Detectives without guns, p.5
Detectives without Guns, page 5
‘Yep. Could be,’ said Dave.
‘Do you have a theory?’
‘Plenty,’ he said.
The coffee arrived before he could tell her about them. Dave’s arrived in a takeaway cup.
‘I don’t trust the dishwashers in these places,’ he said by way of explanation. He was happy to sacrifice Mel’s health. Hers arrived in a china mug. Mel spooned a teaspoon of sugar into it and said, ‘tell me them.’
‘I’d prefer to hear yours,’ he said.
‘Well, I want to hear yours.’
Dave smiled. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I guess I have one main theory. These new murders have pretty much the same MO, and now location, as your mum’s. So, if it’s a coincidence, then it’s a big one. And I’m not a fan of coincidence. To my way of thinking, it’s the same person. And I reckon it’s likely one of two suspects - the mystery man Peggy met on the night she died, or Dan.’
Mel shook her head. ‘No way. It’s not Dan.’
Dave held up his hand. ‘He was a suspect at the time too, but he had a pretty tight alibi, so we can drop him down the list.’
Mel sipped her coffee and shook her head. ‘We can drop him off the list. It wasn’t Dan.’
‘Ok, Ok. For now,’ he agreed. ‘But the bloke she met, he’s another story. He’s my pick. The problem is there’s nothing on ‘im. She must’ve known him or if not, had met him before. ‘Ghost from the past’,’ he said shrugging his shoulders.
‘Or it wasn’t him either, and she was attacked on her way home.’
‘Yes, that’s a possibility too but I prefer my theory for now,’ said Dave.
Mel set her cup on the table, rested her elbow beside it, and ran a hand across her forehead.
‘Any ideas as to who he could be?’
‘Could be anyone.’
Mel sat back and folded her arms. ‘That’s helpful.’
‘But,’ he continued, pointing his finger at her, ‘I reckon it’s one of two pieces of scum who were around at the time.’
‘Who?’
‘A guy named Robert Lang.’
‘And the other one?’
‘John Coreman. But he’s pretty much a vegetable, so it’s not him. Well, not now anyway.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Beaten senseless in jail, with the bar of an exercise bike. Strangely no one saw anything.’
‘How convenient,’ agreed Mel.
‘Mmm …’
‘So, Lang. Why do you think it’s him?’
Dave flicked back his hair, crossed his arms, and tucked his hands under his armpits. His belly was round so his arms rested comfortably across it. He settled in for what looked like a long explanation.
‘Lang and Coreman were mates and hung around together from the early 1980s. They were convicted of the murders of four young women killed in ’93 in inner city Melbourne and Geelong. All blonde, all pretty.’ He raised an eyebrow.
Mel chewed her lip. ‘How young?’
‘Seventeen to twenty-five.’
‘Peg was thirty-four,’ said Mel.
‘Still possible.’
‘Were they raped and strangled?’ she asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Christ.’ Then she added ‘Wait, but Peg died in ‘92.’
‘Yeah. I know, but she might have been the first and there could have been others. It’s common for these psychos to work their way through different scenarios until they find their ‘thing’. They become more brazen. Take risks. Each of the murders they were charged with were ritualized, but the last of those four murders was extreme.’
Mel hunched her shoulders before looking up. ‘God. Peg’s murder was carnage, so I don’t want to imagine what extreme looks like.’
‘No, you don’t,’ agreed Dave, resting his chin on his chest. ‘No one should see that.’
For a moment he was very still and quiet.
‘Is it something you’ve seen?’ asked Mel.
Dave turned his head toward her. ‘My sister, Kitty, was the fourth of those murders. The things done to her are unspeakable.’
Mel reached a hand out to stroke the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He patted her hand and straightened up. ‘Thanks. It was a long time ago, but that bastard didn’t pay for it. He needs to pay.’
‘What do you mean? I thought you said they went to jail?’
‘They did,’ he said, ‘But on different charges. Coreman for murder and Lang as an accessory. The wrong one was convicted of her murder.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Mel.
‘Because Lang was the dangerous one. He’d been arrested for a violent rape in the ‘80s but was never convicted. Had a very good lawyer apparently and an alibi they couldn’t disprove. Coreman was just dumb. I mean, clearly, he was there. And he had form, but, he was just a thug. Followed Lang around like a puppy. He was capable of violence but Lang was mean. Cunning.’
