I was staring through a pair of digital binoculars, recording footage of a bulky framed man, with a Merv Hughes moustache and prosthetic hand. Leaning against a grafitti ridden dumpster. Behind a gold gilt door, with decorated devils, a large cartoon kitten, a grim reaper, scenes of mythology... and volumptuous naked women sculpted over it.
There was no shred of doubt, this was the man who had appeared in CCTV footage from the Smiling Crocodile Hotel, hours before Deborah Beskmill's dissapearance.
He was pacing in front of the old strip club, 'Titty Kat' on Skirmish St, looking angry, with a bottle of rum hanging from his hairy fingers.
Emblazoned on his leather jacket was a distinct insignia.
Could this be the branded white wolf, with blood on his lips, who had haunted me in dreams of late?
Here, in the suburban rat trap of run down homes, and shifty business fronts, the hunter walked oblivously into the spider's web, following a network of online clues. Now I was at risk of becoming the hunted, in the greatest and most terrible game. The Darwinian game of life.
I tried to channel Ciara's Catholicism to bring me faith, but it only further cemented the image of a sinister devil behind the whole faccade.
Nature was violent, and I was stepping over the precipice, into the Vipers nest.
But I should probably explain how I came to be there, staking out a strip club in Woodsrot, North Hexton.
I'd been raised in the Northern suburbs, and had a pretty good idea of the malevolence that lurked beneath the smell of eucalypts, and calming visions; rows of thatched rooves, and brick terrace houses. The violence and criminality that had long been coupled with working class poverty and unionism in suburban Hexton.
My dad worked in the St Marvin's Shipyard, was part of the Painters and Dockers union, he was rowdy... and a social drinker. Our family had six degrees of separation to some of Hexton's hardest crims. Dad would regail stories over the dinner table, real life stories of the inmates of the soon to be gentrified Pelham prison. Like the time Aggy 'The Axe' Berger and 'Bloody' Mick Barbarello cut off Mick 'Dog' Nelson's nose.
They were all violent stories. Yet these stories are precisely what had got me interested in true crime in the first place, and ultimately what led me to want to become a journalist.
I'd known of the Sky Serpents biker club since I was in jim jams. Dad knew the founder, Eddie 'Cueball' Nelson, through some union connection. I have a strong memory of seeing cueball myself at a barbecue as a toddler-- a man I remember as robust and jolly. I'd heard the Serpents backstory a thousand times. Memorised it like community folklore.
Cueball, (called so because of his shiny bald head), was born in Colorado. Got his mind scrambled in the Korean war, defected and spent some time in the Jakovaha desert taking Ahuasca, apparently getting in touch with his indigenous native american ancestry, and developing unusual beliefs. Briefly joined a biker gang named Q club, (apparently named after the Aztec deity Quetzacoatl) before he flew out to Hexton, Australia with the intention of starting a biker gang of his own. Bought a cheap house in Woodsrot, only 10km from my family home as a pup. Started the Sky Serpents club dogma with a mixture of Aztec mythology and strict army regiment, only distinct rule in the early days was one member 'could never fuck another members wife' ---on penalty of death. Cueball, broke his own covenant-- allegedly fucked three members wives in the first four years of the club... and was ousted from his own operation, before being gunned down in his car outside a supermarket, by an unknown assailant.
After years of turf wars, the Sky Serpents gained dominance in three states, and even opened a chapter in New Zealand. They had over 100,000 members in Hexton and the surrounding rural precincts today.
When my story about the Serpent drug ring--- and border corruption went to press, shit immediately hit the fan.
The MP at the centre of the controversy, Aldeous Blaxton, was swamped by the press outside his office the following day. 'Mr Blaxton, were you merely aware of the plot to run Third Eye over the New Ireland border? Or complicit?'
'Mr Blaxton, is your wife aware you are a drug pusher?' The reporters canvassed hard, as Blaxton attempted to cover his face with a scarf, swamped with boom mics, and a rough tidal surf of raised hands.
I watched the choas on my TV screen from the comfort of my plush yellow leather couch, as Aldeous Blaxton was buried by his own misdeeds. He quickly resigned--- and the frayed edges of the bent Casey and Wingham police force, and a host of crooked politicians in Viking Capital started to pull apart like the threads of an old blanket.
I switched from proud to anxious pretty quickly as the media focus shifted to the Sky Serpent biker club. There was some attention you just didn't need. Any of this being traced back to my article was seeming potentially dangerous at this point. Meanwhile, pressure was piled on the Elizabeth State premier to take charge of the Serpents--- and in a rushed press conference Tony Cooke promised to "come down hard" on the club and get to the truth.
I yawned and stretched like a lazy cat. Harry had given me the day off to avoid any harrassment from other news teams. I chewed on a piece of bacon as crispy as a mummified finger, and reflected on my recent conversation with Algorithm.
It had taken a hazy few minutes to snap out of my coma the night prior, when I got the message from Al, claiming to know the identity of the Moonsmoth butcher AKA 'Moment Murderer'. When the adrenaline finally did kick in, I staggered downstairs, so as not to wake Ciara, and called him directly, he answered immediately;
'Al speaking.'
'You know, I like your proactive and inquisitive nature, but I probably didnt need you to hack me!' I stammered sleepily.
I could hear his cheeky smile transferring electronically through sound waves; 'Got to do a standard background check for all my customers. No hard feelings--- but you might want to secure your personal information better'.
'Thanks for the tip' I yawned wide. 'Also---I didn't expect you to dive so quickly into the Moonsmoth Butcher case-- I was going to ask what you could dig up for me eventually,'
'I know how it works, I provide the coffee--- you take all the cream. Anyway---I got your man, skippy the bush kangaroo.'
'Well---That was some quick police work!! The boys in blue have been investigating this for over seven years and are still stumped, but you've solved the case in half a day. That's impressive work.'
'I had a little help from the Bayside Police Department, I confess. Intercepted some communication which says our man ---Herman Van Der Slade--- is a cold blooded killer. DNA evidence matches the crime scene--- drives a PBS delivery van --which was witnessed in all three of the abductions. Factor in the prior rape case in the same vicinity, and you got your demented MO. Suspect had the capacity, the capability and the lack of conscience. Al's three C's. I'd say you got your man.'
'Uh-huh.' I held my tongue drily until he'd finished.
'....Hasn't gone to press yet. Also.. I ran my own hypothesis checker... hacked the PBS main frame--- and got data tracking of Herman's van at the rough timeframes of the murders. In every one, you could put this mother fucker at .. or near the scene. Case closed---ya dig?'
'Smooth moves hotshot,' I responded, 'Obviously you only read the first draft of my blog piece though, because I outlined the holes in the Van Der Slade case. DNA was mishandled, Van Der Slade will be released from custody tomorrow on lack of evidence.'
'Shit Nigga. You serious?' Al sounded genuinely annoyed.
'Deadly serious. Sorry to dissapoint you. Can you really hack PBS mainframe and get precise tracking on their deliver vans though?'
'No problemo--- pro bono---' Al said, 'Easy as getting away with murder on Easey Street.'
'Ha--You know your cold cases. Hmmm... Listen, if that is.. the case ...you could really be useful. Do you think you can track all 5000 other Hexton based deliver vans working for PBS--- who were active or near the abduction sites on those three dates.'
'Sure thing' Al said, 'Ill just hit a couple buttons and run the program. Easy as Orphan Annie... in the side alley.. on a church Sunday.' Wasnt going to acknowledge that one.
I had a vague buzz of excitement as I hung up the phone from Al. Suddenly the killer seemed within my grasp.
It's been a week since that sleepless night, and i've been busier than a corrupt cop covering my tracks during a Royal Comission.
Ciara barely blinked as my work progressed.
I was surprised how supportive of me investing time into this case she was. Consoling talks over breakfast inspired confidence I had done the right thing telling her about Palermo and my lost promotion. She made me bacon, eggs and toast with golden hash browns and massaged my shoulders;
'Who are you interviewing today?' She asked with interest, there were some mild undertones which I couldn't quite detect.
'I've lined up a few leads---' I said with a mouthfull of ultra crispy bacon, 'Got to make use of my time off. I've got a bunch of phone calls to make, then heading down to Guernsey Bay, where Luke Hesken has agreed to meet me.'
'Ooh,' Ciara said with interest, 'He's one of that girl Deborah's boyfriends isn't he? The one they found near the old warehouse.'
'Yes. Her. Not boyfriend, but they had been intimate.'
'What do you plan to ask him?'
'Yeh---I'm not sure really....Just trying to get any new perspective about Deborah's life that might help. I believe the intimate nature of the murders, and the covering of the body, suggest the killer might have known the victim. Perhaps he was stalking her public Moment account, going to the same venues. She might have even spoken to him. Or.... been seen by one of her friends... lovers... i dont know...'
'You're assuming the killer is a man---' Ciara said smiling with a mock tongue.
'Well in over 70 percent of violent crimes, the perpetrator is---'
'I know the statistics', Ciara cut in---' 'Its tragic isnt it. She was an ordinary girl. Like me. She could've been anyone. Now her whole life.. it's just gone.'
'Yeah..' the words were struck from my lips ...until Ciara egged me on; 'Someone has to stop this creep KT. Before he does it again.'
'Your right. <yawn> Well... Time to get to work babe. Thanks for the delicious breakfast.' I gave her a kiss, 'What are you up to today?'
'I might watch the highlights of the Northern Derby' she said, 'Did you contact Paulina about getting on her podcast?'
I detected that undertone again, now I could see what Ciara was probing for. She was trying her hardest not to be jealous but the feelings were sweating out of her.
'Babe' I said, 'If you don't want me to go on the podcast. Just say so, and I won't.'
'No', she said '....It might help open up a lead. Somebody from her audience might have the missing piece of information the police need.'
'Are you sure babe?'
'Uh-uh'
'You're sure you're sure? Just say the word?'
'Of course im sure...' Ciara snapped, 'So.. youre going to her house? Whos going to be there. Just you two?'
I laughed, 'Babe.. you're so predictable sometimes. If this is one of those things you agree to then get angry about it later, lets just end it now.'
'No KT. I told you. I want you to do it. I support you.'....
I decided to make my calls down at the Three Monkeys cafe. As I left our house... I saw... with dismal acceptance that the red lidded garbage bin had fallen over . .or been knocked over by possums. Chewed chocolate wrappings, and nibbled mandarin skin confirmed the possum theory. I tried to sweep up the flotsam and jetsam using the side of a cardboard box. Some left over meat had attracted flies and maggots and I thought mournfully of the poor victims, ravaged by nature's vultures, abandoned and haunted. The family meanwhile hounded by the press.
Part of me always felt apprehensive, even guilty, chasing up interviewees. Most of these people had already been through hell, with their grieving. Then they were chased by police, reporters, sent odd messages by amateur sleuths on their social media pages. Some even closed their accounts and went into hiding because of the online harassment. Now I was here to dredge it up all over again. The pain. The lack of closure.
A nervy alert popped up on my Moment account. It was Ciara.
'Hey KT. There's this loud motorbike that has been driving up and down our street since you left. The engine is just revving really slowly.'
'Can you see what colours they are wearing?'
'Let me go check the window---'. The conversation created a vague sense of unease within me.
I stared at 'The Three Monkeys' logo on the white take away coffee cup, and fondled the elevated rectangular spout on the black plastic lid--- as the dial tone sounded. The texture of the cardboard and the aroma of fresh Morrocan beans calmed my nerves. Plastic nicotine meditation. Anxiety calming.
'Hello. This is Angelo speaking.'
'Angelo. Its Kylo Thigler from the Hexton Herald. I messaged you on Moment about the possibility of an interview.'
There was a muffled throaty sort of gulp;
'Yes. I'm at work right now...'
'Oh right', I tried to change gears mid sentence' 'I only needed three minutes. But if now is a bad time... I could call back in twenty...'
'Mate. Let's just get it done.' Angelo conceded.
I knew I had limited time, so I flagged to broach the accusations of violence levelled against him.
If I was going to get even half a litre of blood ... from this big stone, i'd have to flatter him somehow. Make him seem more of a victim than a suspect.
'I'm sorry to put you through all this again.' I continued '---I'm sure you've told everything you know about Deborah's abduction to the police and press a thousand times.'
'God damn right I have. And i'll tell you the same thing ive said every time. I dont know anything '.
'Of course. Now that it's known--' I said... 'that this is part of a serial killing, your name ought to be completely cleared.'
Angelo's tone changed entirely, from one of ambivalence to mutual respect.
