landed heavy paws on her chest. She collapsed onto her butt. She eyeballed the dog, pinned more by his snappy jaw and freaky one-blue-one-brown-eyed glare than his weight.
'Trigger,' one of the men commanded. 'Off.'
The dog snapped again, extracted his paws and retreated to his master's side. The older man shuffled forward and stretched a hand to Georgie. He pulled her upright, squashing her fingers.
Hand still trapped, she scanned up to his face. Tight mouth. Cold stare. Weather-beaten skin, florid and veined. He had a build to match the blue heeler, only very tall, squeezed into khaki overalls and topped with close-cut grey hair.
'Help you?' He belatedly released his grip.
Georgie fed him the story she'd told the Pattersons. The man's expression transformed to a beam.
'Thought you was from the bank.'
Georgie pictured her thongs, jeans and tank and suppressed a grin. This guy's not too sharp.
'Roger.' The older guy pointed a thumb to his chest. 'And this here's me son, Mick.'
Abergeldie's lessees.
They each pumped a handshake, Georgie winced at duplicate hand-crushes, then brushed off her butt. Trigger snoozed in the shade of the Spider and the men lolled against their ute.
'Mrs P took off las' weekend. She told me and me boy, Mick here, that she'd be away a couple a days. Expected her back before now. Snot like her to go off for more than a day or two. She likes it here.' Roger waved a vague hand at the property.
Mick agreed, drawing Georgie's attention to him. She noted an uncanny resemblance between the father and son, including drinker's complexions and strong ocker accents.
'Still, tis up to her,' Roger continued. 'Not for us to say anythink. Pretty lonely for her since Mr P went.'
'Do you know how I can contact Susan's friend, Jack? It's possible she's staying with him - if she's not with Margaret.'
'I dunno which Jack Mrs P would be vistin'. Don't seem proper. She's married to Mr P.' Roger's eyes hardened.
Georgie suggested, 'Perhaps he's a relative?'
Both men shrugged. But the father continued to be the spokesman. 'Don't ring any bells with me.'
Great. Will my next question be a dud too?
'Do you think her being away has anything to do with Roly?'
Suddenly, the men's thick necks retracted.
Dour lines replaced all trace of the farmers' grins. She frowned, confused and intrigued.
'What ya mean?' Roger asked.
'Well, Roly goes missing and then almost to the day five years later Susan takes off. More than coincidence, do you think?'
Roger lifted his shoulders. Mick scratched his scalp with long, jagged fingernails.
Why have they gone shifty?
Her writer's instincts fired, as did her questions.
'What do you think happened to Roly?'
'I dunno,' Roger muttered.
'Do you think he's dead?'
The man yelled, 'Look, I said, I dunno!'
Trigger growled. Mick put a hand on his collar.
Georgie felt a trickle of fear but persisted. 'Why do you think Roly disappeared?'
Mick bent forward, yanking the dog and stuck his nose close. So close that she could smell beer and bad breath. He jabbed a finger into her collarbone. Pounded at the same spot until her eyes smarted and heart thudded.
Show no fear. Don't back down.
'Dad said, he dunno. We can't tell you nothin'. Stop being a nosy bitch and get out of here.'
She battled an impulse to fight back. There were times and places to take on adversaries. This wasn't one of them. The farm was secluded and she was outnumbered by two giants and their mongrel.
To Georgie's relief, Mick stepped back. She moved to the Spider with faux calm. Roger reversed the ute until she had room to pass.
Grateful to leave Abergeldie behind, she wiped damp palms on her jeans and turned onto Howlong Road. When the tyres gripped tarmac, she accelerated and tried to persuade herself that she'd imagined the farmers' violent response.
She failed.
And grew even more convinced that Roly's demise drove Susan's actions.
Franklin zipped past the cop shop hoping none of his workmates spotted him. He parked the bike on the low side of Camp Street and well off the road, next to a vintage Suzuki GT750. Each time he saw the glossy teal duco offset by masses of chrome it almost tempted him to trade the Ninja for an old classic.
But he'd never do it.
'Pastor?' Franklin stepped through the arched entrance and into the foyer of the former Baptist Church.
Music, together with the clatter of crockery, drew him through to the kitchen.
A funky song about Jesus played loudly. The pastor sang along even louder and washed coffee cups. Franklin called out again rather than spring a surprise.
'Frankie!' Pastor Danni pivoted to face him. Her cheeks popped out with her broad smile, making the million freckles on her face more prominent. She looked about Kat's age but actually fell closer to his own.
She gave him a hug that squeezed the air from his lungs and brought on an attack of guilt. He and Danni could be good friends if he made an effort. They had plenty in common - from motorbikes to their football team - and didn't have to worry about that traditional male-female impossibility of a platonic friendship.
Danni wasn't just one of the very few female church clergy in the country. She and the other lesbian pastors could probably be counted on one hand.
'Coffee, Frankie?'
'Can I pick your brain too?'
She tilted her head and punched his arm lightly. Then the pastor brightened his day with another 100-watt smile.
