An Easeful Death (27 page)

One of the men has to be her pimp
, Monty thought. As he was the one who’d got her into trouble, the very least he could do was prevent them taking off after her and giving her a beating.

He turned to face them and braced his legs like a sailor on a heaving deck, making it obvious that he was not going to let them pass. But when they stopped in a shadow about two metres away from him, it became clear that they had no intention of chasing after Champagne Charlie.

‘Well, well, well, what have we here?’

At the sound of the voice Monty didn’t need to see the face to identify the speaker. It was Keyes, one of the cops who’d trashed his flat.

The instant the larger man stepped under the light, a hazy memory that had been stuck somewhere in the dark recesses of Monty’s subconscious flashed into awareness. Now he remembered where he’d seen their names before—in the case notes he’d been reading the night he was drugged. In his mind’s eye he saw his notebook, and in his own handwriting the names of the Vice cops who’d worked the KP murders: William Keyes and Duncan Thrummel.

Now he knew exactly what they were doing here.

Shit.

Thrummel moved to stand next to his older colleague, his gait rigid, his arm pinned to his side.

Keyes said, ‘We’ve got to bring you in, McGuire. You’ve been interrogating witnesses while on suspension. You have the right to remain silent...’

‘Blah blah blah,’ Thrummel finished, taking a step forward.

Monty saw Keyes take the handcuffs from his coat pocket. He gestured to Thrummel’s stiff right arm. ‘Since when has making an arrest involved a baseball bat?’

‘Shut it, McGuire. Put out your hands,’ Keyes told him.

Monty made to put out his hands, but before the cuffs could be snapped, he jerked his knee into the soft flesh of the older man’s groin.

He ran.

He hadn’t been aware of the street’s gradient until his calves started to burn and his lungs laboured for air. No time for a backward glance, he could hear the thud of feet chasing after him. He sensed it was the younger man, Thrummel, matching every stride of his and more. The clatter of wood on concrete indicated the baseball bat had been dropped. Less encumbered, the distance between them narrowed until Monty could hear his pursuer’s breath.

Ahead he saw the white railings of a new footbridge across the railway track. It connected Wellington Street to a series of building sites that were slowly changing into a complex of classy boutiques, restaurants and arcades. If he couldn’t shake off his pursuers in this maze of construction, there was a good chance he could still lose himself in the Saturday night crowds in the clubbing district on the other side.

Hope of escape brought with it a final rush of adrenaline. With a surge of speed, he pumped a last burst of energy into his aching muscles.

He failed to see the taped-off patch of pavement until he’d tripped over it. With a flurry of flailing limbs, tangled orange tape, witch’s hats and flying trainers, he tumbled through the air over the exposed manhole. The breath escaped from his lungs with a painful whoosh as he landed face first on the pavement. The phone in his pocket crunched against his hip.

But time did not give him the luxury of catching his breath. He was already on his hands and knees when Thrummel’s boot caught him in the side, knocking him onto his back. The wiry younger man was on him in an instant, sitting on his chest and stifling any further attempt to draw air into his starving lungs. He grabbed a hunk of Monty’s hair in his fist and slammed his head into the pavement with a splintering crack that vibrated through to his teeth.

The stars were still dancing in his head when he felt an invisible band around his chest tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing. Thrummel was bouncing around on top of him, fumbling under the back flaps of his coat in an attempt to extract the handcuffs from his belt.

‘I’ve got you now, cocksucker,’ Thrummel said through huffing breaths.

Head splitting, starved of oxygen, the best Monty could do was bat out at the hands that attempted to cuff his own. But while his left hand parried, his right hand crept towards his coat pocket and the plastic bag of chilli powder. He brought his hand out with a jerk, letting fly in the direction of the man’s eyes, at the same time closing his own to protect them from the cloud of red powder.

Thrummel toppled off Monty’s chest, yelling as he fell backwards into the manhole. ‘Acid, the fucker’s put acid in my eyes!’

Monty didn’t hang around long enough to hear Keyes’ bellowing reply.

A worrying aspect about the organised serial killer is that he learns from his mistakes and tends to get better each time.

