‘Jenkins did nothing all night long.’ DI Pavlou summarised the update to the Hermes executive committee. ‘Didn’t phone anyone, at least not from his known number. Surfed the internet for a while. Downloaded and watched three eps of Game of Thrones, illegally, but we’ll let him have that, for now.’ She chucked the sheet of A4 on the boardroom table. ‘Ate a frozen pizza and had a beer, Boag’s — according to the bin search. In bed by eleven.’
‘Associates?’ asked Cato. He was feeling refreshed. A good night’s sleep, Ella for the first time had skipped a feed during the night. And he hadn’t been kicked in the head that morning. Always a bonus. Plus he’d finally, having procrastinated for too long, had the phone call with Jane about Jake.
‘If that’s what he wants,’ Jane had said, sulkily. ‘What does Sharon say?’
‘Fine. We have the space, or at least we will once the granny flat is cleared.’
‘When are you thinking?’
‘Maybe he can help me clear it out this weekend?’
‘Okay. Probably for the best.’
Cato knew the feeling. The push–pull. Trying not to be hurt, to take it personally. ‘He’s growing up, probably needs some space.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Jane.
Thornton spoke up after a nod from Pavlou. ‘Jenkins spends a lot of time at the gym down in South Freo. Most of his circle seems to be from there. There’s a whisper of steroid use among some.’
‘Roid rage? Is that what’s behind this?’ wondered Amy.
‘The roids might feed it, but so far he’s been a bit too organised for us to put it down to rage,’ said Pavlou. ‘Still, worth a closer look.’
‘And it fits in with our profiling session a few days ago: young, fit, strong and confident,’ noted Hutchens.
‘The dad?’ said Pavlou. ‘Bill Jenkins. Any more there?’
Thornton spoke up. ‘Not too good since his stroke but I’ve got a meeting with the big cheese at the Academy. She’s going to give me the lowdown on why Jenkins Junior was booted and didn’t live up to dad’s expectations.’
Pavlou frowned. ‘Try and lift your game with the respect and protocol while you’re there, Chris. “Big cheese” won’t cut it.’
Thornton ducked his head. ‘Boss.’
‘Let me know how it goes. Meantime we’ll keep watching him.’
‘How long for?’ said Cato.
‘A few more days at least. Maybe by then we’ll have some evidence from our lines of enquiry …’
‘Or?’ said Hutchens.
‘Or he’ll get another evil urge and we’ll catch him red-handed.’
‘Fingers crossed,’ said Hutchens.
There was a message when Cato switched his mobile back on. Sonya Allegretta from St Mary’s. He returned her call.
‘He’ll talk to you. Alone.’
‘He’ being one of John Jenkins’ recent assault victims. No longer residing in Fremantle. Too scared, according to Allegretta.
‘Where and when?’
‘I’ll pick you up and take you to him. Ten minutes, fifteen?’
They agreed on fifteen. Cato was waiting outside when she pulled up in a red Barina. The passenger seat was stuck and wouldn’t retreat so Cato sat with his knees pressing hard into the glovebox. It reminded him of a Jetstar flight. ‘Where are we going?’
Sonya said nothing and fired up a ciggie with the dashboard lighter. This was going to be one of those trips.
‘Should I be wearing a hood or a blindfold or something?’
‘Your call. Booragoon. Garden City. Hungry Jack’s. His name’s Lonely and he wants you to buy him a Whopper.’
She nodded. ‘You’ll know why when you meet him.’
‘Okay,’ said Cato. In the passenger footwell today’s West lay open at an inside page with a photo of the Fremantle mayor dishing out meals yesterday at St Mary’s, Sonya in the background. ‘You’re famous,’ said Cato, fishing the paper out.
A snort. ‘It’s my job to be nice to people like him.’
Cato reached down between his knees and dragged the paper up into his lap.
‘To be fair, he’s in a difficult position,’ Allegretta conceded. ‘He’s trying to appease local businesses and residents concerned about antisocial behaviour while not wanting to appear heartless in the face of real suffering and need. It’s a very Freo dilemma.’
It echoed the views of Courtney the Boss Ranger. ‘Plus ça change,’ said Cato.
‘That’s the thing,’ said Allegretta. ‘For such a progressive city there’s a lot of resistance to change. People got upset about a new frigging skate park and the likely lure of undesirables. Imagine what they’d do if the council built social housing next door to them?’
Cato read out the quote from the mayor. ‘Western Australia has squandered the boom. The richest state in one of the richest countries in the world and all for nothing. Homelessness and poverty in Fremantle are on the rise as a direct result of governments at both national and state level turning their backs on those in need. But the City of Fremantle is not in the business of kicking people when they’re down.’ He glanced at Allegretta. ‘Can’t fault that.’
Sonya flicked her cigarette out the window. ‘Words. Worthless. Particularly when there’s an election on. So if it’s not the council, then who is sweeping beggars out of sight on the cappuccino strip, harassing them with security guards? Categorising them into “genuine” homeless and so-called “professional” beggars.’