‘So why would Coreman take the fall?’
‘My guess is Lang convinced him to. As I said, Coreman wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Lang got time for being an accessory, but only three years. Reckons he helped clean up the mess, but likely it was the other way around.’
‘Only three years?’
‘Yep, gave evidence against Coreman, so got a lighter sentence.’
‘Where’s the justice?’
‘There is none!’
‘And Coreman. How many years?’
‘Life, plus more. But rumour is, he kinda woke up to the reality of what that really meant once he was in the clink and was keen to tell some home truths but, mysteriously, that lump of metal from the gym found its way into his head and he was cactus. Been brain dead in some nursing home for years.’
‘And they could never pin Lang with any of the murders?’ said Mel.
‘Nope.’
‘I don’t remember any mention of Lang or Coreman when Mum died.’
‘As I said, they didn’t get caught until the end of ‘93. I’ve got a mate who was part of those investigations He reckons they were questioned about unsolved murders, including your mum’s, but neither gave anything away. Who knows how many others there are …’
Dave’s phone rang. He flipped it over, checked the number then turned it off without answering.
‘Do you have any evidence it’s Lang and not Coreman?’ asked Mel.
Mel watched as Dave mindlessly drew abstract lines on the paper in front of him.
‘Well, to be fair, when Kitty died and Coreman was convicted I did believe it was him. His DNA was on her. That’s how he was caught.’
‘So, not just an accessory then?’
‘No. He was obviously involved. He raped her ‘cause they found his semen, and for that, I confess, I was shamelessly glad when his head was smashed in. But now I don’t believe he killed her. Or the others for that matter, because some years later, I learned of a similar death which started my investigation.’
Mel leaned in closer. Dave stopped doodling.
‘After Kitty died, I just couldn’t settle. Watching Mum and Dad wither away was too much so I went overseas for some years to work and escape. When I came back, I took a job with the Hunter Valley Chronicle and got to know the local cops. Turns out, one of them had a daughter who’d run away a few years before. She was like Kitty. Young, mixed with the wrong crowd, took drugs, you know the drill. Anyway, she turned up dead in Sydney with a profile like Kitty’s, but not as violent. What I mean is, it was violent in the sense she had the beating, rape, and strangulation, but only an inch of hair was missing and part of her nipple. No one paid any attention to it. She had other cuts and torn skin so people just considered it part of the struggle. But it smacked of Lang and Coreman, because each woman they’d killed, had those same injuries and they always took a trophy of hair and some part of the female anatomy.’
Mel’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘I know, revolting. It got worse with each murder. Kitty had both breasts removed and a criss-cross pattern carved into her sternum.’
‘Stop!’
Dave flapped both hands ‘Sorry, sorry.’
Mel took a mouthful of coffee to buy some time but swallowed too much of it in one gulp. It burned and she coughed, bringing half back up into the cup. She grabbed a napkin and wiped her face.
‘Ya right?’
She nodded madly, waving him away. She cleared her throat. ‘Christ. Dave, that is just hideous.’
‘I know. But it couldn’t have been Coreman when the coppa’s daughter died, because he was dribbling into his sheets. Could only be Lang. He’d been out of jail for ages by then. Over the years I’ve trawled reports for other women and found seven that fit the pattern, in different towns and cities along the East Coast. Interestingly, there are gaps when Lang was in prison, which was 2000 - 2006 for violent assault and 2015-2017 when he was out of the country.’
‘Who did he assault?’
‘Boss of another drug cartel,’ said Dave.
‘That would make prison pretty risky, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yep, but he was in a powerful cartel himself, so protected. Unfortunately, he gained power and a reputation in jail. Became something of a boss himself. Teflon fucking coated,’ he said.
‘Sounds like a real piece of work.’
‘Yep.’
‘Thinking back though,’ said Mel, ‘I don’t remember any bits of Peggy’s body being taken. Only some hair and that was just pulled out.’
‘That’s why we need to find out more. I can only get files from the initial investigation taken at the scene. Problem is, I don’t have access to autopsy reports or all the old notebooks.’
‘So how do we get them?’
