Assassin (15 page)

Federal Agents Andy Flynn and Dana Harrison arrived at NSW police headquarters on time. Their bags were in the back of Andy’s Honda parked across the street, ready for the return to Canberra. The drive from the hotel had been a quiet one. Andy had slept badly, as he often did before a presentation, but he’d kept his conquest of the minibar to a single round. The bottles were small, at least.

The lobby was quiet, and they showed their IDs and fed their things through the metal detector with the minimum of talk. Inside his head, Andy was rehashing every critical point he wanted to make about the Hempsey murder. He wanted to present the potential case against John Dayle, which was tricky, as they had no hard evidence as yet — no evidence at all, in fact. Fitting a psychological profile and having links to previous sexual assault cases hardly made someone guilty of murder. Criminal profiling was a tool of last resort in many ways, and that Andy felt Dayle was guilty was both a personal hunch and a prematurely formed professional opinion. Nothing more. He had to tread carefully.

Still, he was relieved Kelley had taken his advice and was trying to get a surveillance team in play. If someone else was hurt by Dayle, and he could have somehow prevented it, Andy would not be able to live with himself.

Don’t go too hard on Dayle. Keep it in perspective.

Jimmy, who was not in the strike force, appeared around the glass door to the homicide squad office as Andy and Dana emerged from the elevator. He was wearing a slightly crumpled, ill-fitting suit, his shirt straining with his girth, and he smiled broadly as they entered. Andy was too focused on the task ahead to smile back. He simply touched Jimmy on the shoulder and nodded. Dana stepped away to give the two men space and Jimmy appeared about to say something, but when Inspector Kelley emerged from his office the words stopped on his lips. He lost a bit of the colour in his face.

‘Is everything all right?’ Andy said quietly as Kelley approached.

‘Um, I’ve just got to speak with Kelley about something,’ Jimmy replied vaguely. ‘Later, maybe. Will I catch you before you go?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so. We’re due back. The bags’re in the car. But, if you —’

‘No,’ Jimmy said and waved his hand. ‘I’ll chat with you later,’ he insisted.

‘Thanks for dinner the other night. Give my regards to Angie.’

Jimmy smiled and gave him a sudden swat on the back with enough force to wind him slightly. ‘Don’t make it so long until the next visit.’

‘I promise.’

‘Good luck,’ his friend said and disappeared in the direction of the small kitchen.

Andy took a breath. He was terrible at personal conversations before he had to present a profile.

‘Flynn. You ready?’ Inspector Kelley appeared at his shoulder.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Come on. I’ll begin.’

Andy and Dana followed the inspector as he walked down a pristine hallway and pushed open a door with the words
Strike Force Pawn
handwritten in felt pen across it; inside, several men and one woman — Mak’s friend Detective Karen Mahoney — were gathered. Many had their arms crossed. Some sipped coffee in Styrofoam cups from the café downstairs. Three empty chairs were available and Dana left Andy to sit next to Mahoney, near the back. The two women exchanged a few words, and Andy noticed Karen’s red corkscrew hair bobbing up and down as she nodded at something Dana had said. He’d avoided looking at Dana all morning. She’d probably noticed.

When Inspector Kelley spoke the room went silent.
He still has the same effect on his teams
, Andy thought. Kelley gave a brief rundown on the updates in the case — the autopsy report, which he distributed as he introduced Andy, and the good news that a surveillance team had been assigned and would begin their work as of noon that day.

Andy barely had time to be relieved by the news. He stood and thanked the inspector. It was his turn to show that Kelley’s faith in him was not misplaced. ‘Good morning, everyone. As you know, my colleague Agent Harrison and I have been called in to consult on this case. We are part of the new Serial Violent Crime Profiling unit. The unit is made up of police officers with experience and training in this area, specifically dealing with crimes of this type. We are convinced the murder
of Victoria Hempsey is not a stand-alone offence, but one the perp has escalated to and will repeat, given the opportunity.’

The team sat and watched him, their arms folded. Andy felt a little part of him shrink back at the deafening silence.

‘I’ve prepared a profile of our killer, and notes on how best to draw him out.’ He walked between the chairs, handing out stapled photocopies. ‘This is of course a general profile to be used as a tool in your investigation. It by no means overrides your work as detectives. It is a tool we hope will be helpful to the investigation.’

