Cato knew what it would be about even before he answered the phone.
‘Back of Missy Moos, South and Harbour,’ said Chris Thornton.
He had to ask anyway. ‘It’s him?’
‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘Twenty minutes.’ He checked the time on his phone. Five-thirty, half-grey dawn and twittering birds outside. He rolled over and pecked Sharon on the cheek. ‘Gotta go.’
She opened an eye. ‘Bye.’
Norman had come clean. Yes, Tinder was a way for him to maintain contact with the killer who’d assumed the persona of Jacqui. Yes, the killer seemed to have developed a real fixation on Cato.
‘This is personal isn’t it?’ Norman had said with widening eyes and growing realisation. ‘The whole thing. It’s about you and him.’
If it wasn’t before, it is now.
What was the meeting with Jenkins about? A tip-off from the killer that he was worth talking to. Why? Norman didn’t know. There was obviously personal animosity between Cato and Jenkins. Jenkins had mentioned that Kwong seemed to be mates with this loser called Barry, wanted to stick up for him, take sides. Yes, said Norman, I talked to Barry as well. Passed it all on to Jacqui, via yet more pay-as-you-go mobiles and the cloud.
Cato could have quite happily shot Norman there and then. ‘You know what you’ve done, don’t you?’
‘What? I just thought he was gathering info for his smear campaign. You don’t mean …’
Cato had turned to Amy. ‘Put the word out. We need to find Barry and bring him in. All available units. High priority.’ He gave a description and possible leads, Big Issue, St Mary’s. He turned back to Norman, shook his head. ‘What a piece of work. I’ll make sure you’re remembered for this, don’t worry.’
‘So is our deal still on?’ asked Norman.
There had been no sign of Barry over the next few hours. He hadn’t come back to the hostel in South Fremantle and wasn’t at any of his known haunts. Cato had returned home well after midnight and waited for the call that must surely come. When he pulled into Harbour Road the white tent was already up in the car park behind Missy Moos. Was it just coincidence that this was the street he’d lived in until he met Sharon? Cato didn’t know but, either way, it was too late for Barry.
Thornton greeted Cato with a paper suit, mask, gloves and booties. ‘The body was found by an early morning dog walker. That’s him over there.’
A little old man with a little old dog. Deb Hassan was taking notes.
Cato zipped the suit up. ‘How did he die?’
‘Head smashed in with a house brick.’
‘Christ.’
‘Duncan’s in the tent. Wants a word.’
Cato stepped under the flap. He took in the wreck of what was once Barry Newman’s head. Cato had never asked him his second name all those times they’d talked but he knew it now, courtesy of what had become a murder investigation. ‘Oh, Barry,’ he said, quietly.
‘Friend of yours?’ Duncan Goldflam still had room for sympathy in this terrible job of his.
‘Recent acquaintance,’ said Cato. But it didn’t feel like that.
‘Sorry.’ Duncan stood up, his head brushing the roof of the tent. ‘Main things to note. Brick dust and fragments in the wounds. No calling card.’ He didn’t need one, thought Cato, the choice of victim said it all. ‘And he didn’t die here. Not enough blood or trace patterns consistent with how he died.’
Thornton lifted the flap. He must have overheard. ‘I think I might be able to help you with that. It looks like we’ve found the brick.’
A fitness bootcamper over on Wilson Park had stubbed her toe on it in the half-light of dawn while doing a circuit. The brick had been covered in blood.
At that moment the mobile in Cato’s pocket throbbed. It was Norman’s mobile, the hotline to the killer. Cato checked the incoming message, a photo of a bloodied and dead Barry. A caption: For you xxx, Jacqui.
Cato wanted to stamp the phone into smithereens. But he didn’t. This thin sliver of communication, this torment, was just about all he had to hold onto.
DI Pavlou ran the meeting. Cato knew he had a dangerous and unstable look in his eye but right now Pavlou undoubtedly needed cold, clear focus from him and everybody else. They’d gone through the early forensics. Goldflam saw evidence of sloppiness in the decision to relocate the body.
‘This bloke now has a car with trace evidence to worry about. He’s creating more problems for himself. That’s good for us.’