‘I’m applying to FOI for the reports on Peggy, so fingers crossed.’
‘And what about the recent murders? There’s been no mention of trophies other than their hair being cut.’
‘Yes,’ he said, rubbing the side of his nose. ‘But again, that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.’
The waitress interrupted to take their cups and ask if they wanted more. They both refused but Mel asked for a glass of water. If the waitress heard anything of the conversation, she kept a poker face.
‘Thing is Dave, why would a man of his age keep doing this? And now, so obviously?’
‘Because he can. He’s gotten away with it for 30 and maybe more, years. He’s cocky, invincible. Pumped up on smack. Protected by his cronies. Capable of anything.’
‘Scary.’
‘Bloody oath. And charming. He’s mid-fifties but still a good-looking guy. Built. Dresses in smart suits and drives nice cars. Rich. Attractive to a lot of women.’
‘And perhaps, back in the day, he was too, but my mum had a three-month-old baby. Why would she be mixed up with this guy?’
‘An affair, drugs, debts?’
The glass of water Mel requested was gently placed in front of her. She smiled up at the young woman and suppressed an overwhelming urge to beg her not to go out at night.
‘I don’t know, Dave. Maybe? If it was any of those, she kept it very secret.’
‘Everyone has secrets, Mel.’
She nodded. ‘And truthfully, Peg and I weren’t that close. I didn’t know her really. I wish I had.’
‘Maybe, in a weird way, you’ll get to know her now,’ he said.
Mel smiled. ‘I hope I don’t find too many skeletons. Oops, sorry. Bad pun!’
Dave tossed back his head and snorted out a laugh.
‘So, what do you want me to do?’ she asked.
‘Write down everything you can remember about the night. About the weeks leading up to it. Anything about Peggy that seems relevant? What was happening at home, people she knew, old boyfriends, places she hung out, who she was fighting with, secrets she kept. Anything.’
‘That could be tricky, but I’ll ask around.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I have to get back.’ Mel stood and thanked him for the coffee.
She turned to leave. As he called the waitress over, she turned back. ‘Dave,’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s the chance it was someone much closer to her?’
‘As good a chance as any.’
Chapter 13
‘What have you got for us?’ asked Lou as Mel came through the door.
‘Meeting with Dave has got me thinking.’
‘That’s a particularly dangerous thing to do, Mel.’
‘Yep, around here it is, but not out there.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Sharin.
‘He’s got a theory about who the bloke is that Mum met on the night she died. And who is still around from those days. Could be one of two serial killers. Or Dan.’
‘He said that?’ asked Sharin, knitting her brows together.
‘Well, he said Dan had an alibi and they discounted him, but you can tell he still thinks it’s possible.’ Mel glanced at Lou. ‘If you say, ‘I told you so’, I’ll …’
‘I’m not saying, “I told you so”, just saying.’
‘I’m confused,’ said Sharin.
‘Lou’s always believed Dan killed Peggy.’
‘Oh, Lou,’ said Sharin.
‘Well, it stands to reason. I tell ‘ya when I worked at Corrections, ninety-five percent of all serious crime was committed by someone known to the person. Fact,’ she said, thumping her palm on the table. ‘But I don’t believe he has anything to do with the girls who have died recently.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Mel. ‘So, we rule out Dan and focus on the other two.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Sharin.
‘Robert Lang and John Coreman. But he thinks it’s Lang because Coreman is a zombie.’
Sharins’s eyes bulged.
‘Not a real zombie, lovey.’
Sharin clutched her chest, ‘Oh, thank goodness!’
Lou’s eye twitched as she tried to control it.
‘What happened to him?’ asked Sharin.
Mel explained and Sharin looked sad. ‘No one deserves that.’
‘I think I remember reading about it,’ said Lou. ‘Pretty incredible a bike frame just comes apart and no one notices.’
‘Isn’t it though,’ agreed Mel, ‘and right at the time he was going to shed a little light on what he knew.’
‘So, Dave thinks Lang is the most likely candidate?’ said Lou.
‘He does,’ said Mel. ‘Both for then and now.’
‘Interesting,’ nodded Lou.
‘Yes, and that is where you two come into the picture,’ said Mel, pointing from one to the other.