‘Wasn’t that what the homelessness audit was about? Counting and categorising? Getting a clearer picture?’
‘In principle it was a good idea, but somehow the numbers got spun to justify a policy that was already in the pipeline, regardless of the audit.’ She lifted some fingers from the steering wheel and hooked them in quotes to illustrate her point. ‘Do you know how many “genuine” homeless people are on the council beggars register? Less than a dozen. Do you know how many breakfasts, lunches and dinners St Mary’s cooks every day for the homeless? Over two hundred. And that’s just us, never mind the other agencies and charities. So are we being duped? Are those other one hundred and ninety we see every day milking the system? Of course they’re not. It’s bullshit, it’s divide and rule, and the mayor knows it. He’s pandering to the rednecks.’
‘My impression of the boss over there, Courtney, is that she’s not the bullying, redneck type.’
A sigh. ‘Yeah, she’s okay. Most of the rangers are. But it’s the kind of job that can attract the Jenkinses of this world.’
Not unlike the cops, Cato mused. And it only takes one to slip through the recruitment net. ‘What about the challenger, Knight. Any views on him?’
‘I can’t see him getting anywhere. He’s not the type that goes down well in Freo. He’d be better running in the northern suburbs or out east.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Raging bull. He’d be an embarrassment. Fremantle doesn’t like to wear its prejudices on its sleeve. Prefers to be more subtle.’
‘He seems to think otherwise.’
‘He would.’ Mercifully Sonya didn’t need to light up any more cigarettes for the remainder of the journey; she was fuming enough already.
As usual there was a lot of money being spent in Garden City. Cato always found such places dystopian and other-worldly. Ostentatious consumption, weird lighting, no clocks. Everything and everyone on display, one way or another. This was a place where you dressed up to go shopping, even in Hungry Jack’s. Lonely stuck out like a sore thumb. For a start he had several vacant seats either side of him in what was a busy fast-food joint. He had also attracted the attention of the store manager and a security guard who were no doubt inviting him to leave.
Cato introduced himself to them, discreetly offered some ID and requested a brief stay of execution.
‘He’s driving away the punters,’ muttered the duty manager, a pimply ranga whose name badge read Liam.
‘It’s important,’ said Cato.
‘So’s my daily sales target,’ said Liam. ‘Can’t you take him somewhere else, like Maccas?’
Cato looked at Sonya who shook her head firmly.
‘Whopper Meal Deal,’ said Lonely, resolutely. ‘With the upgrade.’ He grinned at Liam. ‘And make it snappy, Ginger.’ A nod towards Cato. ‘He’s paying.’
The security guard by now had made himself scarce. Liam scowled and went back behind the counter. Cato followed him to the cash register and then returned to join Sonya and Lonely at the table. That’s when it hit. Epic BO. Sonya didn’t seem to notice it. Cato, meanwhile, was fighting his gag reflex. The meal arrived and Lonely dug in.
‘Tell him,’ said Sonya. ‘Tell him about Jackboot John.’
Lonely was scrawny and malnourished. A twenty-year-old in the body of a twelve-year-old. He lifted his gaze from the meal to Cato. ‘Jackboot John? Cunt,’ he said, through a mouthful of fried mince.
‘Specifics?’ said Cato.
‘Specifics?’ Lonely slurped and burped on his Coke. ‘Jackboot John is a cunt because he kicked me in the back in the middle of the night while I was sleeping in this old warehouse nobody wanted and minding my own business. Then he pissed on my sleeping bag and told me to get out of town or he’d put me in a wheelchair.’
‘When was this?’
‘July. Can’t remember the date, I don’t keep a diary.’
‘Where was the warehouse?’
‘Down near Capo D’Orlando, yacht club and that.’
Not far from where victim two, Maureen, was found. ‘Any witnesses?’ asked Cato.
A snort.
‘How did he know where to find you?’
‘Ask him. Maybe he was following me. Maybe he’s made it his business to do a circuit of the known pitches.’
‘Why did he have it in for you?’
Lonely polished off the last of his burger. ‘What are you saying? I provoked him?’
‘I’m trying to get an idea of why he picks on some people and not others.’
‘He’s a bully. Picks on squirts like me who he thinks can’t fight back.’
That didn’t fit with victim three, the ex-commando. ‘Was July the last time you saw him?’
‘Yeah, I got the fuck out. Don’t need freaks like him on my back. Life’s hard enough.’
‘Where do you hang out these days?’
Lonely reached into his packet of fries. ‘What’s it to you?’
Cato didn’t pursue it. ‘Know anybody else who’s had a run-in with Jenkins?’
Lonely looked at Sonya and got the nod he was waiting for. ‘Yeah, Deano.’
‘Dean Pearson?’
‘Yeah. The one that got stabbed.’
‘Dean was threatened by Jenkins?’