'---Oh--- is there some new evidence to link the murders then?'
'Yes. Fibre evidence has proven the material used to bind the hands was the same for all three of the victims. Deborah included.'
'I told the cops a thousand times it was some psycho. Nothin' to do with me, see. You know, I read your expose on Blaxton and his cronies P.S. Brilliant work! The press could use more honest, hard working people like yourself.'
My Moment account blipped again and I caught with apprehension the update from Ciara;
'Sky Serpents'.
I took a pause from Angelo to reply;
'Shit! Stay indoors and keep me updated.'
'Thanks.' I said returning to the phone conversation' 'I just wrote it up though. Cant take credit for the leak.'
'You know', Angelo said, seeming to open up completely 'I was in the same classes at Bourkely university with that prick Blaxton. Politics and Social sciences. He was always a cunt. Couldn't be happier to see him crash and burn.'
'Well.. i've always believed things will come back on you
Some---'
'---- Hey. You want another lead.' (Angelo seemed like the type of person who couldnt help speaking over people, and could probably spend hours at a dinner party just listening to the sound of his own voice.)
'This definitely didn't come from me, but you should look into Charles Beresford. He's been taking bribes for years. Another garbage chute of a human being you'd be a hero to take down.'
'Thanks Angelo ill certainly take note of that. If we could get back to Deborah's murder though....'
'Yeah sure. Like I said..I've got nothing to hide. Ask me anything.'
'Ive been trying to find the actual perpetrator of these crimes--- I believe that the killer was somebody Deborah knew, or at least met. Im trying to gage from those who were close to her, where and with who she might have been associating, casually or romantically..'
'Listen... Mr Thigler. Its pretty widely known... Deborah was a slut. Ok? She liked to sleep around ----and she didnt have a care in the world about any moral obligation.'
Jesus christ, I thought. Even if he was innocent, calling his deceased ex fiance a 'slut' didnt really fill me with lavish praise for Angelo's character...
'Can you think of anyone odd that used to hang around the same places Deborah used to drink?' I asked, trying to steer the conversation 'Any venue she frequented? Really.. any information could turn out to be useful..'
Angelo yawned, and made some thoughtful grumbling noises, I could tell his interest in the conversation was rapidly waning;
'Nuthin' I didnt already tell the pigs. She spent a lot of time at 'The Snake and Ladder' in Carlton. That's where whores go-- to get felt up by pieces of shit. That might be a start, if you're looking to find another creep ---or one of her whore friends--- who's drunk a bottle of vodka to herself. Theres plenty of scum at that old dive. Hey, I gotta go to work, but add me on Moment yeah? Maybe ill message you if I do think of something fruitful.'
The conversation was shorter than I would've liked, but at least I got his socials open and a few little tid bits.
I knew of Chuck Beresford. He was a big money pollie. Never heard of him taking bribes before, and it might be worth following up, I thought, would definitely make a big story. Especially if I want to ride the government corruption angle without getting in too deep with the Sky Serpents.
'The Snake and Ladder' lead might be worth following up too.
I set a Moment reminder to pose it to the 'Hunt for The Moonsmoth Butcher' group, to see what they could dig up. Mr Dumigello had left a bad taste in my mouth. It seemed there were three types of people in the crime world, the innocent, the guilty ....and the downright twats. I didnt doubt he was innocent, no killer would have the gall to call his deceased fiance a 'slut' to the press. It boggles the mind.
I clicked on Dumigello's Moment account and hit 'Connect', I also re-requested Tarik Wells connection, (the guy from detroit who holidayed with Deborah), he had thus far refused all my approaches. I got sucked into my feed, scanning photos and posts put up by my Connections.
Happysnaps of the Gershams camping trip in Freysley.... A promotion from a hardware company I connected with-- for a new Power Shiner that was on special. Even as I scrolled I received a private Moment message from Paulina. She was responding to my message about the podcast.
'Ella is good for Saturday afternoon if you can do it then?'
Something compelled me to click on Paulina's home page. I was immediately assaulted by an array of bubbly selfies. Hugging her cat Miffy. Beside the pool in her Monokini swimsuit. Every photo gently calculated to look pristine, her glowing smile permeating all. I refused to face an attraction, and clicked on her connections ---until I got to her friend Ella. She looked familiar too, I must've seen her at a work party Paulina took her to.
I was worried about Ciara and so I video called her; she looked vulnerable and frightened, in her silk pyjamas, casted in shadows from the curtains, but also beautiful;
'Is that biker still lurking around?' I asked with a high note of concern.
'I haven't heard anything for a while' she said glancing over her shoulder, 'KT. What have you gotten us into? Do you think he was casing out the place?'
'I don't know', I guffed, 'The Border drug controversy is everywhere now, but i'm passing the Sky Serpents story over to someone else. I'm sorry babe. I would never deliberately put us at risk. Especially with a little bub on the way.'
Ciara held her stomach in a cute pose, and pouted,
'Good babe. I want you to go after the truth, but be careful... huh?'
'Ill talk to you later. Love you.'
I finished my coffee and decided to take a stroll along Bandit Creek, whilst making a few other calls. The sun was pleasant but thick, like the heat from a microwave. Small clouds hung like wet sheets on a hills hoist, sweltering in the sky. Dogs ran free in wild grass at the opening, and I made my way through shrub, drowned in cicada and insect noise. Reeds blew elegant concentric circles along the river's edge, bhuddist nature smiled. My plan was merely to lock in some more appointments and interviews for the weekend.
It was the third time I had tried in a roundabout way to reach Edward and Emma Roth, the rich socialites from Mac Arthur Island. Thus far I had been screened out by their social gatekeepers. I wasnt sure how highly I placed Edward Roth on the suspect list. He was definitely a good candidate in Shaylee's murder, having had an affair with her. But he lacked any obvious motive for the other killings. Then again, sometimes it was a mistake to seek reason in the matter of tracking a deranged psychopath.
I finally managed to get through to Roth's attorney, Jeremy Thorn. Mr Thorn was evidently aware of my recent expose on corruption, and was very wary of the Roth reputation, as if he knew of information that could cause a scandal. Saying things like; 'If you're attempting to blacken the Roth name, I assure you..... you'll be dissapointed. Mr Roth is nothing if not the most amicable and forthright business man. You dont get to his position without standing on solid foundations'. Mr Thorn seemed to want to satiate me, and in the end I managed to get him to agree to a private meeting with Edward Roth on the 23rd. Yes! Two and a half weeks away ---but still, it would be inside his mansion. I wondered if it would be possible to look at his bookshelf, i'd love to see if he owned a copy of Hawthorne's 'The Scarlet Letter'.
I made a few other calls, whilst taking my shoes off, and dipping my feet in the cool, fresh running river water. Nothing much came from my discussion with Susan and Leslie Reinside, (they were the joggers who found Annas body in Garguana state forest.) I dont really know what I had expected to discover, but you had to cast the net far. Homocide 101. The Reinside's mundane description of chancing upon the revolting crime scene only further fuelled the sensation-- the random and meaningless cruelty of it all.
Sometimes, in a case like this you were taken out of the puzzle of cold case clues-- and just left with a nauseating feeling of absurdity. Time to wrap it up, and prepare for the afternoon interview with Luke Hesken.
Back towards the car. A ping alert. On the mobile version of the Hexton Herald website, a notification pointed to a new article by Sid Palermo 'CHINA PUSHES WORLD WAR TO BRINK IN SOUTH CHINA SEA'. It bugged me. This was the future, I thought, where you can't tell the difference between inflamatory fake news articles and the actual press. Because editors pandered to click for view rankings, and xenophobic echo chambers. Meanwhile, nations sabre rattling accelerated.. and the whole world slides towards the precipice of hades.
I swung home via Dodgy Dick's Print Shop and printed a bunch of articles i'd sourced, primarily from the TSFTMB forum. That place always smelt like a scam, and I marvelled at Dick's business acumen, advertising funeral cards on butcher paper at a low low rate, and cardboard medical masks for King's Disease hot spots.
I sat in my study with an orange highlighter, painstakingly canvassing the mountain of documents. Around me --old cold cases, and books egged me on, 'The Whitechapel files', 'Black Dahlia: The Facts' 'Lizzie Borden. Did she do it?' 'Dahmer' 'King in Yellow references in TVs True Detective.' 'Psychology of serial killers. A.H Floyd' 'MindHunter'. The case clenched my soul, like some medieval torture device. My only lust was for freedom from the chains of not knowing.
Highlighting. List of Shaylee Bradmont's instagram followers. One ---who works for PBS. Not a delivery driver though, he's an accountant. Highlighter streak. On the list for further investigation.
What's this rabbit hole? THFTMB Moment forum thread in which Greg Easton, the Beth Hexton primary teacher is analysed as a suspect. Looks like the thread is still open. To jump into the online discussion.
>Easton has prior charges for posession of child pornography. Dbakes has hacked his police record - 'CryingSandiego'
>That's not all. In February of 2013 there was an investigation into the 'CareFreeCare' group, (a confederation of Hexton teachers under allegations of sharing child pornography). Guess who appears on the CFC guest list for a 2016 function? Our man Easton - 'Inglriousbasterd86'
I joined the discussion.
I had gotten to know a few of the members reasonably intimately now. Carolyne Byrne, the founder had been very welcoming. And The user 'RueMorgue' who's real name was Julian ----he and I had been private messaging back and forth about various issues. I posted;
>Sounds like Easton should definitely be on a police watch list. Is he likely to be the Moonsmoth Butcher though? BethHexton is a long way from Moonsmoth. Also the victims were all in their twenties. Seems like this sicko likes 'em younger - 'KTHextonHerald'
>Welcome back Kylo 'CByrne'
>Interesting take KT. Good to have a journo's perspective - 'BlackPrinceOfLygonStreet'
It was obvious some members of the group liked having a member of the press among them, as if it made them more legitimate somehow..
>I like that you guys are really trawling through Shaylee's follower's Moment accounts. That's arduous but neccesary work. Have you tried any keyword searches of the homepages of her followers? Could be fruitful. -'KTHextonHerald'
>Yep. Ahead for once on that KT - 'RueMorge41'
>That's funny. You were just talking about that Julian ' 'CByrne'
>The killer seems to have a fascination with literature. We've been searching for accounts that use certain phrases, gender negative passages from books or film - 'RueMorgue41'
>Any luck? -'KTHextonHerald'
>Luck? Pah. Luck has nothing to do with it. Ive been painstakingly searching individual followers. I think theres some good possibilities though - 'RueMorgue41'
>Tell him about -NeoGutenberg- Julian - 'CByrne'
>Yeah. That's a good one. One of Shaylee's followers. It's not a proper account, just set up to view other accounts, ie stalk - 'RueMorgue41'
>The group has a working theory that the killer probably wouldn't have a normal user account on Moment -'CByrne'
>C'mon Caroline. Take credit. It's your theory - 'RueMorgue41'
>Well.. I didn't study criminal psychology for eight years for nothing. Haha - 'CByrne'
>The killer may well have a normal account, just to blend in. But yes, I agree with Caroline's theory. He would probably have a fake account set up for stalking - 'Synchronicity77'
>It's a different landscape today to the era of the press driven serial killer. We need a new criminal profiling methodology for a new age - 'CByrne'
>Think about it. Last century, a psychopath was driven by his infamy in the press. Fed on the media attention - 'RueMorgue41'
>The killer of yesterday would have dreamed of having the platform they could have today. Direct contact with their audience!!? The ability to stalk the victim's family. See first hand the effect their handywork has had. Like re-visiting the crime scene. Social media. Right. More like psycho media... - 'CByrne'
>Anyway. So this account. Neo-Gutenberg. Has a few links to suggest it could belong to the Butcher - 'RueMorgue41'
>A quick memo on the name, probable reference to Johannes Gutenberg, inventor of the printing press in 1440--- changed medieval Europe forever--- allowed for mass reproduction of the bible. Could display the killers sense of moral superiority. He is a new age crusader, bringing his message to the world - 'CByrne'
>Or could be his commentary on the internet itself. A world changing technology. Right. Just like the Gutenberg Press itself.. Then we look at his home page. Almost nothing private given away. No photos. No personal information. Just a couple of literary quotes, including;
"Narcissus weeps to find that his Image does not return his love." That's Mason Cooley, fairly obscure quote. Perhaps thats the way the killer views Social Media generally. Or himself -'RueMorgue41'
>Interesting. Not much to go on though. Any other contenders? - 'KTHextonHerald'
>Wait. Theres another message posted which we can't trace to any known author. Same account. I think youll see why it stood out
'...Time shall bind their hands and strike them down. Fragments of a metal future buried within them, offering no salvation. Bled out, as a sacrifical lamb, he pours his truth upon the keyboard.' -'RueMorgue41'
> Fragments of metal buried within them. That's the killers MO alright. Sticking metal under the flesh...Its an odd coincidence if nothing else - 'KTHextonHerald'
I could tell that the guys on the butcher forum were let down by my apathetic reaction to their findings. But I had a range of things on my mind, and as thorough as the guys were, they were sometimes lost in an intricate web of details. I knew the type of red herrings investigations could throw at you. As it happened, I may have been too quick to disgard their findings on this occasion. But I was already probing them for clues that had come up in conversations with Angelo.
