Blood Sunset

29



I MADE NO EFFORT WITH my information report for the Homicide Squad, indicating only that the laptop had allegedly belonged to Gervas Kirzek and had been seized from a local crook. After burning a copy of the disk for my own reference, I attached the original to the report, but didn’t state that there were images of Dallas Boyd or Justin Quinn on it. It wouldn’t make any difference to the homicide investigation anyway. Stello would still require Computer Crime experts to run through it, and this wouldn’t be a priority. Not when SOG was about to arrest the prime suspect.
After printing and proofing the report, I taped it to the laptop and sealed it all in a courier’s box. My connection to the case was over and I felt flat and dejected. At the same time I felt shallow for being so self-centred.
‘Hey, Ruby,’ Cassie called from the mess room. ‘Check this out. Our guy’s on the TV.’
An ABC news anchor stood outside the St Kilda Road police complex describing how detectives hunting a man over a series of murders in the St Kilda area were about to bring in a suspect for questioning.
‘A series?’ Cassie said. ‘He kills two people and all of a sudden he’s a serial killer.’
‘Two that we know of,’ I muttered as a picture of Kirzek appeared on the screen. It was the same photo that had been released to Crime Stoppers. Beneath it was the label ‘Mr Fatty’.
‘I was right,’ Cassie said. ‘They are adding him to the Three Misters.’
‘Mr Fatty.’ I snorted. ‘Who the hell gave them that?’
‘A witness,’ Cassie said.
‘What witness?’
‘Apparently a hooker told Homicide she saw an overweight man running away from Talbot Reserve after Justin Quinn was killed. She obviously leaked it to the media. Probably copped a quid for it too.’
I shook my head in disgust. A media title gave killers clout and status, and often impeded the investigation. It annoyed me that Dallas Boyd’s actual murder hadn’t received any media coverage, yet a flock of journalists and cameramen were camped outside headquarters waiting for his killer’s arrival. Kirzek was a celebrity now. No doubt somebody would get a six-figure advance for writing a book about him.
Cassie turned up the volume as, onscreen, an unmarked police cruiser slowed to turn into the car park at the police complex. A man was huddled between two detectives in the back seat. I stepped up to the screen as the news anchor explained that a suspect had been taken into custody by the Homicide Squad. But when the news cameras pressed a light against the side window of the car, I was staring at a man I’d never seen before.
‘That’s not him,’ I said to Cassie. ‘It’s not Kirzek.’
‘Huh?’
‘Look!’ I said, pointing to the figure in the back seat. ‘It’s not him.’
‘Then who the hell have they got?’
I was dialling Eckles’ number when there was a sound of running footsteps and Mark Finetti entered the room, a startled look across his face.
‘You guys need to haul arse,’ he spluttered. ‘That kid from today, your informant, we just found him outside the squat off Acland Street. Looks like he had a fight with Freddy Krueger.’
‘Sparks?’ I said, my mouth dry.
‘Yeah, stabbed to death.’