He was keenly aware of Inspector Kelley sitting at the back of the room, hands folded in his lap. He’d done this so many times before, but with the pressure on the unit to perform, everything felt different. Or maybe it was something else. The changing dynamic of the attitude towards what he did. The dynamic that had been moving towards acceptance but had suddenly, dramatically shifted the other way. Or maybe it was something more emotional, something that the loss of Makedde had opened up in him. He felt hollow. Impotent. That niggling voice of dissent was inside him, telling him that his every word was worthless, a generalisation. Something any good detective would instinctively know. Since Makedde’s disappearance, he had been battling a horrible sense that his career was utterly pointless. If he could not save Cassandra from the Stiletto Killer, could not save Makedde from whatever violence had torn her away, then what good was any of it?

Andy Flynn cleared his throat and continued. ‘The autopsy results are back, as the inspector mentioned. The results confirm that much of the disfiguration of the body, including the incisions and the removal of the toe, were done while the victim was alive, while she could feel it and he could hear and
see her response. This point is key. Many of you saw the scene. Those who have not will by now have seen the crime-scene images. It was without question a very brutal crime, marked by sexual sadism. A person does not simply commit an act like this one day. He builds up to it. He fantasises about what he will do to his victim. He plans …’

Ms Hempsey’s killer had raped and sodomised her with a knife, the autopsy had revealed. He had cut her skin. Had amputated a toe. All because he’d wanted to. Because he got off on it.

‘Our perp targeted Ms Hempsey intentionally,’ he continued, and the image of her beautiful smile came to mind, the photograph on the corkboard in her terrace. That smile and all the humanity and promise it seemed to hold. ‘Our perp was organised, in that he chose her and targeted her specifically. They may have been strangers, we do not know, but the victim in this case was not chosen randomly. Yet Ms Hempsey had no history of crime or high-risk activity. She was not a sex worker or vagrant. Not an easy target. She was in many ways average. Normal. Our perp is motivated by a deep-seated hatred of women, all women. He does not differentiate by occupation or even age. He hates
all women
. He needs to dominate them. And the very real risk we are facing is that what we are seeing here,’ he pointed to a photo of Ms Hempsey, dead, her flesh torn and abused, ‘is a sadistic offender who has only been emboldened by this escalation of his violence. He
liked this
. He liked doing this to her. And he will relive it any way he can until he takes another victim.’

The officer closest to him swallowed.

‘He was proud of what he did to Ms Hempsey. He wanted to show this one off. Wanted the body to be found quickly. He
believes he can get away with this and we have to prove him wrong.’ He put his paperwork down on the chair. ‘Now for demographics. He is a white male, aged between late twenties and early forties. Unmarried. We are looking for someone who lives alone and has difficulty forming lasting relationships or holding good employment.’

Andy looked up. Kelley was gone. He hadn’t even heard the door.

‘And he’ll be wearing a double-breasted jacket,’ one of the officers joked in a low voice.

Andy shut his eyes. Felt the room shift beneath his feet. It was a reference to Dr James Brussel, the respected Freudian and early pioneer of criminal profiling, who gave police a profile of the Mad Bomber in 1956. ‘And one more thing,’ he famously said, after giving the desperate officers his thoughts on what kind of man the prolific bomber would be. ‘When you catch him — and I have no doubt you will — he will be wearing a double-breasted suit. And it will be buttoned.’ When George Metesky was arrested one month later it was late in the day, and he was in his pyjamas. But he immediately got dressed, and emerged from his room in a double-breasted suit. Buttoned. That detail was the stuff of legends, especially after Brussel’s memoirs. But it had since been alleged that the late psychologist had ‘cleaned up’ the profile in his memoir to focus on the things he got right about the Mad Bomber, like his obsessive cleanliness and his double-breasted suit, and not the things he got wrong, like his age, background, employment status and the claim that he’d have a facial scar, which he did not.

Profiling had always brought controversy with it.

‘I know some of you don’t appreciate federal agents coming here to tell you how to do things,’ Andy said, looking over the
faces in the room. ‘I know, because I used to be one of you. I served with Inspector Kelley for ten years.’

Mahoney smiled.