>Deborah used to hang around at a club called 'The Snake and Ladder'. Any chance you guys could run through social media pages of all our suspect lists, and see who else posted photos at this venue? - 'KTHextonHerald'
>Sure I'll do it. Got nothin' better to do -'RueMorgue41'
>Might be a dead end, but I think we need to start working with red flags across multiple suspects. Filter out till we have the most likely suspect. -------ie suspect posts creepy literary quotes, that's one red flag. Suspect worked for PBS, two. Suspect was known to frequent the Snake and Ladder etc. Let's close in on this creep from all sides, slowly corner him. -KTHextonHerald'
As I typed this an incredible commotion rose in the airwaves, reverberating like the shockwave of some fallen Titan. It broke the sound barrier, with a techtonic gun shot, (a backfiring engine). Then the sound plateued into a growling motor noise. My senses pricked up as the group responded.
I scanned my office, as if I might be able to see straight through the walls at whatever had created the noise.
>I'm creating a search engine as we speak in which we can alter the variables, and find the Moment users who match the most of the set criteria. Ill let you know what it comes up with, and post the tabs here so we can add quantifiers whenever anybody thinks of a new clue - 'Synchronicity77'
>Excellent work guys. Also... FYI...I have a contact who is currently hacking the PBS mainframe to chart the routes of their vans at the time of the abductions. I'll post the info here when its available. We should get an accurate idea of the drivers who were best placed to commit the murders - 'KTHextonHerald'
>Fantastic news- 'CByrne'
>Does someone think they might be able to dig up everything thing they can on the ARCTIC program, and PBS infrastructure? Who created it. Who worked on it. Who was briefed on what. Initial concepts. Everything- 'KTHextonHerald'
>That's something I was already compiling so ill finish it off and post a presentation tomorrow- 'Synchronicity77'
Whilst I respected the hard work of the Moonsmoth Butcher forum. I did have to wonder, at times. Endless time on their hands, pseudonyms, no mention of private lives. There was a tragic element of individual loneliness amidst all the group comraderie. People with nobody else, and nothing else to do. What would they do if they didn't have these brutal and tragic murders to solve? My train of thought was again interrupted by indescribable sonic mayhem.
There was a kind of screech, then a spluttering engine choke. The series of noises happened so fast it was virtually impossible for my shocked mind to resolve. There was a clanging out near the bin area, and my first thought was those possums were at it again. Then the house rattled, followed by the shattering of glass.
I heard Ciara let out a shrill scream.
Before I was conscious of why, I was stumbling down the stairs like a drunk, half in panic. Ciara's shrieks were still erupting in horrid little volcanic outbursts. My socks slid along the glossy floorboards, until finally I saw.
Ciara was perched like a frightened cat at the end of the hallway, her little hands curled up, fingers clasping the air beside her face. The stained glass window at the front door was decimated. A rainbow of coloured shards-- coated the mahogony hardwood.
In the middle of the hallway was a clump of meat peeking out of a pricemart shopping bag. Looked like a pork chop and a dollop of mince, wrapped in bacon. Tomato sauce puddle surrounding. But as my eyes closed in on the fluffy tail, I knew it wasn't ketchup, flowing out liberally.
'Oh god' Ciara sobbed, hysterically, 'It's Madds. What have they done? Oh god KT. Its horri---'.
I rushed over to grab Ciara before she collapsed to the floor, still she burst into tears on my shoulder.
(Madigliana was our Blue British Short hair cat. Only four years old. )
Rest in peace Maddy.
Ciara remained inconsolable for hours afterwards,...as I respectfully buried chunks of Mads under her favourite flower bed, in the backyard. Ciara sat in brooding silence, in the car, as I called Charlie Sachs on my mobile---and managed to organise a rapid temporary placement in the police protection program. I didn't really feel like working anymore, but it was too late to back out of the Luke Hesken interview, he would've already made the four hour drive up to Guernsey Bay.
I dropped Ciara at Sach's house on the way, who looked appropriately consoling. Stood waving, black holes beneath his forehead. Ciara felt comfortable with Charlie. I knew this was going to be a sore spot for a long time. It killed me that I didnt have time to grieve.
It was one of those dreary Hexton Autumn summer days. Not beach weather. Maybe the funereal mood was heightened by that horrid turn of events, but the sky seemed like a grey dome on a mauseleum. A sepulchre for Maddy. A wake for corrupted humanity.
And I was the last herald, for the Angels. Driving out to blow a trumpet in one of the four corners of the apocalypse. I didnt feel at all like blowing a trumpet today. A dim stream of sunlight, dropped throught the crowds like a limp spotlight.
Guernsey bay was brown with city seweridge, and two mile beach was littered with crags of seaweed. My feet crunched on the gravelled sand, and I stood on a dune, with goosebumps from the cold, ocean breeze, waiting for Luke to arrive in discomfort and angst.
There was nobody else around so I watched the old station wagon for half a k as it rolled around the winding road over the stony hills. Ennui lurked in my guts. Feline furlorn sea sickness. Luke got out, pulling a Bunyip brand long board out of his boot, checkered in tattoo style illustrated stickers. Evidently, he planned to go for a surf after our conversation.
I wondered how seriously he took the meeting--- then he did drive a bloody long way to get here, I thought. Moreover --I pondered on how the hell he would go surfing in this weather. The wind was wild, and the choppy surf looked dumpy, with canopies of six foot waves breaking in explosions of whitewash.
Luke waved, and gave a pointy toothed smile from his freckled face, curly blonde locks dangled over his sweet and tender hooligan expression.
'Luke. Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.'
'When I heard about the 6 foot swell at two mile beach I thought it'd be worth the drive.'
'Can't believe you're going to go out in this...'
'Mate. This is nothing. I once fought a shark off ---with just my fists, in the middle of a rip... and that was seven foot swell haha--'
'Yeah? Wow.'
Luke brushed me off---
'Hey.. off the bat mate. I just want to say, I really want to help catch Deborah's murderer in any way I can. Really I do. But if you're gonna come at me, and make accusations. I'm just over it. Like I told the police. Like I said in that radio interview... i had absolutely nothing to do with her murder. I fucking loved her.'
'Its ok---' I said as re-assuringly as possible, 'Im not here to interview you as a suspect. It's now generally agreed --- Deborah's murder is being looked upon as a serial killing, with two other Hexton girls, Shaylee Bradmont and Anna Bailey. It's less likely the victims were imtimate with the murderer. But I do have a working theory--- that perhaps the murderer's obsession with the victims might've led him to reveal himself to them in some way. He may have been stalking the girls. Deborah may have even had a run in with him ---in person--- on multiple occasions. Did Deborah ever mention any incidents with weird strangers, or being approached by anyone unusual?'
'You know...' Luke screened my question out, '....I really didn't know Debbie as well as people think I did. We met on holidays. She was fun. I mean it when I say, I loved her, she was just fun, you know. Yeah, we fucked a few times. I was gutted when I heard what happened, of course--- but I really dont know as much about her as people think.'
'---Just from the conversations you did have though. Did she ever mention going to a bar called the Snake and Ladder?'
'That does sound familiar....' Luke said hesitantly, '---She used to text me sometimes when she was out.'
'Ever mention who she was hanging out with?'
'Meh--- not really mate. But I do have my theories on who did this.'
'Im all ears and microphones--' I replied genuinely.
'I dont know where you grew up?...' Luke prompted, 'but...'
'Northern suburbs of Hexton mate..'
'Right well... in Adelaide--- these missings persons cases--- they aren't nothin' new. Kids and young girls have been going missing for decades.'
'I dont know if any particular state has more prevalence for abductions but....'
'Right..well you would be aware at least.....being a reporter yourself... of the more famous incidents--', Luke continued--- 'The Adelaide Oval abductions. The Beaumont Children. Shannon McCoole.'
'Beaumont case was tragic i'll admit' I said, 'Changed the way the country saw itself. Started the stranger danger panic. But it had its equivalents in other states: The Wanda beach murders.. theyve still never been solved. Brutal.'
'Maybe so..' Luke continued unabashed, 'Big wealth divide in SA though, and loads of paedophiles. Lets not forget what happened in Snowtown hey...'
'Ok...um....You're suggesting an organised series of abductions by wealthy paedophiles?' I said quizically.
'Sure why not,' Luke said not entirely convinced himself, 'Pieces add up. Kids keep dissapearing, Catholic church covered up their tracks for years. Is it that hard to believe a group of rich, organised paedophiles are behind all these dissapearances?'
'Organised paedophilia does happen.... but I don't think it happens on the scale some people seem to think it does. Mostly a small group of men, in the same professional circle, sharing child pornorgraphy.'
My phone buzzed, and I saw that the HFTMB forum were still talking about the case against Greg Easton.
'There you go----As it happens, a group i'm involved with, investigating these murders are focussed right now on a suspected paedophile-- as a suspect, one of Shaylee's followers. Greg Easton. But I don't think he's a strong match. Also the girls were all in their twenties. Not exactly your typical target for a child molestor--'
Luke gave a kind of cynical look, as if a conspiracy of rich sex offenders abducting young girls was just common knowledge among his peers.
'Ok man, not everyone is ready to accept that dark truth. I see. And yet, Jimmy Saville never got pulled up in decades working for the BBC. Rolfe Harris. Jackson. I ask you, who killed Jeffrey Epstein? Huh, hanging out with Trump and the Clintons, the Royal family. Robert Hughes went unnoticed in the Australian media for years. How? Maybe its not so out of the question...'
I tried to change the subject.... whilst I knew that synchronicy77 and some of the other users from the forums would probably love this chat. I didnt come out here to discuss conspiracy theories.
'You were saying Deborah used to call you while she was out. Did she mention the Snake and Ladder? Try to remember. Any other venues? Really Luke, any information could turn out to be useful.'
Luke glanced from side to side, and a crease formed in his forehead. He genuinely seemed to strain to think back on his period of dating Deborah.
'Debbie was a party girl', Luke confided at last, 'She went out all the time, to loads of bars. I dont know. She was always out. You know, she told me she even worked as a topless waitress for a couple of weeks... she was the sort of girl who would try anything. You know, she was experimental. Trying to suck all the juice out of life. Thats what I loved about her.'
'No doubt---' I probed, 'Did she ever mention the name of the bar where she worked topless?'
'Umm... off the top of my head... Geez.... I dont really?....'
'Cmon Luke. Think. This could be important. Maybe the killer was a patron. Can you think of----'
'Titty Bar!' Luke jumped but then second guessed himself, 'No.. there was a cat in there. Pussy Galore?'
'Titty Kat??' I asked with gusto.
'That's it! Yeah I remember. That's definitely it!'
'I know the place. It's in the Northern suburbs around Woodsrot.' I murmed thoughtfully to myself.
'There. Does that help?'
Luke was already seeming tired of discussing Deborah. You could see it was eating him inside, he obviously really did like the girl.
'One more thing before I go, Luke. Did Deborah ever take drugs..... with you? This is off the record. Not a soul other than me needs to know.'
Luke became even more anxious, 'You promise this wont get anywhere near the press?'
'Cross my heart and hope to die by the hand of the Butcher. Its only for my private notes.'
(Blogs count as private notes don't they?)
'Debbie loved doin' drugs. She was a wild girl. One time, I snuck up from Adelaide, and she came met me at Bayside oval. We took a few tabs of Third Eye, ran around in the sprinklers for a bit ---then we just lay on the grass, staring up at the stars. I swear, she had this way, like she was just cosmically in tune with everything. She just was able to calm you. Make you feel like there was nowhere else in the world you wanted to be.'
'That's really sweet Luke. I can tell she meant a lot to you. Its not right what happened to Deborah you know. We are going to find this psycho. She will have justice.'
