Perverse Consequences

by Robert Blain

  ‘What did you find out?’

  Despite the lack of preamble, Schlakier was by now familiar with Peter Michael’s voice.

  ‘Well, I met him.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At a Starbuck’s in Fremantle. Twice actually.’

  ‘You should have told me. We could have sent someone to collect him,’ said Michael.

  ‘Arrest him you mean.’

  ‘If you want to put it that way.’

  ‘That’s not part of the deal.’

  ‘It is for me. The pricks here are copping heat to get a conviction. And yours truly is in the firing line. The orders are coming from high up.’

  ‘How high?’

  ‘Very high.’

  Schlakier took it to mean someone in the Victorian government, possibly even the premier, was keen to boost their credentials on law and order with a state election coming up before the end of the year. The conviction of a high-profile case like Hohl would be a guaranteed vote getter.

  ‘Hohl’s phone has been tracked,’ continued Michael, ‘and it shows that his movements around the time of Sarah Chisholm’s death put him in the vicinity.’

  ‘How conclusive is it?’

  ‘Not conclusive enough. Yet. That’s why I was hoping you’d come up with something. You should have at least told me you made contact with him.’

  ‘I would have done if he’d come out with a full-blown confession. But he didn’t.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He just came up with reasonably plausible explanations – if a little guarded – about how he was not involved in the demise of either Justina Doble or Sarah Chisholm. I’ve got it all on tape by the way. I’m obliged to post you a copy. Make of it what you will.’

  Schlakier heard a squeaking sound on the phone, presumably Michael leaning back in his chair and having a think.

  Michael tutted a couple of times. ‘OK sure, shoot it through. So now that you’ve met the guy, do you think still think he’s innocent?’

  It was a question Schlakier had asked himself many times. Initially, his gut feeling told him that Hohl was innocent, just another victim of a prolonged and vicious media attack. But as evidence piled up against Hohl he found himself reassessing the matter. There was also something Hohl was holding back, Schlakier felt. Almost like a caged animal looking for an exit.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by his poor little rich boy act,’ said Michael.

  ‘I’m not. Oh, one thing I forgot to mention – he was dressed as a woman.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He’s a cross dresser. Blond wig, frilly frock, handbag, high heels – the whole shebang.’

  ‘Jesus H. Christ. What a god damn fuck up. I can’t believe the cops can’t find this guy.’

  ‘It’s not a life choice. He’s doing it to avoid detection.’

  ‘Seriously? You’d reckon he’d stick out like dog’s balls.’

  ‘Yeah, well. It’s working so far.’

  ‘And you sure you’ve got no idea what part of Fremantle he’s holed up in?’

  ‘Afraid not. He was very guarded about it.’

  ‘So what’s your next move?’ said Michael. ‘Have you talked to anyone in Justina Doble’s family yet?’

  ‘I’ve tried to. But they don’t seem very keen to talk. They seem to be under the impression that the police don’t take their complaints against Hohl seriously.’

  ‘Well keep trying. Use those powers of persuasion of yours.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  After Michael rang off, Schlakier heard Birtles blundering into the kitchen for a coffee. He was whistling his footy team’s club song, We’re a happy team at Hawthorn. The Hawks had scored a big win on the weekend and Schlakier was sure that his colleague was about to tell him all about it.

  That night as Schlakier lay in bed and tried to sleep, a head full of wine, he thought lightly and breezily of Vicky and the time they had kissed, brief but wonderful. This inevitably led to heavy and ponderous thoughts of Zoe. He couldn’t recall any such wonderful kissing. So much time had passed since he had been with her. But he couldn’t let her go. The recurring image was of Zoe on a boat with her bearded, Latin lover. The two of them alone and intimate, smiling.