De Vakey,
The Pursuit of Evil

Stevie had chosen an East Perth cafe for her meeting with Tye. She’d arrived early and queued for a table with the crowd of casually dressed couples salivating for their traditional Sunday breakfast. Finally she’d been given a table for two by the window.

She watched him manoeuvre his car into the disabled parking bay just outside the cafe. His battered Falcon station wagon had seen better days. Patched with rust, sporting a cracked windscreen and a precariously balanced muffler, the old bomb would have won a yellow sticker if Stevie had still been in uniform.

Not wanting to spend any longer than necessary with him, she’d already ordered their coffees and his sat steaming across the table from her.

He smiled as he slid into his seat. ‘Hiya, babe.’ He’d aged since she’d last seen him. The environment in which he worked was reflected in his face; skin cracked as a clay pan, hair spiked as spinifex, a rugged look that could probably still drive women wild. But not her, she wasn’t even sure if she could meet the challenge of sitting with him at the same table. Her armpits prickled with the sweat of her unease and she hated herself for it.

After a sip of coffee he broke into a beaming smile.

‘Black, two sugars, you remembered. Maybe there’s hope for us after all.’ He gestured at her old bomber jacket and shot her an ironic wink. ‘That Suzi Quatro-does-grunge look is a turn on, but I still kinda wish you’d dressed yourself up like you used to. Heads turned when I walked with you on my arm, made me feel proud.’

Yeah, tarted up made me all the more easy to catch and pin down, you bastard.

She took a deep breath.
Stay calm
, she told herself,
don’t provoke him, and above all don’t show him how shit scared you really are
. ‘We need to talk about my daughter,’ she said, reassured by the steady sound of her voice.

‘But you’ll always look hot to me, babe, no matter what you wear. Do you still blub every night over those old movies? Me Bogey, you Bacall—remember?’

She gritted her teeth. ‘Tye...’

In a soft low voice he began to hum. Stevie’s stomach tightened at the familiar tune. She’d tossed
Casablanca
out of her collection the day she’d booted him from her home.

‘
You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh
...’

‘Wrong woman.’

He stopped. ‘What?’

‘It was Bergman in Casablanca, not Bacall.’

A cloud passed across his face, he’d always hated being contradicted. He made a quick recovery. ‘Gee I miss those nights. But you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? A sergeant in the SCS, I’m proud of you Stevie, I really am.’

Nestling into the director’s chair, the wooden joists squeaking under his solid bulk, he smiled again, not taking his eyes off her.

The chain of events ran through her head again. She couldn’t stop it. It was her corruption allegations that had pushed him over the edge, but the tension had been building since the news of her promotion several weeks before. At first his unenthusiastic response had been a puzzle; later she couldn’t for the life of her understand how she’d misread the signs.

What was it he’d said as he’d grabbed her by the hair, just before he’d raped her?
You think you’re better than me, bitch? Well I’m going to show you just how bloody wrong you are.

She suppressed her shiver, keeping her own expression blank as she stared straight into his smiling eyes, the same beguiling smile he’d fooled her with five years ago. She realised then, with an inner shudder, how very much like De Vakey’s it was.

The heat rose in her face. ‘Izzy,’ she said.

‘I bought her something. Here.’ His teeth flashed as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. When she wouldn’t take it, he flicked the lid to expose a gold nugget on a fine chain.

‘This is what I spend most of my time at these days, digging these things out of the ground. It’s a filthy job, but it pays well. Izzy was asking me what I did the other day—’

‘You had no right to turn up like that,’ Stevie interrupted.

‘Give her this from me, will you?’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Then she’ll understand. When I told her about the nuggets, she thought I worked for KFC.’ He laughed. To a casual listener it might have seemed a joyful sound, but Stevie had heard it too many times before and it chilled her blood. ‘She’s a smart one,’ he went on. ‘I’m looking forward to getting to know her better. There’s something about the innocence of a child, isn’t there?’

She wrapped both of her hands around her coffee cup as if she were cold. The heat burned through her palms but she hardly noticed. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she whispered.

‘It doesn’t have to be like this,’ he said, his voice equally soft. He reached across the table and loosened her grip on the cup. ‘Don’t do that, you’ll burn yourself.’ His touch seared her skin more than the hot cup. She moved her hands away and stored them safely in her lap.