'I hope so. Her family deserves peace of mind. World won't ever be as bright without Deb.'
I patted Luke on the back, and watched as he ran along the sand, and dived out into wild surf. Eaten by white wash.
I returned to the car, feeling maudlin from the conversation, still heavy from the loss of Mads. The wild surf beat on, like a sea of burning souls. The car sat heavy---- and my mind sort of zoned out into day dreams, focusing on patterns of dust particles on the dirty side mirrors. The sweltering heat was causing a mirage over the sand dunes, looked like a lake of molten metal.
I heard my phone ping on Moment. It was Raoul at the office, saying; 'I guess things went well with Al then. This Blaxton thing is getting huge! Holy shit.'
I messaged back directly; 'He's an absolute legend. Thanks for passing me his details. Yeah, too big. Getting some unwanted attention.'
'Paulina told me about your cat!?' Raoul responded, 'Really sorry KT. Thats fucking awful. You should tell Harry. I'm sure he'll give you another day off.'
'Paulina? How did she know?'
'You know Paulina. She's like a sponge for gossip soaking up all the dirt. But you know, your gal Ciara did update her circle of friends on Moment about it.'
'Oh right' I thought, 'I sometimes forget were all unwittingly connected through the social fabric of our technology. You're right. Probably could use another day. But i'll see you next week at work Raoul.'
'Stay safe KT'.
As I was sitting in the slow cooker that was my Yamamoto Sherlock, my mind wandered. My family had always had Japanese cars, why was that? Growing up, most of the boys worshipped classic muscle cars, Toranas, Ford Falcons. My first car was a Suzuki. I thought about technology, like PBS's new wireless network, and where we were going. Humanity, I mean. It's not a conspiracy theory to perceive that changes in technology are rapidly altering who we are as a species.
This reminded me to message Algorithm and see what he had dug up on PBS.
'What's the latest score?' I sent through his traceless app.
Al was always quick to message back;
'Got you a map of every PBS van route during the abductions and murder dates. You'll need a PC to view the 3D graph. Sending now. Brings your suspect list down to about 200 or so potential candidates.'
'Legend.' I responded, 'Ill have a look at this as soon as i'm at home.'
'Raoul said you got some nasty attention from that Sky Serpents bust up. I'm sorry man.'
'Yeah', my voice fell silent for a second ---unable to find a beacon of hope. 'Remind me to get you a free order deal with Halicon. They supply all the computer hardware and software to the Herald.'
'That'd be sweet, thanks.'
'Also. A small assignment for you, if you've got a spare tick.'
'Only leeches and headlice'.
'Funny man.... See what you can dig up on Charles 'Chuck' Beresford. The Technology member for Hume. Word is he's been taking bribes for years. I'd love a live bait story I can dangle to Harry, and get him out of my waters whilst I get a good hook for The Moonsmoth Murders.'
'I believe it was Jesus who said catch a man a fish, and feed him for a day. Teach him to fish and you're out of the job----
Sure thing. I'm your fisherman porky pink skin.'
'Cheers.'
I opened the voice recognition browser on the Sherlock's internal computer so I could converse in the HFTMB forum as I drove back to Hexton. Simultaneously laughing and cringing as the cutting edge technology delivered my messages filled with typos and 'Engrish'.
'Guys my contact owl has just transferred me the map of PBS routes. Uploading. See what you sink.' - 'KTHextonHerald'.
Julian either had notifications on, or was stalking the forum, because he responded instantly.'
'Rue Morge forty one says---' my computer responded in its artificial voice; '---I have compiled a database of everyone who posted photos on their social media at the Snake and Ladder in the last seven years. Particularly narrowing those who frequented the venue around the time of the abductions. Then created a Venn diagram of those with links and six degrees to the victims. Pretty interesting results. Do you wish to respond?'
'Yes.'
'Your message?'
'Great work Julian! Driving at the Moment Premium. Will have a detailed look when I get home. Can you summarise the keel findings?'
'Rue Morgue Forty One says .... well theres over 30 people who work for PBS frequenting the venue over a long period. Including three delivery drivers. Do you wish to respond?'
'Yes'
'Your message?'
'That's not completely surprising. I believe PBS has an office on High Street, not far from the Snake and Ladder. Still worth further investigation.'
'Rue Morgue Forty One says .... some of our key players make multiple appearances. I've separated the info into 1)people who posted selfies on their accounts---- then 2) from facial recognition, people who turn up in other photos or random crowd shots.'
'Great work' I responded.
'Some of the more interesting findings... Our tempered little bulldog Angelo Dumigello posted several scathing reviews, dissapointed selfies and comments about the Snake and Ladder being a 'Hive of sluts''
'That sounds pretty accurate. I've actually just spoken to Angelo today... and he said as much in person. I think i've just about ruled him out as a serious suspect. But you can rule him in as an absolute cunt.'
'Something interesting. Debbie wasn't the only victim who apparently frequented the bar. Ive uploaded some photos from Anna Bailey's social media. She went there dozens of times over a two year period. Posing with friends, and guys she met. Posing with her friend Denise Richards, drink in hand. I'd say you might be onto something KT...'
'I've got another lead which you might look into after this one. According to Luke Hesken, Deborah worked for a short time as a topless waitress at TittyKat strip club. Don't think we'll see any social media posts for that one. But anything you can dig up on the clientele there would be great.'
'Sure thing KT'.
'Any other core findings on the Snake and Ladder?'
'Yeah. Heaps. Where to start. Both Anna and Debbie are into live music, S&L has bands Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Particularly, both girls had an obsession with Simon 'demon dick' Roach, leadsinger of the band Hell Mouth. Lots of selfies with him, stroking his guitar, him licking the girls ear holes..um... Not exactly Roach's fault... this is more like they were stalking him. But there's a link.'
'Right. Ignore nothing. Shortest distance between two points is a straight line.'
'Yeah. And i'd say you can draw a straight line underlining Tarik Wells, that big black guy Debbie was seeing--- because he's lied to everyone about his not being in the country around the time of her dissapearance. Facial recognition puts him in a photo at Snake and ladder a week before her abduction.'
'Jesus. How the fuck did the cops miss that?'
'I dunno. The other scattered facts you can do what you want with. I've got your colleague Sid Palermo at the scene.'
'Ha! Id love to link that snotty prick to a crime---'
'Senator Robert Willis... loves the Snake and Ladder it seems. He's one of the politicians under investigation in the Blaxton scandal.'
'Hmmm'.
'Other regulars, Jayden Roth, stepson of Edward Roth. Ex Angels footy player Loddy Kirk.. and get this KT, scanned photos using search feature function for moustaches. Got a bunch of pictures of a guy who looks exactly like our man with the plastic hand.'
I paused a moment to register what was being relayed to me in an inhuman electronic voice...
'Bingo!' I finally responded.
As I reached 113ks on the highway, Hexton city revealed its dark soul to me. It was dusk, and the city lights glistened like forbidden jewels extracted from ancient caves. There was a sense of the blasphemous about the euphoric kaleidescope of nocturnal activity, as if the cave goblins might one day return from their underground dwellings and claim back the stolen gems of electric light.
In a piece of synchronicity, the radio played another song by Hell Mouth. 'Preacher of the Night'... 'Your driving on the highway, destination destruction. Oblivion inevitable. Stardust to dust.'
This research had given me loads of roads to travel and just as many red herrings.
Loddy Kirk, God, that name was a blast from the past. The disgraced Angel, all those contraversies with drug and sex scandals. Brownlow medalist, with so much promise who had fallen so far from grace.
I was exhausted by the time I got home, and plonked myself in front of the television, with my work tablet in my lap.
My smart TV loaded, connecting with the linked security of the house, and automatically dimming the lights. The entertainment genie asked me what I was in the mood to watch, and I said 'mindless escapism', the program quickly flicked to Channel 237.
Cut to a close up of a twenty eight year old with wrinkle lines in his forehead, and pleading eyes pretending to be a teenager in crisis. I recognised the show, it was called 'Mysterious Mountain' or something. A private detective was interviewing the teenager, (apparently a motorbike rider who's girlfriend had been murdered).
'Who was there JD? Who was there that night?', the investigator asks pressing his finger against the young man's collar bone. I cringed at the cheesy dialogue.
'I already told you, Mr Bulletcase, I dont know.'
'I'm just curious to know how you're motorbike glove got to be in Ellen's purse'.
'Curiosity killed the cat Mr Bulletcase.' Cheap rebel without a cause rip-off.
The sentence left an anxious aftertaste though, and I surveyed the lounge and hallway, which i'd only rudimentarily cleaned earlier in the day, little fragments of coloured glass, still glistened like infinity stones on the cold wood.
I changed the channel to the Tennis. The soothing sound of back and forth pucker pops relaxed me. I thought about Ciara, all by herself in some Motel, detached from everyone, little us growing inside her.
Powering on the tablet in my lap, Algorithm's 3D visualisation quickly opened, in Earth Gate. It was pretty nifty software, the way Al had juiced it. I could scan over the dates of the three abductions, and watch in real time the exact routes of all listed PBS drivers in those times. Then click on the individual drivers and look at their names, address, stats and vital statistics. I browsed briefly the 200 or so suspects Al had identified. This guy was good.
Next I unzipped the folder of Julian's research from the Butcher Forum. I was very interested to get a look at the photos he had located of the man with the moustache. I opened a folder titled 'Moustache Suspect'. There were about seven .jpg files in there. The first few contained group shots of unidentified girls, and the moustache was merely a fairly blurred, almost unrecognisable face in the background. These were dissapointing to say the least. The fourth image, however, saitsified fully.
It was a photo, evidently taken from one of Anna Bailey's friends Moment accounts. A group photo of five girls. Anna was there, big grinning teeth, pink lipstick, red swirling of a Cosmopolitan in a Y shaped glass. Sex and the City drink. Denise Richards on the other end goofily spreading her arms, mouth open wide.
Behind them, at a separate table, nursing a pint, and eyeing the girls closely --- clear as day--- our big framed man, slight ginger tinge to his hair. Merve Hughes moustache, and chalky white hand... the clincher almost melted my brain--
The man was wearing a leather jacket. That distinct insignia, two serpents intwined around the planet Saturn---- Sky Serpents!
Jesus christ! Were the Sky Serpents linked to the Moonsmoth murders? As well as the drug trade? I scanned the image with microscopic attention to detail. Partial silver belt buckle, couldn't make out the brand--- was it Shearer's leather? Was that a Ram engraved on it?
I had a contact number for Ciara, but I had been told by the police protection guys to use it as sparingly as possible. I was already itching to talk to her, but this pushed me over the line. There was barely any dial tone before it clicked;
'Babe you ok? I had to call you.'
'Hey KT. Yeah. Im feeling really safe here, got cable and free room service so i'm eating a naughty piece of chocky cake. Yummmm...'
'That's good babe. Ciara--- im so sorry i've brought this onto us.' I felt like I was going to shed a tear.
'Its not your fault KT. The sort of monster that does this--- they..... you did the right thing by trying to expose it KT. I just... I wish....' ciara also seemed on the verge of crying.
'Poor Maddie' I tried to comfort her.
'She's in cat heaven, KT, probably stumbling on a mountain of twine balls, and eyeing pristine golden couches to stick her claws into.'
I laughed.
'There's something i've got to ask you Ciara. But I don't want to put any extra stress on you.'
'Its ok KT. The police have already asked me loads of questions. I'm ok.'
'Its about the man you saw on the bike, casing our house earlier in the day. If you don't remember--'
'How could I forget Kylo. That fucking piece of shit. Fucking monster.'
'Did he have a moustache?'
'No. He was clean shaven. Had one of those open helmets, his face--- Jesus Christ---its imprinted in my soul.'
'What did he look like? You're sure he was shaven?'
'Sure im sure. Ask Sachs Kylo, they got me to help with a police sketch. He was a slim black guy. Short hair. Wide nose.'
'Oh. Hang on babe.'
My mind was racing like Lewis Hamilton. I opened Julian's file, and scanned until I found a folder titled 'Sky Serpents at Snake and Ladder'.
I was pleading for closure, opening every photo, analysing each pixel. Lots of different biker physiques, but none who matched Ciara's description.
Damn, getting ahead of the game:
'Thanks baby.' I submitted, 'Sorry for making it fresh.'
'KT. Its your birthday on Saturday and I won't get to spend it with you. I miss you already.'
Damn. In all the stress and chaos i'd completely forgotten about my birthday. We'd tentatively made dinner plans with friends.
'Ah yeah.. won't feel like a birthday without you babe.'