‘Yeah, same deal: a kick in the back, piss on the bag and told to fuck off somewhere else.’
‘Dean told you this?’
‘Yep.’
‘When?’
‘About the same time as I got my marching orders. Early July.’
And by month’s end, Dean Pearson was dead, thought Cato. ‘But Dean decided not to leave?’
‘That’s right. He was going to nail the fucker. He was smarter than me, smarter than any of us. So he reckoned anyway.’
‘In what way?’
‘He was keeping a diary.’
None had been found on the body. ‘Did you see it?’
Liam the duty manager was hovering.
A nod. ‘He showed me his note book, a little yellow cheapo thing full of weird shit, drawings, poems, whatever. I told him it wouldn’t make any difference.’
‘And?’
‘And I was right, wasn’t I? Made no fuckin’ difference at all.’ Cato was hunched up in Allegretta’s Barina for the return trip when his mobile went. It took a while to release it in the cramped space. It was Thornton calling.
‘On my way back from Joondy, Sarge.’ The Police Academy at Joondalup in the far northern suburbs.
‘And?’
‘The grand fromage there turns out to be a good mate of DI Pavlou’s.’
In the confines of the Barina, Cato was obliged to twist his head at a funny angle to take the call. He really wanted Thornton to get to the point, and told him so.
‘Right. So Commander Fiona thought Jenkins was a loser from day one. Up himself, not a listener or a team player, and he assumed he was already going to pass because of his dad.’
‘But none of that showed on the paperwork,’ Cato said. ‘It was all going well until his final year, according to the record.’
‘Commander Fi wasn’t in charge then. She was two-IC. I get the impression she and the big chief didn’t see eye to eye.’
‘Go on.’
‘Jenkins was chucked out for bullying a fellow cadet. Unnamed female. He’d threatened her, then one day he decked her during an ethics and accountability class.’
‘Ethics and accountability?’
‘Yeah, it’s what they teach them nowadays, every Tuesday morning before taser practice.’
‘All very interesting but it still isn’t evidence is it?’
‘True.’ There was a beep as contact was lost. Cato’s phone rang again almost immediately. ‘Sorry, driving through the Polly Pipe. Anyway, on my way out I rechecked the graduation date and called a mate who joined the same year. He remembered the biff very well. Great laugh. He helped drag Jenkins off her.’
‘And?’
‘He clearly remembers Jenkins screaming and going nuts, yelling “I’ll kill you, bitch, don’t think I won’t” — stuff like that.’
Grist to the mill. ‘Thanks, Chris. Write it up.’
‘There’s more.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘My mate reckons he spoke to the woman Jenkins decked. Asked her what it was all about. Why they didn’t like each other. Turns out she’d made some crack about survival of the fittest when she passed him on a training run once. He never forgave her.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it. Classic tiny dick syndrome she’d called it.’
‘Stop the presses,’ said Cato.
‘One last thing, Jenkins’ financials finally came through after a wrangle with the bank. You might want to take a look when you’re back in the office.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Regular and modest but, as yet, unexplained payments direct into a high interest no-touchie account.’
‘Who from?’
‘Barbarossa Nominees. Sounds dodgy. I’ll dig some more.’
‘Thanks.’ Cato closed the call. Felt the weight of Sonya’s expectations. ‘What’s Lonely’s story, how did he end up on the street?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m interested. But if it’s confidential, then no worries.’
‘Put it this way, the stats on homeless young people and the link to domestic violence and sexual abuse are pretty ugly. That BO of his isn’t just through lack of washing. He sees it as his protective force field.’
Allegretta dropped Cato outside the cop shop.
‘So you heard what Lonely said: Jenkins threatened and assaulted both him and Deano. What are you going to do about it?’
Cato wanted to be able to say yeah, sure, Jenkins needs closer scrutiny. And he was already getting it. But she couldn’t know that. ‘Uncorroborated. One word against another. We’ll continue our enquiries.’ He thanked her and she squealed away in a huff. He paid a visit to Pavlou and updated her.
‘And this Lonely kid will give us a statement to that effect?’ Pavlou said.
‘For the price of a Double Whopper, I reckon he’ll do anything.’
‘Deano’s diary would be nice, wouldn’t it?’
‘Plus a bit of forensic, something scientific. It’s all hearsay at the moment.’ Cato shrugged. ‘Maybe we should be talking to the father down in Albany?’
‘More hearsay?’
Cato leaned against a filing cabinet. ‘How’s the surveillance going?’
‘The bloke’s a goody-two-shoes. It’s like he knows he’s being watched.’ She gave Cato a weary smile. ‘Until he makes a mistake or we strike jackpot on the forensics all we can do is build the case.’
‘The bank account?’
They glanced at the printout. ‘They’re small amounts. Five hundred a month for the last six months, maybe it’s a stipend from the Jenkins family trust.’ Pavlou sighed. ‘Fancy a quick trip to Albany?’