'Afternoon. Can I get you a cuppa?'
Georgie surveyed Lewis Davis across the desk. Dressed in a cheap suit, he could have passed for a farmer on church day. His manner was effusive and assessing, yet amiable too. The real estate manager possessed an 'X factor' beyond Pam Stewart's character reference and the fact that he was one of Roly Pentecoste's best mates.
Georgie accepted and rested elbows on the desk while she waited. Her head felt heavy with sudden fatigue. So much driving. So much thinking. My brain hurts. Is it all a waste of time?
She watched Davis weave through the overcrowded office, two mugs hooked on one hand, packet of biscuits in the other fist, amazed by the large man's graceful gait.
'Interest you in a bickie?'
He proffered a packet of Tim Tams. Georgie shook her head, appetite depleted by the biscuits from Susan's kitchen and the croissant Pam Stewart had pressed on her as she recapped the morning.
'So you're a friend of Pam's?' Davis asked. Crumbs fell from the side of his mouth and sprinkled his suit with cookie dandruff.
'Kind of. Yes.'
She explained how they'd met and the purpose of her visit now.
Davis's smile stretched his face but no longer reached his eyes. They became dead fish eyes. 'You s
aid yourself that Susan made arrangements with her neighbours and told Mick and Roger she was going away. And that there's every chance she's with her niece.'
'Well, yes.'
'So, what are you really doing here?'
He sounded tired. She didn't know what to say.
'What do you hope to gain by dredging up the past?' His voice took a harsh edge which made his smile creepy.
'I just thought -'
'No,' he said, leaning forward. The façade of a smile dropped. 'That's the problem. I don't think you've thought about this at all.'
'Aren't you worried about Susan?' Georgie asked incredulously.
'Not from what you've told me, no. But if you're going to set things off again and she's going to come back to, well, the whole Roly thing all over again, then yes. And I'll hold you personally responsible.'
Davis stood and snatched her half-full mug. He stalked into the back office.
Georgie felt the curious gaze of the receptionist as she left.
'I'm after some scuttlebutt.'
'Well, I knew you weren't here for Bible studies.'
They sipped coffee, chewed biscuits and shared a smile.
Franklin said, 'I'm working a case with a religious element in a series of poison-pen letters - threats, really. The language is old-fashioned and sounds like it's out of a Bible.'
'Maybe you need Bible studies after all?'
He tipped forward on his chair. 'No, what I need is any inside knowledge on religious nutters in our area.'
'You've thought of old Art Hammer, of course?'
'Yep. He's a definite possibility but I can't track him down.'
'I haven't seen him in a while either.' Pastor Danni scratched the side of her mouth. 'Are you going to eat that last bickie?'
'And here I was thinking you were about to break my case.'
'Chocolate helps me think.'
He passed the plate. 'Confidentially, the letters are nut jobs against unmarried mums. I reckon an old bloke's behind them. Someone deeply religious and who thinks women should be kept in their place. It's real old-school stuff, so maybe you've had trouble with him too.'
'Because I'm female, lesbian or a pastor of the Community Church?'
'All three?' Franklin admitted. 'Our fellow's a traditionalist and I can't see him here.' He waved at the coffee urn but broadly meant the progressive religion and Danni's congregation. 'But he might have let you know he doesn't like the way your church does things.'
The pastor nodded. 'I see what you mean.' She stood. The leather of her biker boots creaked. 'And I may be able to help.'
It had been a fucked day, so far. No joy with the niece. A bunch of reading material on Victoria's underworld. A whole lot of aggro from Mick and Roger. And now Georgie had upset one of Roly's best mates.
What if he was right? What if Susan returned from a sojourn with her niece to find 'the whole Roly thing', as Davis put it, back on the agenda, along with her own life under scrutiny?
Georgie knocked a cigarette from the packet. She leaned against the shop window and smoked two in succession but it was mechanical rather than enjoyable. She took the last drag and crushed the butt with her heel. Throughout, she'd focused on a two-storey Tudor-style red-brick building opposite The Springs Real Estate.
I'm right. There's plenty to be worried about.
The banking chamber held one customer and three staff members in air-hostess uniforms. The customer and teller joked and chatted. The other two bank officers spoke in hushed tones under the swinging 'Information' sign. Georgie approached and waited.
Goosebumps pricked her skin. The temperature and an ambient odour reminded her of the inside of a fridge.
The staff still ignored her. She cleared her throat and the younger woman glanced over.
'Oh, hello? Sorry, we didn't see you there. How can I help?'
'Douglas Macdougall, please.'
'Do you have an appointment?' the woman asked, rising.
'No, I'm sorry.'
'Oh, I'm sure the manager will see you. Back in a tick.'
It wasn't easy to kill time in a bank. Unlike in a doctor's surgery, there weren't even back issue magazines to flick through. The hairs on Georgie's arms stood to attention from the cold now and she spent a minute in contemplation of those fine strands before she sought other distractions.
She was spinning a brochure carousel when a telephone buzzed.