'KT. I got you something. I want you to open it now. Who knows when well be able to talk again.'
'What, how?' I said surprised.
'Go open the bottom clothes drawer in the laundry'
I did, and found a neatly wrapped package, in Pacino 'Scarface' wrapping paper. Hurriedly tore open the contents, and a pair of binoculars fell out.
'Did you open it?' Ciara whispered excitedly.
'Yeah, uh, bird watching?'
'They're smart binoculars. For surveillance dummy. They can send video straight to the cloud, so when you do finally locate this son of a bitch ---you'll have the evidence to put him away.'
'Aw. Thankyou bub. Thats very professional.'
'Seriously KT. Find whoever did this to Maddy. Be careful.'
'I will baby. Love you,'
'Happy Birthday my baby boy.'
As I hung up the phone I felt a pang of loneliness. It took a night without Ciara, to realise how desperately I needed her. She was kerosene to every fire that sustained me.
I tested out the binoculars, pairing them straight to my TV screen. The optical illusion created an endless tunnel of screen upon screen, infinite squares. My smart home automatically saved the video, with irony I named it 'Now Tube' and it was instantly published to my sequence account-- in drafts.
Pretty cool.
I forwarded Denise Richards the pictures of her, Anna and the moustachioed man on Moment. Accompanied with the message;
'Be straight with me Denise. You know more about him than you led police to believe.'
I'd left my contact details, with a small bio, explaining who I was.
I hadn't expected a response to my bluff really, (especially not that night). I was just settling into bed when the phone rang.
Denise was sobbing so loudly into the phone, my cheeks almost felt wet. She'd obviously wanted to get something off her chest for a long time, and i'd just come at the right Moment.
'Oh god.' She sobbed, 'Anna forgive me. I--'I dont want to go to jail...'
'Denise?' I yawned, bewildered.
'Please.. promise me you won't go straight to the police.'
"Denise...unless you're about to confess to being the Moonsmoth butcher, I don't think youre the one police are looking for.'
She whimper gagged, then vomitted another flood of tears.
'I tried to do the right thing. Really. <gasp> I wanted them to catch Anna's killer. That's why I told them about 2-ball, but I.... I swear I wasn't trying to keep any information from the cops... I didnt want them to find out...'
'2 ball? The guy with the moustache?'
'Yeah---He's well known around the North, and Bourkeley Uni. We...'
'Anna and Debbie's drug dealer!!' I made a confident guess.
'Ye---We all knew he was good for whatever you needed. Easy to find. Good stuff too.'
'Denise. You did the right thing by telling me. But... You shouldn't have kept it from the police.'
'Please don't tell them... if my parents knew I was doin' drugs
... oh god. '
'You don't need to worry. The information will get to the police, but i'll tell them it came from a different source. Your secret is safe with me Denise.'
'Oh god. Thank god. You think 2-Ball was involved in Anna's death?'
'I don't know. But he's definitely in trouble with the law. Denise, tell me one more thing before you go.'
'Sure thing..... listen--- That's the only thing I kept out of my story, I swear it.'
'Lots of Sky Serpents hangin' round the Snake and Ladder, huh? You ever see a skinny, black guy wearing serpent colours?'
'We just went to 2 ball. Thats all I know... never dealt with anyone else.'
'Ok. Go get some rest kid.'
I spent a little time online shopping to wind down from all the rapid reveals. Ordered a click and collect piece of 9mm wood from MM hardware. It was the last piece I needed for the bench top I was building in the garage. I checked my Moment account... one more time before bed, a friend who'd moved North to Kingsland five years ago had posted. First thing he'd put up in ages. He was a pilot, and had uploaded a majestic view of Kingsland National Park from a high elevation---another one of him and his young son posing next to his small plane. I clicked on the fist-bump icon, then closed my browser.
I laid down in the cold bed and for a second thought I heard a ghost cat cry, then I remembered that Madds was gone.
The incident must've triggered my nightmares again. I was falling through the pages of a yearly Calendar, melting like a Salvadore Dali clock over a landscape of Australian bush, barren like the art of Russel Drysdale. Falling. Falling into an endless Saturday night.
A gang of youths, rowdy in the night time. Hissings snakes. Stairways leading nowhere. They' re all eating these native Australian plants. Caught in a vine, its leading somewhere. I start climbing the vine, like Jack's beanstalk. But instead of clouds, and a giant, at the end I find...a naked lady, wearing a cat mask. She opens her legs--- the door--- im pulled inside. Rotten meat. A bloody slaughterhouse. There's a dead man! I recognise him! Its----
I woke in cold sweat...
It took a longer time to get back to sleep. Consciousness only flickering in and out, like a television on mute.
One more nightmare. I was flying over the city, floating slowly, like a cloud. Remember some subruban area from above, I couldn't recognise where. Couldn't make out Bandit creek. Large homes, backyards, pools. Expensive. I remember a deep voice whispering 'That is where the wolf lives...'
Black.
Friday was an easy day, video called Harry in the morning and pitched him the Chuck Beresford expose. He was itching for another article on the Serpents, but I told him he could get his star boy Palermo to write up that one. I was out. Harry was weirdly understanding and told me not to come in till Monday. But couldn't leave me be... without a weird rant ...about how Saturday was the Jewish Sabbath... and how its no wonder the country was falling apart, something about John Travolta, and his kids watching that 'pussy show' "Glee", some disco episode. He was getting harder and harder to follow.
Discussion of dissapearing Glee cast members did somehow lead to a brief chat about the serial murders. Again, I tried in vain to open Harry to the idea of my own column. His mind was somewhere else. Planet Harry.
Saturday turned out to be a busy day. I'd agreed to go on Paulina's podcast in the late afternoon. Meanwhile, an urgent mid morning beer at Justine's Bar and Grill to put this whole Serpents affair in order.
When I arrived, Sachs had already ordered two pints of Guiness. I toasted, and sipped at the scrumptious bitter head. Liquid breakfast, they say.
'She's doing well KT. Got a good head on her shoulders, your girl.'
'Thanks for organising something so quickly Charlie.'
'This is some serious shit you've gotten yourself involved with Kylo. The man Ciara identified, doesn't come up on any of our data bases. But you've obviously pissed of the Serpents pretty seriously.'
Justine's was fairly crowded for a Saturday afternoon. A welcome heartiness, in stark contrast to the.. odd emptiness during the King's Disease pandemic restrictions. Glasses clinked, and the hubbub of fervent conversation lit a spark in the kindling of the soul of the place.
I threw a couple of printed photographs over the table in front of Detective Sachs, and he in turn handed me a photocopied charcoal illustration.
'Here's that police sketch you asked for of your flat nosed black guy'
'Thanks. The photos I mentioned--- of our man '2-Ball'. I've got confirmation from some of her friends, who want to remain anonymous, this guy was dealing Third Eye to Debbie AND Anna Bailey.'
'Boys are putting together a sting operation as we speak.I want you to be involved.'
'In a sting operation? I dont know--'
'In the official murder investigation. Look, ill put it bluntly Kylo. You're obviously uncovering some pretty good info, whatever sources you're using....there's talk, you know.'
'What kind of talk?'
'I got a call from John Straten, from Bayside police. He's a good man.... If you're going to be out there investigating this, the guys want to establish a direct line of communication. If i'm completely honest with you Kylo, the contact will be useful to you obviously--- but.... the Police .....will be wanting more of a say ....of what does and doesn't go to press.'
'Fair enough' I replied.
'You'll meet Detective Straten tonight at Snake and Ladder. Terrance Dennison from Metro PD will be there aswell, and they will brief you on where the investigation goes from here.'
'Thanks Charlie. I appreciate it'
'Don't thank me yet KT. Its all way above me really, the decision comes from higher up.'
'You're scaring me a little.'
'Just keep your witts about you with Terry Dennison, I say that as a friend. He and I aren't exactly on the same page.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning i've shared more than i'd like to. Ill text you John Straten's number, best homocide detective in Hexton. Stick with John, and you'll do alright.'
'Ok then?....'
'By the way...Happy birthday old friend---'
The cold guiness had warmed my gullets, and I had the taste for alcohol. I wondered if Paulina would be drinking for the podcast. 'Should I pick up a few Jimmy and Gingers?' I texted her. She wrote back as I was getting into the car.'We've only got vodka here.' (Guess that answered my question.)
Paulina's house was in the inner East, just on the border of Kentridge. All the streets were lined with Oak and Elm trees, and they corresponded eerily with their names, Elm Street. Oak Street. Garden Street. Paulina was on Lafayette Street, a culdesac. I parked at the top of her driveway, and shuffled down with a six pack of whiskey pre-mix under my arm.
Knocked on the big, pale Oak door. There was some back and forth muffled dialogue from inside, and shortly a dark haired person answered.
'You must be Kylo' said the woman, through a throaty Adam's apple.
'Ella?' I gulped. I was wrong i'd definitely never met ....her. Now that I was seeing...her... in person, not just in glossy social media photos, there was something indefinable about... her...
Something I couldnt quite... and yet---
'Yes Kylo. I'm transgender.'
'Oh right.'
'Haha--' she laughed '---I could see your eyes bulging out of your head trying to work me out. Don't worry, im not one of those sensitive, your in trouble for noticing my big hands type.'
'No judgement here--' I said.
'Well. Thats pretty good for someone who works for the Herald! Paulina's told me all about some of the senior staff there.'
'We seem to be a refuge for 1950's era mindsets...' I agreed.
'C'mon its set up inside. Paulie, its your friend Kylo!'
I heard Paulina's voice call out from inside; 'KT! Come in! The Butcher demands it!'
Paulina's home was humble, not huge. But character laden--- an old style cottage that had been quartered. I think Paulina had taken out a Mortgage on it, which was a questionsble investment..in terms of land ownership...not that I was the type to value someone by their assets.
The teak lounge room was decorated with Balinese trinkets, bead chains and other hippy decorations. The recording equipment had been set up on the dining room table, expensive and professional looking.
Paulina was obviously in the kitchen, but pre-empted my arrival;
'Have a seat Kylo, ill be out in a second.'
I sat in the stained mahogony chair that was pulled out, as Ella plonked herself in the adjacent seat.
'Have you listened to our podcast before?' Ella batted her eyelids, I noticed something quite camp about her gestures now.
'No. But i've heard you're doing pretty well.'
'What's the biggest news story you've ever broken?'
'Oh...um... do you work in the media too Ella?'
'Im a lawyer'.
'....our very own Lawyer Y of true crime. Well i've worked on some big stories, but I suppose it doesn't get more devastating in scale than the Viking Capital bush fires.'
Ella gave a bored expression, I could tell it wasn't the salacious scandal she was hoping for.
Paulina came out of the kitchen holding a tray of home made scones. She was wearing a long red sequined dress, and large red star earings to match, face full of make up. Seemingly, somewhat overdressed for a podcast meet. She read the judgement in my face, and quantified it;
'Were going out after this. Don't look at me like im some trollop.' She rolled her eyes, then laughed, and forced a smile on my face.
'What bar?' I asked.
Ella jumped in; 'Still deciding. What are you doing tonight Kylo Ren? Killing your father? Saving the galaxy?'
'Pretty lame Ella.. um..I'm meeting with some detectives at the Snake and Ladder to discuss joining the official Moonsmoth Butcher investigation'.
'Ooh hoo!' The girls seemed impressed, 'Maybe we should join you!' Ella inviIted herself.
My face probably showed the idea made me uncomfortable.
'That's great for your story KT, and our podcast. Might have to do a follow up.. hey?... hey?.'
'Well....Let's get through the debut first' --I said, as Paulina moved again to check the equipment was set up correctly.
'Ok... we may as well get started. Have a muffin KT, they're apple and blueberry.'
I cracked open a Whiskey Ginger and placed a muffin in front of me. 'Thanks. Looks delicious.'
Ella and Paulina showed off their chummy relationship by rehearsing their intro banter.
Paulina: 'Good Day'
Ella: 'Guten Dagsen'
Paulina 'Le good of le grande dayness'
Ella: 'Gunichi Dai san'
Paulina: 'Haha. Youre a master of multiple languages'
Ella: 'I can speak in tongues too gonni golli guju look guju'
Paulina: 'Haha. Im Paulina Sharp, journalist for the Hexton Herald. And with me my co-host Ella Monamie.'
Ella: '...Apparently incapable of saying her own introduction. Haha...Yes, and you are listening to Chew Crime.'
Paulina: 'Where we discuss meaty true crime stories that you can sink your teeth into.'