‘I agreed to this meeting to give you a way out, to save you grief, work out a compromise. I’ve got money now, Stevie, enough to get the best lawyer in the state on my side.’

He’d
agreed to this meeting? He’d bloody asked for it! Under the table she twisted at a paper serviette, spearing it with her fingers, shredding it.

As he talked she listened for the telltale inflection in his voice, the precursor to one of his violent mood swings, but his tone continued in an easy calm. ‘My lawyer rang me this morning and drew my attention to the Sunday paper.’ There was a paper lying on the vacant table next to them. He reached for it and turned to page three. ‘I could almost hear him rubbing his hands together with glee on the other end of the phone. “I mean, really,” he said, “a dangerous, demanding job like she’s got, what hope has she of being granted full custody.” Then when I mentioned your loopy mother, who’d also be caring for Izzy, he almost came in his pants. I mean gee, your poor old mum. When I told him to leave her out of this, he told me to back off. If I wanted my daughter back I had to leave this side of things to him.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m really sorry about this.’

‘Yeah, you sound it.’ Stevie snatched the paper from him and read the headline. ‘Police re-enactment hopes to jog memories and catch impotent killer.’

‘We took the nameless female detective mentioned to be you—were we right?’

‘Don’t go there, Tye. None of your business.’

‘Monty needs his head examined. Advertising the reenactment in the paper like this will attract every sicko in Perth—or did this come after his suspension?’ Tye paused. He briefly broke eye contact. ‘And how is the old red-headed son-of-a-gun anyway?’

Tye’s jealousy of her friendship with Monty had always been a touchy point in their relationship, even when things were going well. She wondered how he knew about the suspension.

‘Was drinking with some old cop pals yesterday,’ Tye said as if she’d voiced her question aloud. Perhaps he’d seen the suspicion in her face. ‘They said he’d got into a bit of trouble: his watch by the body, off the wagon again, losing files. Doesn’t look good for Mont, does it? Though I can hardly blame him for doing the little cow in, she didn’t half give him grief.’

Stevie took the teaspoon and stabbed at the froth of her cappuccino. ‘Your friends talk too much. Who are you still mixing with, anyway?’

He ignored her question. ‘And I also hear James De Vakey’s been called in. Seems like everyone’s onto this psychological bullshit bandwagon.’ He looked into his coffee as if trying to suppress a smile, but she knew the expression was as calculated as everything else he’d ever done. ‘If you ask me, these profilers are sicker than the poor bastards they write about. You’d have to be, wouldn’t you think, to do a job like that? Guess they must really get their rocks off on it. Maybe it takes one to know one, have you thought about that? I’m glad it’s you not me. Hanging around with a bloke like that would really give me the creeps.’ He gave a mock shudder.

‘It’s you who’s sick,’ Stevie said, scraping back her chair. This meeting was going nowhere. ‘Let me know when you’re ready to talk about Izzy.’

Sliding the cafe door behind her with a thunk, she made the mistake of looking back at him through the glass. He smiled and mouthed, ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ and blew her a kiss.

When she got back home, nauseated, heart hammering, fingers still trembling, she found a message from Monty on the answering machine.

‘Stevie, I’m onto something, but for obvious reasons can’t leave a message. Sorry I couldn’t call last night, I had a bit of an accident and was laid up. My phone’s stuffed and I’m ringing from a public phone. I’ve got to go now. I’ll ring again later when I can hopefully give you some answers. Meanwhile, don’t trust anyone.’

She hurled abuse at the answering machine and slammed her fist onto the kitchen table.

***

With her mother and Izzy out together for the day, the house was quiet and the hours leading up to the re-enactment bled by. On any other day Stevie would have been glad of the precious time, but now she found herself at a loss. In the kitchen she turned up the oldies radio station as far as it would go and tackled the housework, anything to block the disturbing thoughts swirling in her head. Jeez, was there anything she wasn’t worrying about? Izzy, Tye, De Vakey, the re-enactment. What was happening to her? How could she have let her life get so out of control? And Monty.
Oh God, Monty
, she said to the kitchen sink.
You seem to have got yourself into as much of a mess as I have. What a pair we are.