'Welcome to ANZ Bank, this is Carol,' the woman who had thus far ignored Georgie said. 'Oh, it's you! Hang on, I'll ask. Scuse me, miss. Can I have your name?'
'Georgie Harvey.'
Carol repeated it into the receiver and paused. 'Oh, OK.' She hung up.
Georgie arched a brow but the banker ducked her head.
The other officer returned and regarded Georgie awkwardly. She jiggled on the spot and said, 'I'm sorry, Ms Harvey. Mr Macdougall isn't in the office.'
Bullshit. Georgie frowned.
'If you leave your number, I'm sure he'll give you a call. When, um, when he comes in.'
On the steps outside the building, Georgie decided that Macdougall wouldn't call. She contemplated his avoidance and could only think that his good mate Lewis Davis had seen her head for the bank and warned him.
Why?
What are they hiding?
Franklin mounted his motorbike and rode to the top of Wombat Hill. Throughout the short trip he churned over the morning's meeting with Cathy Jones. It couldn't compensate for her rape but he vowed to catch the sadist Solomon before the sicko destroyed her self-esteem.
One step at a time.
He sat at a picnic table with notepad ready. How to handle Pastor Danni's information hadn't solidified yet. He'd chew that over while he made his first call from the mobile.
The registrar cross-referenced staff on the ward while Renee and Cathy were at Ballarat Base with the original list for Tayla and Lauren's stay. There were a handful of common names on the nursing team. The three she'd spoken to yesterday, along with four other midwives - one who'd retired at the end of February and another whose round-the-world long service leave jaunt began in March.
That left two nurses with realistic opportunity.
On top of this he had a list of doctors and aides to the maternity ward.
But what was the motive for any of these?
Forget motive for now, begin with the means.
So the list grew. Unfortunately, just two were rostered on and the registrar's talks with them were in fits and starts around a difficult labour and an anxious mother-to-be with Braxton Hicks contractions. Both seemed to be non-starters.
No further enlightened, Franklin feared subsequent inquiries at the hospital would prove equally time-consuming and fruitless.
Right, time for the new and improved theory.
The next number he dialled was a local one: the Blue family from Goo Goo Road.
His day of frustrations continued when he reached an answering machine. He left a carefully worded message that requested Earl Blue or his parents return his call.
Franklin fingered the photo Pastor Danni had given him.
An unsmiling pasty-faced youth in a wanker gangster hat, unbuttoned collared shirt over t-shirt. This was not the portrait he'd expected of Solomon.
And Danni had said, 'He doesn't fit your profile exactly. He's much younger than what you're thinking, only seventeen. But he could be your poison-pen writer.'
Sceptical, Franklin's eyebrows had risen.
She'd passed the photo and pointed at the kid in the forefront. 'Earl Blue joined us early last year. He came across as wonderful at first - friendly, helpful, kind and we actually thought he'd make a great pastor. But after he ingratiated himself into the church and leadership group, he started to flex his muscles just a little too much in The Rock.'
The Rock was the space under the church used by the youth group.
'How so?'
'He started spouting some Old Testament scripture. His behaviour became more and mor
e zealous. He told the girls to dress less provocatively - and these girls don't show a bra strap or singlet, let alone cleavage. Then he got angry, scary angry, when things didn't go his way or people disagreed with him. By that stage, we realised he'd come into the church to disrupt and maybe destroy it from within.'
So despite his young age, Earl Blue matched most of Franklin's profile. But he'd hit another snag; his two red-hot suspects were both AWOL and he was left in a holding pattern.
Franklin arrived at the station with minutes to spare. He was rostered on two-up with Scott Hart, who agreed to kick off their four-to-midnight stint playing catch-up on their respective portfolios. In addition to general duties and handling files for other branches or the Bacchus Marsh detectives, each officer held an area of responsibility to take the strain off Lunny. Franklin looked after Youth Liaison - which included organising community events like Blue Light discos, camps and outings - and the social club. Harty had the Station Portfolio, which roped in bail reports, station cameras and logs, but because he was young and keen, he often worked on the rosters and cleaned the police vehicles as well. 'Vehicles' was a grander term than it deserved - it included their one permanent four-wheel drive, any loaners they were lucky to have from another station, and a fleet of pushbikes. The joys of a sixteen-hour country station.
As Harty checked the bail records in the watch-house, Franklin called Lauren Morris. He detailed developments with Renee Archer and Cathy Jones, except for Cathy's sexual assault.
After reciting Solomon's latest letter, he said, 'It struck Cathy and me that the letters could be quotes from the Bible.'
'For sure. Read the newest back slowly. I want to write it down.'
She considered the script and commented, 'This one's extreme, isn't it?' There was another pause, then she added, 'It's even more old-fashioned than ours. Do you think they're quotes from the Old Testament?'
That tallied with his thoughts. And equally fit both Art Hammer's impromptu sermon style and Earl Blue according to Pastor Danni.
'Why don't Tayla and I see what we can come up with?'
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