Was he saying that to make Cato feel better? Probably not. Goldflam didn’t waste words like that. Thornton was coordinating intel on Barry’s known movements and associates to build a picture that might eventually reveal the killer. Hassan was running doorknocks and had a team canvassing the area for any possible witnesses to anything unusual during the time frame. And Trimboli was reviewing the spreadsheets looking for points of connection between the victims. But if the killer was simply using the victims to send a message, then was Cato himself that point of connection? It was crazy. Why kill all the others; why not just get to the point?
Pavlou, accompanied by an old hand named Schultz back from long service leave, led him to a quiet room. ‘This looks like the mother of all grudges, Philip. Have any idea who might be behind it? How many people could you have pissed off this badly?’
‘Difficult to say. Some people blow things all out of proportion.’
Pavlou pursed her lips. ‘You’re going all passive-aggressive on me again. We’re in this together. You know that, don’t you?’
Cato closed his eyes and expelled a breath. ‘If I had even half an inkling, I’d be out there chasing them down.’
‘Wood for the trees, Philip. You’ve got a lot on your plate.’ A pause. ‘Maybe I’ve added to it by bringing you into the squad before you’re ready.’
Oh, fuck off. ‘Yeah, maybe you have.’ He needed to be free of this. He needed time and space. Can I have a few days off to gather my thoughts in the middle of a massive murder investigation please? ‘The only violently vindictive bastards that come to mind right now are Jenkins and Son. I don’t know what they’ve got to do with this but they’re in the picture somewhere. And Junior has links to some of the victims.’
‘We can’t pull them in on the strength of that. Jenkins Junior now has a second alibi, again us, sitting on him all night at the Mandurah Atrium. As for the dad, I’ve told you I’ve already got somebody discreetly on Bill Jenkins down in Albany.’
‘Bill Jenkins doesn’t respond to discreet. Who is it?’
‘Senior Sergeant Tess Maguire. She’s an outsider. Not part of the old boys’ club. Know her?’
‘Yes,’ said Cato. You know I do.
‘As for Johnny Jenkins, admittedly he pointed Norman towards Barry. He needs another talking to, if only to formally close the book on him. Or throw it at him, either way.’
‘I’m happy to do it.’
‘I think not. Schultzy here can run it. That right, Schultzy?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Maybe Cato can brief me.’
‘Maybe I can watch?’ said Cato.
Pavlou didn’t see a problem with that.
Sergeant Schultz and Amy Trimboli did the honours with John Jenkins. Cato had only one bit of advice. ‘Wind him up as tight as he’ll go, I reckon he’s got daddy issues, see where that gets you.’ He also had a side word with Schultz who he knew to be less of a Pavlou brown-noser. ‘Check his alibi for murder four.’
‘I thought we were it?’
‘Maybe someone fucked up and is not telling.’
‘That would reflect badly on those leading this investigation, surely?’
‘Yes,’ said Cato. ‘It would. I also want to know about those payments into his account.’
‘No probs,’ said Schultz.
Having made himself a coffee, Cato settled back and watched it all on the video link.
‘Mr Jenkins.’ Schultzy was legendary; he was one of those blokes with a treasure trove of war stories to share around the barbie. He could have you crying with laughter after a few beers. The crims loved him because he looked, acted and talked like them. They thought they were on the same wavelength, always good for a joke. They didn’t realise he was a Judas goat. He could cheerily lead them up the steps to the courthouse for a ten-stretch. And if he did, they’d still thank him for the laugh along the way. But the smile was missing this morning. ‘Thanks for your time today. Much appreciated.’
Jenkins checked his watch. ‘This take long?’
‘Things to do, places to be?’
‘Something like that.’
Amy Trimboli did her bit. ‘You’ll leave when we’re ready, Mr Jenkins.’
Schultzy winked at Johnny. ‘There’s your answer, mate, but we’ll try our best.’
‘Bit young and pretty for bad cop, aren’t you?’ said Jenkins to Amy.
Schultz sat back and flapped his tie. ‘Watch your manners, mate. This is a modern workplace.’
‘So what is it you want? Do I need a lawyer here or what?’
Amy didn’t lift her eyes from her notepad. ‘Not unless you’ve done something wrong, Mr Jenkins.’ She looked up. ‘Have you?’