  Schlakier’s thoughts drifted to Hohl and their encounters in Fremantle. Something was troubling him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then as he was about to drop off, it hit him. With a delicious chill, Schlakier recalled something that he had previously dismissed as unimportant. He was suddenly wide awake. As an undergraduate, Hohl spent a semester doing a medical degree before quitting and transferring to arts. Which brought him back to the cadaver letter. Why would anyone write “cadaver” rather than “body”? It was such a curious choice of word. Unless you had studied to be a doctor. Didn’t all medical students dissect a human body, a cadaver, in their first year? The coincidence, if that was what it was, left him feeling very uneasy.

  23

  =====

  THE LIST

  ’How long have you been living down on the Mornington Peninsula?’

  Schlakier was sitting on the balcony of a restaurant overlooking the sea with Geraldine Barker – a long-time friend of Justina’s. He was surprised that she finally agreed to meet him. The sea sparkled in the early afternoon sunlight but a fresh breeze was blowing in off the bay. Schlakier regretted not bringing his jacket down with him. The thin cotton shirt he wore wasn’t cutting it.

  ‘About five years now. I got a job down here at an aged care home. I’d been a Melbourne girl all my life but I just fell in love with the place. All that open sky and fresh sea air.’

  Schlakier could vouch for that. He could feel goose bumps forming on his arms.

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I’m a nurse.’

  Geraldine sported a head of tightly curled black hair and unlike Schlakier had the foresight to wear something warm – a cosy-looking dark brown woolly jumper. She looked to be in about her mid-forties.

  ‘How’s that working out for you?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s OK. It certainly keeps you on your toes. I used to be a nurse at the Austin Hospital, so really it’s just swapping one form of organised chaos for another. You certainly get to see your fair share of death either way.’

  She took a sip from her glass of chilled Riesling. Schlakier took a sip from his pot of Carlton Draught. Just one, he told himself. He tried to make it a habit not to drink during working hours.

  ‘But I shouldn’t whinge too much,’ Geraldine continued. ‘At least I’ve got another shot at life. An opportunity Justina never had.’

  Schlakier looked her in the eye and took in her guarded expression.

  ‘I’m actually surprised you agreed to meet me,’ said Schlakier. ‘I haven’t had any luck seeing anyone from Justina’s family. You’re the first person I’ve talked to who was close to her. Apart from her husband.’

  He waited for some comment on Hohl from Geraldine but she didn’t take the bait.

  What she said was, ‘I’ve known Justina since we were girls. And I know her family very well. They had a very bad time of it. And the police didn’t help. They were convinced Hohl was involved in Justina’s murder but the police didn’t take their suspicions seriously. They just got fobbed off. They fobbed me off too. The police did nothing.’

  ‘So why did you finally agree to talk to me?’

  ‘I just felt so bad for that Sarah Chisholm woman. Imagine being shot in cold blood in your own home. I just thought, it’s got to be Hohl. He must have killed her. So I decided to talk to you. Perhaps you’ll be more receptive. What’s your interest in the case anyway?’

  ‘I’ve been hired by the State Government to look for fresh information on Justina’s disappearance. The case has been reopened. They seem to think they can get a conviction.’

  Schlakier declined to mention that he had doubts that Hohl was the murderer but decided it was better not to share that with Geraldine. Peter Michae
l’s words came to him out of the blue: ‘Poor, little rich boy.’

  Geraldine nodded her head slowly. ‘I just want justice for my friend,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You said the police were unsympathetic to your suspicions about Justina’s disappearance. In cases of this kind, nine times out ten the wife has simply left her husband to shack up with someone else or just got the hell out because she’s fed up with him.’

  ‘That wasn’t the situation with Justina. She didn’t just run out on him. She told me she was worried for her safety, that she was scared of Christopher. She was terrified of going against his wishes Then she was gone.’

  ‘I can appreciate that Ms Barker. But unless there’s compelling evidence, like finding a body, there’s very little the police can do.’

  Geraldine shot him a steely look. ‘I’ve got compelling proof all right.’