Ella: 'Speaking of which.. how's that muffin Kylo?'
I felt set up, with a mouthful of soft muffin dough.
Kylo: 'Oh... mmmmhm.... its very tasty---nom nom'
Paulina: 'This week our special guest is Kylo Thigler, another Herald journalist--- who is currently working on a very exciting story...'
Ella: 'Yes dear listeners... we've been promising you this case for weeks. Its been buzzing around the blogosphere. The Moonsmoth Butcher murders. Kylo. You believe there is now definitive evidence that the three murders are all connected..'
Kylo: 'Yes... uh.. excuse me still stuffing my face with this muffin. Haha..Its very good.'
Ella: 'You fell for our cunning trap!'
Kylo: 'Uh... now.. yes. There IS indeed fibre evidence that links the three crimes accurately. The fabric that was used to bind the girl's wrists.'
Paulina: 'Hexton has a serial killer walking the streets. Scary.'
Ella: 'Mr Thigler.. Who is the Moonsmoth Butcher? Who is the prime suspect?'
Kylo: 'That's a tough one. The police investigation has just dropped their prime suspect... we have multiple leads though..'
Ella: 'We need a name?'
I was finding Ella's faux showmanship slightly annoying, and wished the story might have been handled with slightly more delicacy and respect.
Kylo: 'Well.. perhaps if we look at some of the key evidence, we can identify the people who currently fit the shoes.'
Paulina: 'Very well Cinderella. Lay out the key evidence for us...'
I outlined the core factors at the current phase of the investigation. The Shearer's leather belt with the horned ram engraved on it. (I neglected to mention the photograph of '2-ball' with partial silver buckle revealed) wasnt ready yet. I talked about the Jose's brand Jeans, as yet untraced to any suspect. I went into some detail in regards to the knife used in the crimes. The girl's actually had a lot to contribute. They were quite focussed on theories that the extremely sharp knife used in the crimes ---may have been a PBS occupational work blade. This was put forward by Bayside Police when the case against Herman Van Der Slade was mounting.
Paulina: '...That would prove the killer worked for PBS wouldnt it.'
As I currently had my own line of bias, I was interested in laying out my own theories in opposition.
Kylo: 'Not neccesarily. The coroners report only mentioned the use of a 'characteristically sharp blade'. Whilst this would fit well with a trade tool, it could just as easily be a personal weapon kept sharp by the meticulous killer. His prize hunting weapon.'
Paulina: 'Still---The case against PBS is pretty good though, in terms of evidence the murderer was a delivery driver.... wouldnt you say?'
Kylo: 'Well.. no...we have to take into account, thus far, all the evidence is circumstantial. There was one report of a white van. Suddenly, after appearing in the media ...yes.. lots of other reports came out. But we have no CCTV, no photographs, nothing primary.'
Ella: 'So you're skeptical of the PBS angle?'
Kylo: 'What i'm saying is... We have to be prepared for the possibility PBS is a red herring.'
Ella: 'You mean.. like don't put all your eggs in one basket..'
Kylo: 'Sort of---I mean.. if you take the psycho-social hypothesis on this... once the white van is placed in people's minds, it's inevitable sightings are going to pop up everywhere. Compare it to the UFO phenomenon in the 1950's. A farmer describes 'a flying saucer' shape in the sky. Suddenly half the population of America is seeing the same exact shape. Yet, we know 95 percent of these sightings are probably just weather balloons, or floating debris. Julie Zarkovsky claims she 'thinks' she saw a PBS logo. 'Thinks she saw'. Now people were already making links to the murders at this time ...and talking about white delivery vans.'
Paulina: 'So you don't think the killer worked for PBS?'
Kylo: 'Right now? I dont think this is the best evidence we have to work with... in order to trace the killers identity---'
The conversation went on for another 25 minutes, and we covered some interesting topics. I thought it went well, and Paulina told me she'd pass on any callouts from the audience. I'd drunk four cans of whiskey by the end of the podcast, and left on good terms, reminiscing and laughing about work.
I'd somewhat warmed to Ella too. I left at 4:11 PM, saying goodbyes, but not expecting to see either of them again that night.
My Moment account, meanwhile, was a hive of activity. It turned out that Paulina and Ciara had a mutual friend......and by some bizarre six degrees, they were connected to Liam and Diane, the couple we had scheduled a birthday dinner with that night. I'd had to cancel after what happened. Of course, drama started, originally with some joshing, Liam commenting that I had "stiffed him for a celebrity podcast". It triggered a wave of tooing and froing between minor aquaintances about 'our famous friend Kylo'. There was, meanwhile, a strange hollow cave where Ciara should have been. She'd been advised to close her Moment account throughout the witness protection program.
On the other side, members of the HFTMB group were equally amped.
I was starting to regret making public my meeting plans with the two detectives that evening, because now a whole group of people had decided to meet up at The Snake and Ladder the same night. It was apparently rare that the Butcher group did meet up, but this occasion was marked as special, so all the members in Hexton decided to meet, including Julian, Caroline and Synchronicity77, (who I now know as Rudy). Whilst I would have loved to meet some of the group members another time, the police rendevous was making me nervous enough-- and I didn't like the whole spectactle it was becoming.
Still, there was little I could do about it now. I arrived home, and dressed in a casual blue suit, to look my best. Gelling my hair back, so it spiked a little bit.
Julian, had messaged me on Moment saying he was excited to meet everyone tonight. Which I temporarily ignored. Until he posted me his latest research ---which immediately caught my attention.
It was in response to asking him what he could dig up on 'TittyKat'.
His PM read:
'Here's everything i've discovered about your strip club, and connection to the other two venues which have been linked to the crimes.
One obvious link is a figure named Howard Ceasar-King, well to do society man and Hexton publican, born 1938. He owned all three Hotels at one point, The Smiling Crocodile Hotel, the Titty Kat (Formerly "Angel's Bar") and the Snake and Ladder (Formerly "Elephant and Moon") between the periods roughly 1951- 1973
Angel's Bar used to be a sports bar, frequented by members of the Angel's football club. At some point it became a post game celebratory venue, with punters coming in from Hexton Stadium for rowdy festivities.'
'They started paying topless waitresses to entertain the punters, and it became a fully fledged Strip Club in 1991. I can't see anything to link this Howard Ceasar King character with our modern murders. Except perhaps, the possibility that King was friendly or familiar with the Sky Serpents Biker Club---- because both Elephant and Moon... and The Smiling Crocodile are known Serpent hangouts. I've gone down a little bit of a rabbit hole researching the history of the venues, which i'll include here, but feel free to ignore if you see it as irrelevant.'
'The Smiling Crocodile is an old Heritage building, built in 1854 by Arnold Derway, who was an adventurer and crocodile wrestler, which apparently inspired the name.
The Hotel is on Goldmine Street, Moonsmoth, which is today a hub for ritzy theatres and restaraunts, but itself has a history as utterly tied up in Hexton City's past as HFC football.'
'I dont know how familiar with this city's foundations you are, but Hexton was actually drafted after the plans of Cardiff city, (the capital of Wales). In fact, before it was named Hexton it was called 'Caerdydd' or 'Fort on the taff' by its first inhabitants (Not including the indigenous peoples of course).
The land around what is now Goldmine Street was surveyed by English gentryman, Lord Hexton, all the way along bandit creek. He deemed it fit for farming and cultivation... But ironically, the city wasn't named this for almost a century after its discovery.
The dark truth is---- Lord Hexton was brutally murdered by Scottish nationalists in the city's fledgling years. But not before he sold huge regions of Elizabethan land to Italian Mafioso. The city was endemically corrupt since its foundations, and has probably only gotten worse. It was with a fair amount of irony, that our 47th Premier, the corrupt Italian MP Joey Guiliardo named the city Hexton, in honour of the man who gave this soil up to the crooks who still run it today. Robert Fitzhamon built a fort in this same place ---when the miners strikes were happening during the gold rush, and that spot eventually became Goldmine Street.'
'But the Smiling crocodile Hotel still stands as it did over 160 years ago. It has long been a hive of den and vice in Moonsmoth, of meetings of shady deals by politicians from Viking Capital, cheques written over beers, and bribes written on the back of coasters.'
'Make of this what you will. There's a list of all the staff who worked topless at Titty Kat in the last ten years, indeed, Debbie Beskmill's name shows up, as alleged, on that list. I'd say you've found a nest of leads with this one KT.'
I replied with one hand, as I was doing up my black and white, checkered tie with the other hand.
'Remarkable work. I feel as though im closing in on a pretty big break with this... See you tonight Julian.
My Moment account was still buzzing. Everyone was posting on The Snake and Ladder venue page. I noticed with interest, among the live bands playing after 9pm, "Hell Mouth" was due in the set at 10:30. Their greatest hits CD was being cross promoted on Sound Wave. A fortuitous coincidence, (or just another over saturation in this event flooded evening.) Time was going to tell.
I knew I was probably over the limit. But decided to make the small drive, and leave my car in the free parking area behind The Snake and Ladder. The place was already crowded, like a tin of sweaty leftist sardines, (or were they more like salty anchovies?) when I arrived. I didnt recognise anyone I knew.
I walked up to the bar, which looked more like a rusted slab you'd find at an abandoned petrol station. The deliberately grungy ceramic slab was covered in graffiti from patrons, and stickers advertising live gigs. The tables and cushioned chairs looked like they'd all come off hard garbage, tattered red fabric with greenish-yellow foam padding peeking out of rips and holes. At least the music was good. I found a vacant lot and staked my claim, and shortly the bartender brought me a French Manhatten in a dirty Old Fashioned glass. I sat there absorbing the welcoming melodies of 'Ok, Whore!' (A grungy femimist band started by the partner of deceased rocker Tommy Gunn, who killed himself with a shotgun live on stage.) The lyrics seemed eerily fitting for the venue which had hosted two now deceased girls;
'We are just meat for your mouth,
Drowned in our angst,
You chew us up and spit us out,
Marinaded in perfume and lipstick,
Abuse us, you kill us... kill us for your sport..'
I looked around nervously, waiting for either of the two officers to arrive. Then distracted myself in Moment. I wanted to learn more about 'Hell Mouth' front man, Simon Roach. It was probably a red herring---but nonetheless a big coincidence that both Anna and Debbie were obessed with the band.
I pondered if Debbie had ever been intimate with Roach, first question I would ask if given the chance. As I clicked through Hell Mouth's Sound Wave profile, I saw old tapes of the band were available on Sequence. I clicked the link to an interview Roach and the drummer Steve Bass had done on the music show 'Millenium Apocalypse' when they were just starting out in 2006. The interviewee was asking him about the inspiration for his music;
Chris Nye: 'People have accused you of using Satanic lyrics in your music, Mr Roach. What do you have to say in defence of that?'
Roach: 'If you assume that Satan is a real figure from classical mythology, then you have to accept a whole range of other fictional entities as true, Thor, pixies, giants, Cthulu. The bible has giants in it too yes? Remember, we were polytheist before the old testament god appeared. I speak to gods, spirits and entities in my music, yes.'
Chris Nye: 'So you admit to communing with demonic entities?'
Steve Bass: 'Bollocks! This is bollocks. You cocky twerp!'
Roach: 'We dont discriminate in that kind of way. One thing ive never believed in.. is labels. Yes we use all sorts of communication tools. Phones. Radio. Ouija boards. If some alien creature is out there communicating with us, who are we to label it a 'demon'
Chris Nye: 'So you use Ouija Boards to create your lyrics? Is that what youre telling me?'
Steve Bass: 'We use communication tools everyday. This.. right.. now.. this camera its communicating. Some might consider YOU to be a demon by subjectivity. Ever considered that?'
Roach: 'We are artists. Artists communicate. Its what we do.'
I saved the video to watch later, and opened another link for a more recent video Roach had recorded during the King's Virus pandemic lockdown ---in self isolation. The man was a gaunt junkie, covered from head to toe in piercings and washed out tattoos. He was playing his songs acoustically, including a soft cover of 'Electric Demon'. Then I noticed something which caught my attention. Among Roach's many tattoos branded all over his arms, was a coiled serpent... It wasn't quite the same logo as the Sky Serpents but definitely penned by the same hand. I wondered how well aquainted Roach was with 2-Ball ....our dealer.
I didn't have time to consider this for long, because two off duty police officers--- I recognised by the pictures Sachs had provided--- entered the Snake and Ladder.