‘You had a meeting with this journo bloke.’ Schultz glanced at the file. ‘Norman Lisp.’
‘Lip,’ Amy corrected him.
‘Right. What was that about?’
‘What’s it to you?’
Schultz pulled out a photo of Lip from the file. Bushranger beard, glasses and checked shirt. ‘Conrad Cool here reckons you discussed a bloke who was found dead this morning. Murdered.’
‘Who?’ The media hadn’t released a name yet.
‘Barry Newman,’ said Amy. ‘You know him, I believe.’
‘Fucking hell.’
‘Heard you and him had a bit of biff recently,’ said Schultz. ‘Apparently he landed one on you?’
‘No way,’ said Jenkins. ‘You’re not pinning this on me. I want a lawyer.’
‘Relax mate, we don’t think it was you.’ He looked askance at Amy. ‘Do we, Constable Trimboli?’
She shook her head dismissively. ‘Nah.’ A pause. ‘Probably not.’
‘So what’s this about?’
Schultz leaned forward across the table. ‘We need your help.’
‘I didn’t do it. Don’t know anybody who did.’
‘That’s the thing, you see. We know you have an alibi for the fourth murder, because we were watching you.’
Just a microsecond, but there it was. The hint of a smirk, the brightening of the eyes. The alibi wasn’t all it seemed.
Schultz had picked it too, lifting his head to the video camera as if framing his next thought but Cato saw a stare meant for him. ‘But you keep really bad company, John. It gets us to thinking about aiding and abetting, or even job-sharing.’
‘Fuck off.’ Jenkins stood to leave.
‘Maybe you and the man from the souvenir shop,’ suggested Amy. ‘We know you’re on each other’s speed dials and you both don’t like tramps and beggars.’
Schultz studied the paperwork. ‘Neil Foster? Is he the one paying the money into your account? Is he Barbarossa Nominees?’
‘You really have been giving me a going-over haven’t you? Want to check my stools? I need to take a shit.’
‘Five hundred bucks a month. Pin money. What does he get for that?’
‘Woof,’ said Jenkins. ‘That’s the sound of a dog under the wrong tree.’
‘So enlighten us.’ Schultz leaned forward. ‘Who’s this Barbarossa Nominees?’
‘None of your business.’
‘It is when the property they own gets burned down with three homeless people inside.’
A widening of the eyes. ‘Call me when you can prove any of this. Until then, see ya.’
‘I worked with your dad, back in the day.’ Schultz folded his arms. ‘Tough old sod, wasn’t he?’
Here it comes, thought Cato. Enjoying the theatre.
‘Still is,’ said Jenkins.
‘We were out on a job when he got that call from the Academy.’
‘Yeah?’ Jenkins was flushed. He was still standing, awkward, but compelled to hear Schultz out. ‘Don’t tell me, he was very disappointed. I’ve heard this one before.’
‘Disappointed? No. In fact he laughed, thought it was a huge joke. “They’re chucking the runt out,” he said.’
‘Sergeant,’ said Amy.
‘Don’t interrupt, Constable.’ Schulz turned back to Jenkins. ‘Is that why you pick on the weak and vulnerable, Johnny? Too close to home? Daddy thinks you’re just like them.’
‘Is this being recorded?’
‘Oops. Sorry. Forgot.’
‘Fuck you,’ said Jenkins.
‘You have something in common with the killer. You hate the homeless. Only difference is, he’s got the balls to really do something about it.’ From the adjoining room, Cato winced. ‘You? You piss on their sleeping bags. Weak. Useless. Just like your old man said.’
‘Finished?’
‘Yeah, I think so. For now.’ He turned to Amy. ‘Constable?’
‘Nothing more from me, Sarge.’
‘We will, of course, be passing on the relevant findings of our investigation to your superiors and encouraging them to hold an internal enquiry into certain allegations of harassment and abuse. And we will continue to look into you and your associates.’
Amy lifted a finger. ‘Oh, I forgot. You can expect a visit from the Arson Squad any day now.’
‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Jenkins walked out.
Schultz turned to the camera, speaking directly to Cato. ‘Well, that went well, eh?’