De Vakey, To Catch a Killer
Stevie stood among a small cluster of people in the lush memorial park, listening to the priest say his final words over the descending coffin. The sky was a sacrilegious blue, dotted with a few puffy clouds, the air clear as polished glass. A fresh breeze ruffled the service program in her hand.
Wayne, Angus and Barry stood together on the other side of the grave. One of De Vakey’s arms was draped over Justin’s shoulder, the other linked to a woman Stevie presumed to be his wife Vivienne, though really, it was anyone’s guess. Justin’s nurse friend stood on his other side and held his hand. A few nameless strangers, no doubt friends of Justin’s, stood behind, ready to offer the dead man’s son their support.
There was no one else. Baggly didn’t appear to have any friends of his own. An unpleasant man, Stevie brooded, a liar and a hypocrite, he’d nevertheless been as much a victim as any of the other players in Tye’s drama of manipulation and revenge, and he had paid for his frailty with his life.
And what of her own frailty? Tye had preyed upon her weaknesses in the same way as he had preyed upon Baggly’s. During the last two weeks her mind had desperately tossed around variations on the theme. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to Monty. Head bowed, gazing at his feet, he clutched the fluttering funeral program in his bandaged hands. Was he praying or thinking? They’d hardly spoken of the night at the power station, other than what was necessary for the reports. She’d tried several times to broach the subject of Izzy’s paternity, but found she so badly wanted what Tye had said to be true, she couldn’t risk shattering the illusion, if illusion it was. Monty had been no help. Every time she’d found herself attempting to stammer out what Tye had said that night, he’d silenced her with a finger on her lip, and a gentle admonishment, ‘Later, Stevie, later,’ as if she was still too traumatised to talk about it, as if she was a piece of delicate crystal that needed protection. Fuck him.
She took a deep breath; none of it mattered now. Once the funeral was over she would take Monty to the pub and brave the topic of Izzy’s paternity with him. She wouldn’t let him silence her this time. There was a position available for a DS in Broome and she’d applied for the job, confident she’d get it. She would return to the Kimberley, start again, and provide for Izzy a childhood as precious as her own had been. From a distance of two thousand kilometres, any further contact with Monty would be his choice.
With her mind made up, she felt free to take in the rest of the funeral attendees. She glanced back at De Vakey. Now her anger with him was gone, all that remained was a sense of relief that things had progressed no further, and a somewhat cynical sadness for his wife.
Martin Sparrow stood not far from De Vakey’s group. Stevie suspected his publishers had been behind his attendance; it was a good publicity stunt. It was the same company that published De Vakey, and both men had received hefty advances for their stories. The manuscript Sparrow had been helping Michelle put together had been found in John Baggly’s house, along with the missing files from Monty’s flat, stolen by Keyes and Thrummel. With the two rogue cops, plus Baggly under his control, it was no surprise Tye thought himself invincible enough to take out Stevie too. Keyes and Thrummel had not been granted bail.
Sparrow had become a minor celebrity, his diary filling with guest speaker engagements and talk show sessions before he was even out of hospital. There was talk of a national tour for the release of his book at the end of the year.
After a silent minute of prayer, Sparrow took off his sunglasses and caught Stevie’s eye. No wonder he looked on me with such hatred, she thought, I was the lover of a vicious murderer and he knew it. But the malevolent glares he had once shot at her were gone now. In his pale face she saw a new shining confidence that gave him an almost attractive glow, despite the scars and fading bruises. Perhaps now he realised that she had been as much a pawn as any of them.
Sparrow still had to face the burglary charge and an investigation into the copying of police records. But they should be grateful he’d done the copying before Baggly removed the crucial witness statements that vindicated Reece Harper. With a good lawyer, Stevie suspected Sparrow would be beating the rap. Good luck to him.
Justin threw a bunch of early wildflowers onto the lowering coffin along with the first shovel of dirt. After some stilted farewells to Baggly, the mourners began to wind their way through the sunken plaques and the swaying eucalypts to the car park.
Monty awkwardly handed Stevie a cigarette. His bandaged hand brushed against hers, his lacerations and broken fingers the result of clinging to a sagging ventilation duct when the roof had collapsed taking Tye Davis to his death.
When they came to his car, they leaned against the bonnet to finish their smokes. Stevie was in no hurry, Izzy was happy at home with Dot. The sun peeped out from a woolly cloud, making her cheek grow warm.
They had been standing there in silence for a few minutes when Justin broke away from where he had been talking to De Vakey and Vivienne. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said as he approached.
‘What are your plans now? Back to uni?’ Monty asked.
Justin cleared his throat. ‘I’m switching courses, seeing as I didn’t make the academy.’ He shot De Vakey a brief glance. ‘I’m doing psychology now.’
Stevie sensed an impending snort and gave Monty a warning nudge.
‘Good move,’ Monty said. ‘Oh, and did you get that video back from Mr De Vakey?’
Justin’s flush became a red-faced laugh when he registered the tease in Monty’s voice. Stevie hoped that from now he would be doing a lot more laughing.
‘I forgot to ask De Vakey what was on the video,’ Stevie said when Justin had gone.
‘ Cock-a-dial Dundee: the crazy true life adventures of a dialup gigolo. Even De Vakey couldn’t keep his face straight when he told me.’
Stevie shook her head. After everything that had happened, the normality of it was absurd. ‘As long as he doesn’t watch it at my house again.’
‘I think he’s learned his lesson.’
‘Seems like he has a new hero,’ she said after a pause.
Monty didn’t hold his snort back this time.
‘There was a moment or two when I even thought De Vakey might have been our killer.’
Monty raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’
‘With a job like his, nothing would have surprised me. It turned out he’d already been in Perth two weeks when you sent for him. He was in town when Linda Royce was killed. His wife thought he was in Perth for a seminar, that’s why he went through the farce of having me pick him up from the airport. From the flight schedules and the phone records from his hotel I pieced together his movements. Instead of a conducting a seminar, he was conducting an affair with Ms Cassandra Yardley, proprietor of the Black Velvet gentleman’s club. Apparently it’s been going on for years.’
Monty rubbed his chin. ‘Well, I’ll be.’
Stevie’s faraway gaze rested on a convoy of slow-moving cars winding their way towards the car park. Another funeral procession, she thought, until she caught a glimpse of the Channel Nine logo. There was an increase in speed as the cars neared their destination. She looked around the car park, relieved to see that Justin had left. The unwanted publicity would be difficult enough once the books were published, he didn’t need it now while his emotions were still so raw.
The same couldn’t be said for James De Vakey. He was basking in the centre of a group of clamouring reporters.
‘Oh, God, let’s go, Mont,’ Stevie pulled at the sleeve of his dark suit jacket. Up until now, her near-death experience at the hands of Tye Davis had been kept from the press and she wanted it to stay that way.