  The waiter arrived with the mains. A Caesar salad for her, and a plate of fish and chips for Schlakier. The menu said it was flathead. Schlakier had fond memories of fishing for them in a tinnie with his father in Western Port Bay. Fresh from the sea, they were delicious. The pair waited in silence while the waiter placed the plates in front of them.

  ‘What have you got?’ said Schlakier, as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

  ‘All in good time,’ said Geraldine. ‘I want to get my version of events on record first.’

  ‘Fair enough. Let’s start at the start. What do you know of their relationship?’

  ‘They were in love. No doubt about it. In the beginning at least. I was happy for them, Justina anyway. Christopher was hard to get to know, distant, sort of arrogant. Although the arrogance might have been something else – insecurity maybe. Justina’s family didn’t think much of him, that’s for sure. “He was an oddball”, Justina’s mother said. She said that meeting Christopher was the worst thing that ever happened to her daughter.’

  Geraldine speared a cherry tomato with her fork and put it in her mouth. Schlakier squeezed a segment of lemon on his battered fish, cut off a piece and took a bite. Not bad, but somehow it didn’t taste as good as the flathead he caught himself during childhood.

  ‘So their marriage started well but that’s not how it ended.’

  ‘Justina wanted her independence. Their relationship changed from the moment he made her get an abortion. Then when Justina disappeared… we all knew he did it. We wanted to know, I wanted to know what he did with her. But as I said, the police didn’t take our concerns seriously. This all took place over a matter of months. We went to the police station a number of times expecting some sort of progress. But nothing. So eventually we took matters into our own hands.’

  ‘You say we. Who with?’ said Schlakier.

  ‘Margaret. A friend of Justina’s and mine. The three of us had been inseparable since our undergrad days at university. Another thing Christopher wasn’t exactly happy about.’

  ‘So what did the two of you do?’

  ‘At first we went to waterways around Melbourne to look for tyre tracks, the Yarra River near Warrandyte, Cardinia Reservoir. Those sorts of places.’

  ‘Assuming Hohl might have disposed of the body there.’

  Geraldine gave a little shiver at the thought.

  ‘Yes,’ she continued. ‘But no joy. So eventually, we went to his house after dark and went through his bins. What we called our garbage escapade.’

  Geraldine giggled uncomfortably as she recalled the incident. She took another bite of her salad and then continued.

  ‘Anyway, we took bags of his garbage away and went through them back at my house. We found he was throwing out stuff of Justina’s. Clothes, schoolbooks… at this point we realised he knows she’s not coming back.’

  Schlakier was scribbling it all down in his notebook. He’d forgotten his Dictaphone, so he was going to have to make do with handwritten notes.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, once he’d caught up.

  ‘Then we found a piece of paper in Chris’s handwriting that practically brought us out in goose bumps.’

  She shot Schlakier a piercing look. ‘It was a list of things to do and how to dispose of a body.’

  Geraldine put her fork down and slumped back a little in her chair, nursing the glass of wine to her chest.

  ‘Where is the list now. Do you have it?’

  Geraldine shook her head. ‘As far as I know, it’s in a box of Justina’s personal effects with her brother.’

  ‘Is he in Melbourne?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Can you help me get in touch with him?’ said Schlakier. ‘Justina’s family have ignored all my attempts to talk to them so far.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can. But it’s painful to dig this up after so long. I can’t guarantee anything.’

  Geraldine stared out over the sea, seemingly oblivious of Schlakier’s presence, watching seagulls wheeling over some rocks.

  ‘Please help us,’ she said. ‘I need to know. I need to know what happened to my friend.’

  24

  =====

  MURDER IN FREMANTLE

  A week had passed and Schlakier hadn’t heard anything from Geraldine Barker. He’d phoned her twice and left messages but so far she hadn’t responded. She was his one chance to reach Justina’s family and hear their version of events – and possibly get hold of the mysterious box of handwritten letters. And the list. What Geraldine believed was Hohl’s “to do” murder list. In truth, Schlakier was sceptical of its veracity. He wanted to see it for himself. If indeed it existed.