‘Detective Mahoney and my colleague Agent Harrison identified a good potential suspect during our canvass on Friday and I’d like you all to take a look at him.’

At that, Mahoney’s eyebrows shot up. The other officers looked at her.

He held up the driver’s licence image of Dayle. ‘This is John Dayle. He is a strong suspect, regardless of the fact that he happens to fit the profile I described. He is a neighbour of the victim and could clearly see into her courtyard, where it is likely the victim spent a lot of time, possibly sunbaking. She had a sun lounge set up and she had tan lines, as you can see from the photographs.’ Though the tan lines were not the first thing one noticed when looking at the crime-scene images.

Andy thought of Victoria relaxing, reading a book. And Dayle watching her. Fantasising.

‘He was questioned a few years back in some vicious, unsolved rapes in the Surry Hills and Strawberry Hills area. Mahoney has the details on those and will give you all that information in a moment. We recommended surveillance on John Dayle and a team was quickly put together. Dayle is a strong suspect and I believe he should be carefully watched while we investigate the possibility that he is Victoria Hempsey’s killer. But in the meantime, it is too early to rule out other potential suspects. The DNA results should come back tomorrow, I’ve been told. Hopefully forensics will reveal more. Good luck with your investigation. Now I believe Detective Mahoney has a few words for you.’

He handed the floor over to his ex-girlfriend’s friend and, with his presentation done, he took a seat. Slowly the room faded, his heartbeat slowed. As Karen spoke, Makedde returned again to his thoughts.

Her memory, as ever, distracting him.

‘I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment. Uh, if I could.’

Detective Inspector Kelley was at the door of his office, and now he paused, holding his briefcase. He took in Detective Jimmy Cassimatis’s expression and contemplated something.

‘Certainly, Cassimatis. Come in.’

Jimmy followed Kelley into his office and closed the door. Kelley had taken a seat behind his desk and Jimmy sat down across from him, fidgeting. He’d never been in this office before. He hadn’t had occasion to speak privately to Kelley since the reshuffle and move to the new headquarters.

‘What’s on your mind?’

It was a simple question. The answer, however, was not so simple.

‘Look, I only wanted to talk to you because … well, because I have some concerns about Inspector Hunt.’ He said his superior’s name softly, afraid of being overheard.

Kelley frowned. ‘Do you want to be transferred? I’m afraid I have everyone I need for my team.’

‘No, it’s not about that.
Skata
,’ he said and immediately thought he should try not to swear so much. ‘Sorry. I mean, yes, I’d love to be on your team, as you know, but that’s not why I’m here.’

‘Why are you here then?’ Kelley’s slate-grey gaze was so direct that for a moment Jimmy felt unable to speak. He was
deeply uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in, and he was half motivated to simply walk out without saying another word.

‘I don’t know how to say this. I think Hunt may be …’ He stopped. ‘Sir, I have been thinking about this a lot, and I think Bradley Hunt may have a vested interest of some kind in protecting … um …’ He hesitated again, afraid of saying the name aloud, as if simply mentioning Jack Cavanagh might trigger something terrible.

Kelley sat perfectly still, his carriage upright, posture impeccable. His face had darkened a touch. The silence in the small office grew more tense with each breath. Jimmy’s gaze flitted to the photos and diplomas on the walls. The binders. The carpet. And Kelley continued to wait.

‘Cavanagh,’ he finally said. ‘Jack Cavanagh. I think he has a vested interest. Bribes even. From Cavanagh himself or someone working for him.’

Kelley leaned back in his chair. For a stretch of time he said nothing. ‘These are serious allegations.’

‘Oh, I know that, sir. I really know that.’

Jimmy felt queasy. He’d eaten too much. He often did that when he was anxious.

‘I value your opinion. And, you know I’m pretty honest. I’m not ambitious.’ He laughed. ‘Right?’ It was obvious that he wasn’t ambitious. Not ambitious enough, anyway. ‘Inspector, I came to you because I think you know that about me. There is no ulterior motive here.’

‘And you don’t trust anyone else,’ Kelley reasoned.

Jimmy thought about that. Since Andy left for Canberra, yeah, that was probably true. A lot of them were good officers, honest and hard-working. He knew that. But he and Andy
had worked together for nearly a decade. That level of trust was not so easy to replace.