John Straten was a friendly looking man with rosy cheeks, and a nose pickled from alcohol abuse, slightly overweight, and fitting the stereotype build of your A-typical donut-eater. Terrance Dennison on the other hand was wirey, thin--- and rock solid, like a statue. His pointed nose and angular face cut through the crowd, with the impression of someone who was used to intimidation tactics. Dennison punched Straten's shoulder---then pointed to me, then signalled the bar. Straten looked frazzled, but begrudgingly obliged and made his way to order drinks.
As Dennison approached, I got the feeling like he had wanted a moment by himself to stand over me. He cracked his hairy knuckles and placed them on the table, staring down from his six inch height advantage;
'Well well.... if it isn't Sam Spade.' Dennison sneered, 'I hear you've been single handedly taking down the Hexton criminal underworld.'
'I always wonder with you types. When did your obsession with serial killers begin? Tortured animals at an early age?' Dennison hated my guts for some reason..
'Always been interested in unsolved crime, its true. There's a lure, but I believe in justice Mr Dennison. I want to help catch the killer.'
'Justice.... right....' Dennison mocked. There was an awkward silence, before ...to my relief John Straten arrived, with two schooners of Hexton Bitter.
'Service is terrible in this dump. Mr Thigler, nice to meet you. Charlie has passed on some shining commendations.'
'Me and Sachs go way back--' I said, almost trying to dismantle Terry Dennison's attacks in some way, show him I had Some backup in blue. Terry frowned and temporarily took a back seat.
'We just wanted to approach you, and officially invite you into the Moonsmoth murder case.' Straten announced in a much friendlier voice.
The dance floor was filling up with sexually liberated twenty somethings wearing sexy neo-grunge wear. I briefly scanned the room, and therein noticed a table of anxious looking googly eyed faces, who looked out of place. Moreover, they were staring at my table expectantly. Must be the 'Hunt for the Butcher' group, I figured. Hope they had the common sense enough not to interrupt me during the briefing.
'Now obviously' Straten quantified, 'Some of our boys are concerned about the free flow of information in this case.'
'People's lives are at stake. Try to remember that.' Dennison interjected snarkily, almost like a veiled threat.
'Now we do want the public to know about this case. We want you to keep generating leads. It's great.' Straten continued, 'But as long as the killer is still on the loose, we need to control that flow of information.'
'Of course', I said flatly, 'Look.. I just want to say. Im here to co-operate with the police a hundred percent. We have the same interests, I want to see the perpetrator behind bars.'
'Good.' Said John, 'Now we have seen, in recent times cases like this flair up over modern communication tools' Straten continued, 'We understand there's a few affiliated groups doing independent research.'
'I don't think there's much you can do to control social media attention in the case.' I said, 'It's kind of a beast, with a mind of its own'.
'We dont expect to censor the general public Mr Thigler--' Straten cautioned wisely, 'That's why its all the more important we create these official channels with reliable media sources, to get some handle on the flow of information. We don't want to play God, and stop the rain, just hold back the floodgates on the dam.'
'Just tell me what you need from me, and i'm happy to comply.'
'For now,' said Straten, 'We just wanted to establish a relationship. But we'll run you through some protocol, and bring you up to speed.'
'Welcome to TASK FORCE KNIGHTS FIST'.
Why did these things always have such stupid names, I thought. For the next half hour or so, John Straten went through a folder of official paperwork, outlining developments in the case, and details which the police wanted to accentuate in the press, some which they wanted to keep restraint over. Details I will for now have to refrain from sharing, even in this blog.
I continued to sense a submerged loathing within Terry Dennison. Meanwhile, the venue filled, and coloured strobe lights conspired around the dance floor----Creating a warming glow upon the green velvet curtains behind the empty stage. A couple of old fashioned ....and several beer glasses, were emptied by limelight. Before John and Terry left, a gaunt looking man, acne ridden, with gothic, black, dyed hair bumped into me as I was fetching a drink.
'Kylo? Its me, Julian from the butcher forum.'
'I'm just finishing up with these detectives and ill come say hello to everyone.'
'Oh.. ok... see you in a moment.' Julian's face seemed full of rejection, as if he had wanted to be introduced to the officers himself.
Afterwards, Dennison made a snyde remark, like 'Got your internet groupies down for a convention during a business meeting? Real classy. Real professional. Is this how its going to be?'
'Not my planning---' I assured the officers.
'Yeah well, subtlety buddy. Look it up.'
By the time the cops left, the momentum of the crowd had ramped up significantly. I could see Paulina and Ella had joined, and they must've invited Raoul from work-- because he now approached me, with a drink in both hands;
'Kylo!' He shouted, looking tipsy already, 'I got you a drink, you joining us?'
'Yeah sure thing.' I replied, 'All done now, thanks for the drink. You come with Paulina?'
'I saw everyone talking on Moment about tonight, and thought i'd come down. How's Ciara?'
'She's safe.'
'Its just crazy. I feel responsible. It was my lead. Im so fuckin' sorry KT, I keep thinking about it.'
'Honestly, Raoul. Its not remotely your fault. Whats the occasion tonight anyway? I mean.... What's drawing the entire Herald office down here?'
'There's buzz that the Butcher story is gonna go viral soon, and everyone wants a scoop. You're like a magnet, because everyone knows your now part of the official investigation.'
'Well ....that's ironic--' I said, 'Harry wont even publish my article. Now, everyone wants a crumb from my sandwich.'
'Its in our nature. Were all pigeons, reporters.'
'Give yourself some credit Raoul. Your work is more original and well researched than two thirds of the chumps at the Herald.'
'Thanks KT.'
We walked over to the rambunctious group, who were all jubilant and rather intoxicated. Julian arrived holding a tray full of multicoloured shots. Suddenly it all made sense.
'Kylo!' Yelled a rainbow of voices.
I raised a hand in the air, and made a red and purple face.
I found myself in a sea of social obligation, having to move around fielding questions and making introductions. Paulina had entered into a deep conversation with Caroline Byrne about criminal psychology, whilst Ella probed Raoul about his podcast interests;
'.....Serial was great, yeah.... I do enjoy a good true crime podcast' Raoul confided,
'---Actually i've been listening to 'Indefencable' that new series about the Lawyer Y controversy'.
'Oh my god!' Ella shrieked, 'That podcast blew my mind. I always thought Lawyer Y was a self interested crook. But that podcast really outlined the avalanche of police corruption on one side ..and the razor wire of underworld threats he was caught between. Utterly compromised.'
'Its a lawyer's job to straddle the line between guilt and innocence. People have painted lawyer Y as a cunning go between, playing everyone....' I contributed, 'He strikes me as a confused crowd pleaser, in way over his depth.'
'Yeah--' Raoul agreed, 'Actually truth be told, when i'm not working--- I like to debrief from the media, and I mostly listen to music podcasts.'
'Oh. What sort of music do you like?' Ella seemed perpetually interested in everybody, and yet, there was a level of detachment, like she was doing everything for a research project.
'All kinds I guess.'
'Oooh how ecclectic of you' Ella said with sarcasm.
'Actually, Kylo...' Raoul addressed me, 'Half the reason i'm here is ....I know one of the bands.' Raoul pointed to a skinny looking indidenous guy in a grey wife-beater and Dingo's beanie, fiddling with a drum kit on stage.
'My cousin's fiance is in the support act.'
'Boomer-Ranga?' Ella asked, obviously impressed 'These guys are fucking amazing. I saw them at Macarthur Island Indy-Genius Festival. Best act ever. Second only to Mobstas rainin' Lobstas. I want to marry 'Kangar Roo'.'
I watched as a triage of other musos wearing comical ginger wigs came out to set up their equipment.'
'Is this a joke?' I asked.
'Kind of an in-joke yes---' Raoul said, quite pleased with himself.
Discussion of the gig line-up gave me the means to put out my own feelers on leads;
'Hell Mouth is headlining. You know both Debbie and Anna were huge fans of Simon Roach. I'd love to get an interview with him.'
'You should try grab him before the show---' said Raoul.
'Meh. Hell Mouth are a washed up noughties, wanna'be 80's band. I can see why, at the time that weird mix of Guns 'N' Roses meets Metallica... Dave Grohl voice.. with a bit of Australian country in the mix was appealing. But they've had their time. Simon Roach had a kind of Nikki Six-esque "guy you wouldn't let meet your dad" appeal, sure, but really he's just a deadbeat junkie with an attitude problem.'
'Tell us how you really feel Ella' I mocked.
'Some of their songs still stand the test of time.' Raoul disagreed, 'Especially during their kind of heavy thrash/Hardcore phase. Electric Demon is still a classic in my opinion.'
'So. Youre gonna stay for their set?' Ella asked.
'Sure. Hell Mouth are bound to put on a good show. Say Paulina, you gonna go to the Minority Rules protest next week?'
The comical looking members of 'Boomer-Ranga' had now set up and were preparing to start. There were at least seven members, each with a horrendous ginger wig, and their strange home made musical instruments included; a bottle cap shaker-pole, a curved tuba-like didgeridoo and an electronic sampling kit. This was going to be interesting.
I figured I should make good time with the Butcher guys, so I moved near Julian, who was in the middle of an impassioned argument with Rudy AKA 'Synchronicity77'. I got the feeling disagreements were common with these two;
'That's the way your mind works though.' Said Julian, 'You want everything to have this deep symbolic meaning. Maybe sometimes things are just abstract.'
'You're telling me the greatest film maker of all time just put something in his movie, just to be arty for no reason??'
'Im saying...' Julian grunted, holding his head in his hands, '---Stanley Kubrick knows how to use symbolism amiguously. Just because you interpret something one way, doesn't mean that's the exact meaning.'
'Ok' Rudy yielded, 'But wouldn't you say that the cinema screen is a pretty good solution to what the black monolith in Space Oddyssey is supposed to represent? We look at the black oblong ---and it tells us what to think.'
'That's one interpetation' Julian argued angrily, 'Among many others. Maybe the monolith represents humanity's place in the vastness of the cosmos. A puzzle too big for us to decode.'
I chuckled internally when I realised what a trivial thing the pair were almost ripping each others throats out over.
'I think its a Satanic Ten Commandments. A stone tablet that tells humanity nothing..' Rudy continued..
'Kubrick wouldn't have wanted the stone to represent the Ten Commandments' Julian disagreed violently.
(I foolishly got involved); 'I always thought 2001 was a commentary about the evolution of consciousness. You know, the neanderthal apes staring at the stone. Destined to become humans. Its a question about wether there was any artificial aid in our development.'
'See!' Rudy snapped, 'A higher power involved in our evolution!'.
'A higher power. Bah.' Julian scolded, 'He probably meant intervention of otherwordly aliens.... or psychadelic drugs.'
Rudy seemed at least able to laugh at this;
'Haha. Like.. have you seen that Billl Hicks bit? Where he impersonates a monkey eating a magic mushroom, becoming conscious, like making those little grunts?'
Julian was still angry; 'Bill Hicks was a hack conspiracy theorist.'
'I've seen shit on drugs though.' Rudy bounced off unnoticed, 'Have you guys ever done Third Eye?'
'Sure. Everyone's tried it, at least once...' Said Julian nervously.
I kept my mouth shut. Meeting with the two detectives had made me vary wary of everything that came out of my mouth.
'Ok. So, haven't you ever had that feeling--' Rudy said, 'Like everythings connected. Everything around you becomes imbued with subconscious meaning that resonates on all these different levels.'
Julian still looked skeptical, but more anxious and somehow open to Rudy's theories,
'How do you mean though?'
'I remember being in this bar once.' Rudy said. 'Staring at a poster on the wall over there near the stage. Third Eye had kicked in. It was a gig guide. But all the letters came alive. Synchronous meaning and sound. The letters all corresponded to the chemical sequences in my brain ---and the musical notes being played on guitar strings by the band.'
'Come on...what?' Julian objected.
'Seriously. Even the name of this place, it like... rang alarm bells through me. Snake and Ladder. The Snake and Ladder is the genome sequence that runs through us. Visual snake and ladder. Everything is written in our DNA!'
When Rudy said the word "DNA" something strange occurred, almost indescribable. It was a terrifying pang of Deja Vu that echoed to the core of my subconscious. Like a nightmare slipping like a snake beneath the rock of consciousness.
'That again...' Julian argued, 'is the tendency you have to take objective facts outside yourself, and build them into your own internal narrative. Let me guess, then you saw lizard people controlling the illuminati matrix?'
'Dont get me started' Rudy said, without a hint of irony.
'Boomer-Ranger' had begun their insane performance, and suddenly, everyone was enthralled.