The narrow street was blocked at the entrance, blue and red police lights pulsing against the darkening night sky. Hundreds of festival goers were packed against the crime scene tape, like fans queuing for a grand final. Finetti wound down his window and began yelling at the crowd to move, but it made no difference, so Cassie flicked the siren on. When that didn’t work I got out of the car and physically ushered the rubber-neckers to the sides, giving us just enough space to get the car through. We signed the attendance log and stepped under the plastic tape. Already the forensic process was in full swing. A team of crime scene officers had their cameras and toolboxes ready, while another team had assembled floodlights to illuminate the driveway where Sparks had been killed.
Kim Pendlebury came over to us. ‘Look at this place,’ she said, nodding to the surging crowd and the lone constable who stood guarding the crime scene. ‘We need as many bodies as we can get down here. Cassie, you help out Powers over there, keep these people in line. Mark, I want you on media watch. We don’t want any shifty journos breaking through, got it?’
They both nodded and walked off towards the crowd.
‘So you knew this kid?’ Kim asked me.
‘An informant,’ I said, looking over her shoulder to the crumpled and bloodied body. The sight sickened me and I had to look away.
‘Well, you know how it goes. You can’t go in. I gotta keep it clear.’
‘What can you tell me?’
‘We think the killer staked out the house from over there,’ she said, pointing to a palm tree. A crime scene examiner crawled around on the ground beneath it, examining the road and nature strip. I could see an old syringe and a used condom that the CSO had highlighted with numbered evidence tags, even though they probably weren’t related to the murder. For a second I wondered what sort of photo the image would make. A used condom, a dirty needle and a crime scene cop crawling around a palm tree. Very St Kilda. Maybe they could make a postcard out of it and sell it to the tourists.
‘Why over there?’
‘Well, we got witnesses.’
‘No way!’
‘A couple walked by here just before the kid got sliced. They saw an overweight transvestite on the other side of the street, leaning against the tree, looking like he was waiting for something.’
An image of the trannie I’d seen earlier flashed in my mind and I suddenly felt weak at the knees.
‘That prick, I saw him,’ I said. ‘I was here about five this arvo, looking for Sparks. There was a fat trannie in a red dress right here. I didn’t recognise him, thought he was just another newcomer.’
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the face, a telling detail, maybe a tattoo, anything, but all I could see was the dress. There’d been a blonde wig too, but the dress had been all-consuming. Bright red and bursting at the seams. That had probably been his intention. Make yourself look disgusting, that way no one looks at your face. Perfect disguise.
‘The hommies might want to speak to you,’ Kim said.
‘Yeah. How much did the witnesses see?’
‘Not a lot. They live around here, a married couple. They see trannies all the time, so this was no biggie, except when they got back from their evening stroll us cops were here with the body. Anyway, we didn’t want them skipping the scene so we got Homicide on to them real quick.’
That ruled out any option of me being able to talk to them.
‘What do you make of the transvestite angle? Real or staged?’
Kim chuckled. ‘All you heteros are the same, if you ask me. Wouldn’t know shit from shine when it comes to our side of the fence. My guess is your guy, Mr Fatty or whatever the hell they’ve called him, put on a bit of lippy and a wig, slipped into a dress and there you go: an overweight transvestite.’
I nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, like you say, not out of place in St Kilda.’
‘Nothing’s out of place in St Kilda. Come with me,’ she said, leading me across the street to a white panel van with a cage on the back, a Port Phillip Council emblem on the doors.
‘Dog catchers,’ she explained, pointing to the dog in the rear cabin. ‘The kid had a mutt. Some kind of pit bull by the look of it. It wouldn’t let us or the ambos near the body so we had to get a dog catcher out. Poor bastard had to ignore the body while trying to catch the dog. In the end he caught the dog then puked his guts up.’ Kim laughed. ‘Bloody ambos had to treat him for shock. Guess he’s still not well enough to drive.’
I didn’t find the story amusing. The dog was asleep on a blanket, probably in shock too. Sparks had had little to offer the dog but he was still loyal enough to defend his master.
‘Hooch,’ I said, easing away from the window.
‘What’s that?’
‘The dog’s name’s Hooch. He’s a bull mastiff. Not a pit bull.’
‘Not going to be anything for long. Not once they get him in the pound.’
I looked around for Cassie and saw Eckles step under the tape and stride towards me.
‘What the hell are you doing here, McCauley?’ he snarled. ‘Are you trying to give me a f*cking heart attack?’
‘Don’t even start,’ I said. ‘This is Kirzek’s handiwork, which to me is one hell of a mystery since you were supposed to arrest him. They even had his face plastered all over the news. What the hell happened?’
‘It’s not your concern, McCauley. Go home before I –’
‘Not my concern? Mate, my informant’s dead. Killed by the same prick you and Stello took off to arrest an hour ago. What happened?’
When Eckles didn’t reply I knew there’d been a screw-up.
‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘Somebody tipped off the media that an arrest was imminent, then when you realised Kirzek wasn’t where he was supposed to be, you decided to cover your arse. Who was in the back seat of the arrest car?’
He didn’t answer.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you put one of our guys in there just for show.’
‘Hey, we got a righteous bust,’ Eckles blustered. ‘The guy was driving Kirzek’s Beamer. He even has photos of him in his apartment. From what I can see, they’re mates or something and this guy just played the red herring so Kirzek could take a walk.’
‘So who is he then?’
Eckles looked away but I wasn’t having it.
‘Don’t ignore me, Ben. Sparks was helping me . . . helping us. Kirzek killed him and he’s still out there, making us look like idiots. Who the hell have you got?’
‘Some priest named Miles Jorgensen, works for Back Outside. You know, the kiddie prison program.’
I didn’t recognise either the name or the program, and thought about ringing Will Novak to ask what he knew about it, but there wasn’t time.
‘We tried to sweat this guy right off the top but he flexed his silent rights,’ Eckles said. ‘The cheeky son of a bitch even started praying in the interrogation room. Asked the Lord to forgive us, can you believe that shit?’
I looked up at the sky. It was a dark and murky red with no stars and no moon, the city still encased in smoke. The priest under arrest only served to twist the knot in my gut even tighter. Kirzek was playing with us, stalling us. There could be only one reason for that. I studied the strain in my boss’s eyes and realised he’d reached the same conclusion.
‘You want my help or not?’ I said.
He kicked at rubble on the ground and said, ‘Just do what you have to do to catch this prick.’
I left him with his head bowed and walked to the edge of the crime scene where Cassie was telling a reporter to back up and keep the camera out of her face.
‘It’s a setup,’ I said quietly, pulling her out of earshot. ‘Kirzek had one of his cronies bait the hommies and SOG so he could slip away. That means he’s not finished.’
‘Tammy York,’ she said, a look of fear suffusing her face. ‘She can tie Kirzek to the laptop. He’s going back for seconds.’
We ran back to my car and I fired the engine while Cassie ordered the crowd back. When we pulled onto Acland Street, my mobile phone chirped. With one hand on the wheel, I checked the screen.
‘Ella,’ I said, wondering why she would be calling me.
When I answered my heart skipped a beat. The voice coming back at me wasn’t Ella’s. It was male, with a thick European accent. Gervas Kirzek.