Sharin’s eyes widened. Lou’s narrowed.
‘How?’ they said in unison.
‘You can help me do some investigating.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Lou.
‘What’s ridiculous about it?’
‘I love the idea,’ said Sharin, ‘It’d be like CIA or CSU or whatever it’s called.’
‘You watch way too much trash TV,’ said Lou.
‘Do not.’ Sharin pouted.
‘And we’re not cops,’ continued Lou.
‘No, but we’re damn good at research. And detectives are just researchers with guns,’ said Sharin.
Mel flicked a rubber band at Lou. ‘You have to admit, she’s got you there.’
‘Yeah, fair point,’ agreed Lou.
‘I’m in!’ said Sharin
‘Can I have a gun?’ asked Lou.
‘If that’s what it takes, sure.’
‘Ok, then I’m in too,’ she said, making her forefinger and thumb into a pistol and blowing into the tip.
Mel rolled her eyes. ‘We’re so fucked. I love you guys.’
For the next half hour, Mel relayed what she had learned from Dave as they cleared the spare desk of detritus and replaced it with a paper tray, string, and thumbtacks. Behind it, they placed a pin-up board and to one side, a whiteboard. They also moved the petition to the opposite side of the desk to shield it from the door. An incident desk might be hard to explain.
Mel stood back from the desk. Lou and Sharin stood behind her. The whiteboard was divided into three sections with blue marker pen. Each section was titled. One read, ‘Murders 2019’, the second said ‘Peggy Hilliard, 1992’, and the third, ‘Prime suspects’. Lou drew a head with devil horns for effect.
‘I feel all tingly,’ said Sharin.
‘That’ll be the bloody air-conditioning,’ moaned Lou, ‘some moron’s obviously played with it again. What is it they don’t get? Hot for winter, cold for summer…’
‘No, no. I mean, I feel quite excited,’ said Sharin.
‘Yes, I knew what you meant,’ said Lou.
Sharin thumped her lightly. Lou drew her gun.
‘We’ll start tomorrow. I have some things at home I want to bring in,’ said Mel.
‘Cool. What can we do?’ asked Sharin.
‘Could you find everything about the recent murders and Lou can you find more about the guys Dave mentioned? And anyone else who seems suspect from 1992 but is still around today. Lang and Dan are Dave’s idea of suspects but there must be others. Then and now.’
‘Ooh I love a bit of bedtime reading,’ she said clapping her hands together.
Mel covered her eyes. ‘Lordy. Sometimes you scare me, Lou.’
Chapter 14
The following morning Mel arrived early to work with the few photos she found of Peggy. She’d hoped to find more than just photos but her search proved futile.
Mel had packed Peggy’s belongings, excluding the photos, into a suitcase which she’d carried with her from one move to another. Time passed, life grew complicated, and the suitcase became buried under successively larger piles of discarded possessions.
The photos were thrown into an old biscuit tin and bundled with all her others, into a wooden trunk. It hadn’t taken long to find them. The suitcase proved much harder to retrieve. After a great deal of swearing, messed-up cupboards and an unnecessarily late night, she gave up. She planned to try the garage on the weekend.
The photos provided a visual timeline of Peggy’s short life. There was one of baby Peggy in the arms of Pop with 1957 penned on the back; another of her as a new mum with Mel and several of her as an older mum with Lexie. There were a few of Peggy and Gran and one of Peggy and Dan swinging a three-year-old Mel between them. Pop rarely appeared in photos. He was usually on the other side of the camera. There was a wedding photo of Dan and Peggy, taken when she was twenty, and a renewing of vows photo taken fourteen years later. The in-between years were highlighted by images of Peggy at parties mostly looking stoned. The only photo of Peg smiling straight into the camera was taken on the day she graduated with her enrolled nursing qualification. It was December 1987, she was thirty years old and as proud as she had ever looked. For the following three years, when she nursed in Ballarat, there were no photos, but from mid ‘91, when Peg and Dan rekindled their union and Lexie was born, there were several. If Peg was in them, she was always gazing at Lexie. Giggling, blowing bubbles on her tummy, nursing her or simply watching her sleep. If bliss can be captured in Kodachrome, then it was on show in technicolour brilliance. No photos existed after 1992.