Raoul nudged me, and started moving towards the stage, so I followed. Strobe and neon spotlights. Julian and Rudy pursued, and shortly after Paulina and Ella. The crowd was loving it, and the lead singer gyrated about the stage charismatically flouting his bright red mullet. It was an extremely entertaining set, and afterwards Raoul introduced me to his cousin.
But amidst all the bruhaha, that vague uneasiness lurked. My eyes scanned the room-- until they were caught on the spiky trail, of a fire engine red Mohawk. It stood out, even amidst the rambunctious crew from Boomer-Ranger. My brain scanned its databases, for some dormant pattern of recognition. Then I remembered, the Mohawk belonged to Jeff Patton, the bassist from Hell Mouth. I figured Simon Roach would be around somewhere too. I went into robo-cop 'locate mode', and made it my single mission to confront him.
Paulina cut me off in the middle of my quest. She was looking pretty tipsy --and stopped me, swinging her hips and raising her drink above her head. 'Hey Kylo. Wanna dance?' A seductive proposal. She had her cleavage very prominent, and was batting her eyelids, and I couldnt help but feel that she was flirting with me. But I did my best to laugh it off and play it down. Then I saw something which reset me at zero.
Simon Roach had walked from off backstage, chatting with a roadie. Standing just off stage nearby, talking with mohawk clad Patton, was the devil himself.
I almost dropped my drink, studying the man---last minute cramming, like final year assesments. Skinny, were they jose brand jeans?
Leather vest ---with Sky Serpents logo. Without racial profiling, brown skin, wide nose, in fact spitting image of the police sketch made from Ciara's description. That was the man that killed Madds.
With determination, I pushed Paulina out of the way, and started aggressively cutting my way through the crowd. Behind me I heard confused mumbling from the group; 'Where's Kylo going etc'.
It must've been obvious, a hunters determination on my face---because the skinny man with the wide nose noticed me moving towards him. He double took, nervously, then eyed the fire exit. I was four metres away--- when the serpent made a bolt.
Patton raised his eyebrows, giving a mumma's boy 'Dafuq?' look, as I barged past his shoulder. Just catching the fire door before it closed, I scarpered up the stairs, sliding onto the street. The fiend was moving fast, but I just caught him turning the corner of a side alley. Streetlights blinding.
The night was gangrenous, a mosaic of decapitated noises and images-- unhallowed sobbing of street cats, and artificial lights. Fury had taken me over, but I was aware I was in over my depth. For a split second, as I ran, I considered phoning John Straten, a second wasted would mean the perp would get away.
Sprinted like an Olympic athlete, arms-knives slicing the air in front. Wide nose was twenty metres ahead, but he'd made a dud turn. Blind alley ..hit a dead end. He'd stopped, looking around for an exit, considering wether he could scale the drain pipe and onto the rooftop. Took option B.
Back door of Lambs Kebab Shop, charged through, I was a second in chase. Dived forward like a panther, and grabbed the neck of his leather vest. He tried to barge me off, backing into the staff bathroom. I tripped, and almost staggered into the urinal, but for a stayed hand and balancing squat.
The Middle Eastern owner was yelling expletives and racial slurs, calling the fiend a 'negro dog' and a ,'kaffir'. I was back on him, but he pre-empted me, took a swing, and cut my lip.
I tackled him in the chest, knocking a gyro grill--- beef doner pieces scattered over the floor. Wide nose had a good grip on my shirt, managed to wrestle me over towards the hotplate. Desperately attempted to force my face over it.
Fazal was yelling so much he'd gone red in the face. Customers were bewildered. I elbowed wide nose hard in the guts. Hit his chin with a stealth uppercut. Drew blood. Training with Charlie had paid off.
Before I knew I had contested posession of the fight, rage saw me press the bastards face down on the cooker myself. There was a horrendous sizzling, shriek and smoke, wafting smell of burning flesh and hair. Smelled like nightmares.
Nightmare was accurate, when wide nose lifted his head, left side of his face looked like a melted car tire. Worst still, the heat had scolded off his iris, so a white sphere, like a marble stared out of a bloody socket.
I was spellbound with horror, which gave scabface his chance, hit me three times in the guts and decked me. Got a wobbly vision half of the floor, half of scabby's legs hightailing it. By the time I got to the front of the Kebab joint, he was already a quarter K, down the end of Islington Road. Lost him for now---
Positive outcome ...I knew Hell Mouth had some specs on our mystery man. Plus, I had an instinct where he might be heading now. I started running in the opposite direction, towards my car. Hadn't considered I probably looked like hell, bruised and bloody. Big boulder bruise on my forehead.
Raoul, Paulina and Ella were standing outside the Snake and Ladder. Raoul had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. They all three stared slackjawed and wide eyed as I limped past.
'Jesus Kylo. You ok?' Raoul stuttered through a cloud of smoke. I passed saying nothing, breathing heavily.
Everyone looked wonky and surreal. Cubist shapes in the destructive night. I got to my car, and blipped unlocked, grabbed the binoculars Ciara had given me. My directives merged into the clockwork mechanisms of Hexton's deadly night life.
Shortly, I was staked out on the cross street overpass, looking down at the decorated front doors--- of the Titty Kat strip club. No sign of wide nose, but shortly a figure of interest made himself known. That handle bar moustache identified him as 2-Ball pretty clearly. He exited the club, and was pacing back and forth. Seemingly anxious about something.
I hit record on the binoculars, files uploaded direct to sequence cloud. Facial recognition matched the subject 2-ball from the Snake and ladder photos. Contemplating what to do, now would be a good time to tell Straten and Dennison about the wide nosed man --and send them the video of 2-ball. As my fingers navigated the mail button, my ears pricked up. A crunching sound, like the trampling of leaves. Then a metallic;
'CLICK'.
It was too late --by the time I turned around I was already stung. Wide nose had a decorated Colt.45 pointed at my ear. There was a look of cold malevolence spread across his desicrated face. He cracked me one against the forehead, and I tasted blood on my lips. I shoved the binoculars under my jacket and raised both hands in the air.
Wide nose roughly grabbed me by the scruff, and commanded 'Move!' In a callous voice. Soon, I was being pushed roughly down the stone wall stair case. My arm grazed as it brushed past mossy limestone.
'Hope you like vegemite Aussie boy---' said the perp, his voice was grainy, like a pack a day smoker, accent French? 'Because once you dead.. that's all you gonna see.'
My hand was twisted up behind my back, and acheing, by the time we were on the street. Scab face wolf whistled, with two fingers, and got 2-Ball's attention.
'Found a snoop!' He yelled out.
'The Micks?' 2-ball yelled back.
'Nah'. I felt wide nose patting around my back pockets, ripped my wallet and flapped the ID screen.
'Reporter. Chased me all the way from Snake and Ladder.. dirty little prick messed my face up.' Wide-nose pushed me into the light where 2-Ball could see him for the first time.
'Jesus--' 2-Ball grimaced, 'He really done a number on your ugly mug. Didn't think you could get any uglier.'
'Ha!' Wide nose was not amused. 'What we gonna do with him then?'
'Take him round to the basement. Ill be down in five. We got other problems. Brief you soon.'
I was thrust in motion again, round to another back alley, and over to a heavy latched cellar door. Steel painted red. The cat killer pushed me onto my knees as I heard him jingle a set of keys, and unlock several padlocks.
Before I knew it I was pushed, falling into darkness. Thud. Hitting wet, cold cement. Basement smelt like hops and mildew. Rust hinge squealed as the hatch closed leaving me in absolute darkness. I thought of Ciara, and panicked. Was I heading towards that final blackness? I wasn't ready for it all to end.
Above I could hear the echoing miasma of dance music, richocheting around the walls. After about eight thousand seconds, a door opened and two sets of footsteps carried through the air.
'I thought our man was good for it.' Said one voice.
'There's pressure coming from higher up. Things moving pretty fast apparently.' Said the other.
'So what are we gonna do with our one-man 'Woodward and Bernstein' down here?'
'We need him gone.'
'What if we just put a bullet in his ear and cover him in a blanket for now?'
'Can't risk it if the cops are gonna search the joint.'
I grappled with my surroundings, anxiously in the dark, I knew there was no chance of making a run for it. My hands started sleucing gently over the wet concrete, mould, slime and boozy textures and smells. If I could just find something sharp to defend myself.
There was nothing remotely like a knife, but my fingers did find an interesting texture. Small, slightly fragile. It was a partially rectangular piece of metal, front capped in perspex. On the back, was an external attachment, which I managed to pry open with my little finger. Ouch. Sharp.
It was some kind of badge... or pin... not ideal. But if it came to it I could gouge one of the Serpent's eyes.
One of the lowlives was inching ever closer, I could smell his rum-drenched halytosis breath, and stale cigarette smoke stained clothing. I lay perfectly still, hunched, face down in a ball. Ready to strike if a hand was lain on me, pin between my middle and index finger.
The serpent was only two steps away, when a dramatic turn occurred. There was a catastrophic boom a few stories above, then female voices, yelps or screams.
'The dog spit was that?' One of the bikers asked.
'C'mon' yelled the other voice. Just like that, the two figures bolted back up the stairs and left me in the dark. The door closed behind them, but I noticed on odd noise on the lock. Quick as I could, I scampered up the cold stairs, and found with enthusiasm that the door had failed to lock. I couldn't believe my luck.
I glanced briefly at the pin in my hand, in the dull light of the corridoor. It was a purple badge, with gold text that said; 'The Illustrated Men'. I pocketed it for later investigation. There was an elevator, circle lights indicated it was moving from level 3 to level 4. My captors had got off at level 4.
I opted for the fire stairs, moving cautiously but steadily. As I reached the fourth floor, I reflected wether it wouldnt have been smarter to go to the basement, and escape, but some journalist instinct compelled me to keep moving.
I came into a hallway, lit up with blue neon crossing lines.
The music was loud now, and I was exposed and vulnerable. A latino woman with round melon like breasts, in a silver G string, passed, making a gesture to come out back, but I declined moving onwards. At the end of the hall, the central floor of the strip club was visible, vulumptuous figures moved around steel poles, working the crowd. In one of the private rooms however, I could view two silhouettes. Sliding with precision, I found a spot hidden behind a curtain, in which I had a clear view into the room. Two unidentified men wearing serpent regalia were rapidly throwing bags of yellow powder into sports bags. They looked hurried and uncomfortable.
I noticed another staff only corridoor which weaved around the back of the club. Quickly slinked out of sight. Before long, I heard another voice, and quickly hid behind a strange Persian sculpture, some kind of fertility goddess.
A blonde in a pink leotard came out of the female change rooms, passing me without noticing. I emerged again, strafing with one arm hanging to the floor.
I turned down another corridor.
Now I could see into a kind of VIP room. I was concealed mostly in darkness, and soon another few familiar figures came into view.
Instinctually I pulled the digital binoculars from my jacket and set it to record, uploading the video direct to my Sequence cloud.
2-Ball was talking to someone. I could see his hands moving before I was close enough to hear his voice. I expected to see wide nose, as I caught a wider angle, but instead was surprised to see Metro Detective Terrance Dennison.
Terry looked in casual conversation. I had trouble reading the situation from body language alone. That's why I was so surprised when the dynamic changed drastically. First there was an intense banging. A host of frantic screaming. Strippers and exotic dancers ran in every direction, and some terrified patrons. Fleeing to the exits.
I had to run into the VIP room, after one of the dancers started attacking me with the heel of her stilletos.
I don't think Terry saw me at first, but he must've been paying attention to the far door, because his behaviour changed erratically.
With seemingly random intent, Terry whipped a revolver out and pointed it straight at 2-Ball, yelling 'Drop it! Drop it!'
2-Ball not only looked remarkably surprised and confused, but was muttering under his breath, something like 'Treacherous cunt'.
He leapt back, almost falling over a decorative plant, then he was finally moved to reach for his own fire-arm.
But Terry had pre-empted him, you might even say... and I won't rush to accusation, that Terry had wanted him to pull out his gun.
Six successive blasts, as Terrance Dennison fired every round into 2-balls soon lifeless body, two of which blew the brains straight out of his head.
Blood, brain matter and sinew created an abstract art piece on the wall behind 2-ball, and the body slumped lifeless.
I know Terry had noticed me now, and I crouched as close to the wall, placing my hands over my head in fear.
Two other police officers now came into the room with their revolvers drawn. Terry must have seen or heard them coming, and he now called out to them;
'He tried to take shots at me'.
'Any more of them?' One of the other officers asked.
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