  Schlakier picked up his desk phone and was about to try to one last time when Birtles walked into his office and plonked down a copy of the Herald Sun on his desk.

  ‘State Rail Blowout’ trumpeted the headline on the front page – alluding to a government-funded train line from Melbourne to far-flung corners of Victoria that was apparently tens of millions over budget. Tabloid journalism was alive and well.

  ‘Don’t tell me you read this rubbish,’ said Schlakier.

  ‘I don’t usually – I just buy it for the sports section. I’m sure you heard all about the Hawks big win on the weekend – straight through to the preliminary final. I thought you might like to read about it.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Birtles stroked his goatee beard reflectively and smirked. ‘Sour grapes, mate. Just ‘cos your team didn’t make it.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’ve got too much to do,’ said Schlakier.

  ‘You’re not still working on that Christopher Hohl thing are you? Give it up mate. Find some new cases.’

  ‘They’re still paying me. And thing is, I might finally have a breakthrough. I had lunch with one Justina’s old school friends on Friday. She reckons she found a list made by Hohl of steps to dispose of a body.’

  ‘There you go. Finally some cold hard evidence.’

  ‘Not quite. Apparently Justina’s brother has the list. And no-one in her family will talk to me. So.’

  Schlakier let out a deep breath. ‘I don’t know mate. Perhaps the list doesn’t even exist. Maybe she’s making the whole thing up. Anyway, how’s your week shaping up? What about at that SIA insurance thing – sounds pretty lucrative.’

  ‘Oh that. I didn’t take the case. I told them to shove it.’

  ‘You what?

  ‘They wanted me to follow this nurse whose claimed on her work insurance policy on account of her mental state. She reckons she’s suffering severe burnout but the insurance company wants to prove she has a pre-existing condition: depression.’

  ’So?’

  ‘That way they can avoid paying her out. They wanted yours truly to tail her and dig up evidence of her depression. Fucking maggots. I told them to go fuck themselves.’

  ‘It looks like beggars can be choosers,’ said Schlakier. ‘It’s not like you to knock back work. You’ve changed mate. That girlfriend of yours has made you grow a conscience.’

  Birtles’ fiancée was well known for her crusades on worthwhile causes
. The latest was a fight against the plastic straws that were choking turtles and clogging the world’s waterways.

  ‘Bull-shit. Integrity mate. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.’

  Birtles left him to ponder this as he gave a mock salute and headed back to his own office. Schlakier idly flicked through the newspaper on his desk until an article in the news briefs on page five made him sit up.

  Murder in Fremantle

  Police in Western Australia made a gruesome discovery on Sunday morning when the torso of a man was found washed up along the coast near the mouth of the Swan River.

  Other body parts belonging to the man were found nearby – wrapped in black garbage bags – with his limbs severed with what is believed to be a bow saw, although the victim’s head has yet to be located.

  An address stamped to a piece of the newspaper led police to a residence in West Fremantle. The victim was identified as 71-year-old Anglo-Indian male, Amos Gil, from fingerprints on one of the severed hands…

  Schlakier took the newspaper through to Birtles’ office and showed him the news item.

  ‘At least we know he doesn’t discriminate on the races he targets, said Birtles. ‘Still think he’s innocent?’

  Schlakier had his doubts. There were too many questionable occurrences piling up too fast. But he still had unearthed no hard evidence. But he could at least start by ascertaining Hohl’s whereabouts. Was he still in Western Australia? He knew one of person who might know that for sure. His second, and current, wife.

  25

  =====

  TROUBLE AND STRIFE

  Schlakier looked at the one image of Maria Lombardo he could find online. It was at some sort of society dinner. The shot only captured her face and bare shoulders in some sort of ball gown. She had a head of flowing dark hair, with some streaks of designer grey. Intelligence shone out of the eyes. A sort of cunning. She was an attractive woman but cold, Schlakier thought, with a pent-up energy – almost like a lioness in repose.