Patrol car lights flashed along the street turning buildings blue and red. People stopped on the footpath and were moved along, most crossing to the other side of the road and getting their phones out. A media van rocked up. Probably the first of many.
Liz showed her badge to get past the police tape and then into the building. The lift was taped up so she ran up the five flights of stairs.
Outside the door she was handed slip on shoe coverings and put them on.
Pete was inside the apartment, barking orders to a uniform, who hurried past her.
The body was in the bedroom.
‘Crime Scene are on their way. Touch nothing.’ He barely glanced at Liz.
‘Seriously, Peter? You’re not speaking to a rookie.’
Ginny might have been sleeping, other than the black stocking around her throat. She wore only a lacy black bra, matching panties, and the other black stocking.
‘A john?’
Pete began scanning the room. ‘Hardy.’
‘Hardy?’
‘Strangulation. She put up no fight from the look of things so knew her killer. He probably liked it rough, and she’d have thought it was part of the game until she passed out.’
‘He cuts throats.’
‘He also has only ever killed men that we’re aware of. This is a woman who he once cared about. Different version of the same crime.’ Pete stalked out of the room. ‘You were here with Terry.’
Liz followed. ‘Handcuffs were found a block over which belonged to the officer who put them onto Hardy so we came to have a chat.’
They were in the kitchen, away from any other police.
‘Why didn’t you get me to meet you here?’ Pete demanded.
‘Terry’s decision.’
‘Liz… shit.’ He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes furious. ‘We should have kept an eye on her. He’s found out you visited and shut her up.’
‘Or he found out you and I were here the other day.’
The anger on her partner’s face told her he knew that was possible.
‘Tell me what happened.’
Liz ran him through the conversation leaving out the bit about her suggestion that Ginny might accidentally lock her clients in cuffs and need to cut them out. No point adding to his frustration. ‘Terry asked to have a look around and she said no. He decided to wait for the prints from the cuffs to come back before trying for a warrant.’
‘And have they?’
‘Not that I know of. But we can search now.’ Leaving Pete to sort himself out, Liz donned gloves and found the laundry. With barely room to turn, there was a combined washer/dryer, sink, and narrow broom cupboard, which she opened. ‘Pete?’
They should have got the warrant earlier.
A pair of bolt cutters nestled behind an ironing board and a broom.
‘This changes things.’ Terry poured coffee for Liz and Pete as well as himself.
They were the only ones in the room. Those who’d been available were already back on the search for Hardy.
‘I’ve asked for a warrant to access Richard Roscoe’s communications and I want you two on his trail. If Hardy feels safe enough to kill one of his old contacts then he might slip up and make contact with his lawyer. Or strike again. I’ve sent someone to keep an eye on Roscoe but you both take over tonight please.’
Pete had had words with Terry earlier over Ginny. Liz had left them to it and gone to the locker room to change into her usual pants and jacket and on return they were back to normal and planning ahead.
‘The other thing is the media are getting themselves in a twist so be careful they don’t follow you. They’re speculating Hardy is behind this and stirring up outrage that he’s on the loose.’
‘Where’s Roscoe now?’ Pete finished his coffee.
‘I’ll check and message you by the time you get downstairs.’
Vince knew he wouldn’t sleep yet so turned on the television, keeping the sound down. There was nothing of interest to watch, but he wanted some kind of company and this would do. Melanie had been asleep for a couple of hours, exhausted in a content way by her afternoon with Lyndall and dinner with Liz.
It was Liz’s revelations which unsettled him.
There’d been some kind of disagreement at the restaurant. If a waiter overheard it, then presumably it wasn’t in the dining area… so where? Outside? Along a corridor? He knew Spironi’s from a couple of lunches there with Susie. There was a vague recollection of a long corridor leading to both the kitchen and the restrooms. And perhaps the back exit.
The person who’d left the message on Susie’s answering machine was threatening David and had enough of waiting for him to agree to something. It hadn’t been Bradley’s voice so who was David mixed up with? Or what?
I need to find the waiter and have a quiet word.
If they’d told one person there’d been an argument then changed their story it was likely a third party was involved. More threats? Or a nice payout?
A newsflash caught his eye and he turned the sound up enough to hear.
‘The death of Ginny Makos, rumoured to be a high-end escort, is being treated as suspicious.’
Overhead footage from a helicopter showed the scene. An apartment building in the north-west of the city with police cars, ambulance, and a crowd despite the late hour.
‘A police spokesperson has assured reporters on the scene that the killer poses no threat to the general public. We believe they know who the killer is. There will be a full report on our regular newscast and we will ask the question: Did Malcolm Hardy kill Ginny Makos?’
‘Crap.’
He turned the television off and started to dial Liz on his phone. This Ginny was the person she’d spoken to about Hardy. Liz would be knee-deep in it. He sent a message instead.
The man was a menace. Vince had been at the end of his career when Hardy went to prison and had nothing to do with the arrest but knew enough to want him back behind bars. If it was him then where was he hiding? The heat this killing would generate would be enough for any of his old contacts to refuse to help him. Unless it was a warning —don’t mess with me.
A message flashed up.
He put the phone away. She was busy enough. Hardy had done well to stay out of sight for so long but staying in a city where every police officer had you in their sights would change that. He’d need a way out. By sea was one option. Get someone with a small boat to take a risk moving him along the coast. Airports would be impossible unless he had a friend on the inside and a small plane, but it wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies. Same with bus and rail. Lots of cameras. Lots of people watching out.
Either Malcolm Hardy was bunkered down somewhere invisible or would make a move to get out of the state. Which only left road transport. A private car might get through unseen, but the risk was high. Cars needed fuel and petrol stations had cameras.
With a yawn, Vince got to his feet. His mind wasn’t going to rest just yet, but his body was exhausted and he could think just as well in bed as in here.
Altona Beach was almost deserted. The shopping strip—usually buzzing even this late—was quiet, most likely thanks to the cold tonight.
Richard Roscoe had led Liz and Pete here and now they waited.
He’d parked his fancy car along the waterfront and walked to the half-kilometre long pier where he’d stayed for the past half hour. He didn’t follow its length or make any calls. Just stood staring back at the shops.
‘Does he not feel the cold?’ Liz was freezing. She should have kept a jumper on instead of the jacket which did little to keep her warm.
Pete didn’t answer. He’d been quiet since they’d taken over trailing Roscoe and was either still angry or mourning Ginny. He didn’t want to talk about it and Liz wasn’t about to pry into whatever odd connection he’d had with the woman.
Someone walked along the beach toward the pier. Liz found binoculars but it was too dark to see who the person was. ‘Pete?’
‘Yeah, I can see him. He’s meeting Roscoe.’
The man stepped onto the pier and the overhead light gave Liz what she’d wanted. Pete began taking photos with the camera he favoured and its giant lens.
A conversation ensued. Mostly from Roscoe’s side but with the occasional comment from the other man. Roscoe waved his arms around and got into the other man’s personal space. There was a quick shove and Roscoe backed off. More words spoken and then a tentative handshake before both went their separate ways.
Pete kept snapping images of the other man until he climbed into a flatbed ute.
‘What the hell was that about?’ Liz kept her eyes on Roscoe. ‘Why is Roscoe meeting Abel Farrelly in the dead of the night?’