Jarad Henry - Blood Sunset

Jarad Henry has worked in the criminal justice system for more than ten years, and is currently a strategic advisor with Victoria Police. He has a degree in criminology and regularly speaks about crime trends at conferences and seminars. Jarads debut crime novel, Head Shot, was shortlisted for the Victorian Premiers Literary Awards, and for the Ned Kelly Awards Best First Crime Novel. Blood Sunset won the Fellowship of Australian Writers Jim Hamilton Award, and was shortlisted for The Australian/Vogel Literary Award.

JARAD HENRY

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

First published in 2008

Copyright Jarad Henry 2008

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

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Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

Henry, Jarad.

Blood sunset

ISBN 978 1 74175 420 9 (pbk.)

A823.4

Type design by Kirby Stalgis

Set in 12/15 pt Fairfield Light by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The pages of this book are printed on 100% ancient-forest friendly paper.

For the detectives. Nobody sees what you see.

TO GET WHAT YOU WANT,you need to know what you want. My mother first told me this when I was a young boy. Think hard about what you want, she said, for knowing what you want is more difficult than actually getting it.

It wasnt until a few weeks before my fortieth birthday that I fully understood what shed meant. I was sitting in an unmarked squad car, tired and hungry and thinking about bed, when a call came over the dispatch that would change the direction of my life forever. Of course, I didnt know that then. If I had, I wouldnt have been nearly so blas about answering the call.

VKC to any unit in the vicinity of Luna Park.

I stifled a yawn, clicked the transmit button and replied with my call sign: St Kilda 511.

Youve got a deceased male, possible drug overdose. Location is at the rear of Caf Vit, adjacent to Luna Park. The caf owner found the body and is waiting for police. Whats your status?

I groaned. Fatal drug overdoses were always dispatched to detectives in the divisional Criminal Investigation Units. Usually they were straightforward and you were done with them within a couple of hours, but sometimes especially late at night you could be stuck forever waiting for the undertakers. I was scheduled to knock off at 7 a.m., and I wasnt interested in overtime that the boss wasnt interested in paying for.

I wished my partner, Cassie Withers, was with me. Shed received a call from the hospital saying her father was crook again and for the past half-hour Id been filling in the nights running sheet. It was something Cassie normally did and it showed in my handwriting.

Whats your status, 511?

I clicked the mike. Still one up, but Ill handle it. Have the undertakers been dispatched?

It was a stupid question, more a protest than anything. The dispatcher never called the undertakers unless they were requested to by the investigating officer; in this case, me.

There was a period of silence while the dispatcher thought of a polite answer.

Well wait for your instruction, detective, she said eventually.

Fine. ETA two minutes.

Warm coffee sloshed in the foam cup between my legs as I pulled away from the kerb. Fitzroy Street, the main thoroughfare through St Kilda, was calmer than it had been all night. The pubs and restaurants lining the strip were now closed. Only a few nightclubs and convenience stores were still open.

Tall palm trees were silhouetted against the glow of streetlights as I coasted along the Esplanade towards Luna Park. With the window half-down, even in the pre-dawn I could tell tomorrow would be another hot one.

Soon I was at the Acland Street junction where the only signs of life were a row of taxis idling outside the strip clubs and a group of leftover disco-heads munching burgers and fries at McDonalds. Scanning the side of Caf Vit, I spotted a loading bay at the northern end of an empty car park. I parked and activated the covert blue and red lights on the dashboard, then gathered my clipboard and daybook, opened the boot and took a torch and a handful of gloves from a dispenser. Almost as an afterthought, I slid my digital camera into my pocket, then walked towards the loading bay. A chubby man in a white shirt stepped out from a doorway at the rear of the caf and hurried over, his stumpy legs moving quickly beneath a round belly, like a penguin. Another overweight restaurant owner, I mused. All that food cant go to waste.

Morning, sir, I said. Im Detective Sergeant Rubens McCauley. You called the police?

Yes, yes, thank God, the man said, wiping a hand across his meaty face. I have dead body in back. Come see.

A European accent; Dutch or possibly German I thought. We walked to the rear of the caf and I noted the loading bay was fenced in at the sides but there was no gate, meaning a person could easily access it. I stopped the man from going any further.

Wheres the body, sir?

He is in back, against bin.

Just wait here, please. Whats your name?

I am Karl. Karl Vitazul.

He held out his hand for me to shake but I was busy opening my daybook. It wasnt the place for handshakes anyway.

Would you mind spelling that for me, please, sir? I asked.

He did and I wrote it down. Thank you. Do you know the person?

I recognise him, but I do not know him.

You recognise him? Is he a customer?

Vitazul frowned, shook his head. No, but he visit the park often.

I stared over at the ODonnell Gardens, a patch of parkland that backed onto the rear of the caf. Black, still mounds lay beneath the palm trees. On warm February nights the homeless didnt need the shelters.

Is he a vagrant?

Vitazul shrugged.

Deciding not to ask any more questions at this stage, I waited as a police divisional van pulled up next to my car. Our combined flashing lights made the loading bay look like a Vegas show. I watched as Kim Pendlebury stepped out of the van. Wed worked several cases together over the years, including one where her partner had been executed during an underworld war. Kim was a tough cop and a competent investigator, but the case had taken its toll and shed subsequently transferred out of the detective bureau back into uniform.