The Perfidious Perforator! (part 2)

III

"I don't understand, Sir?" I said , and I didn't. But I cautiously pushed my chair back away from the madman and his spittle.
"Look at them man!" he said in a strident half-chocked voice, "Look at the two pound roo!" He finished with a melancholy voice denoting great loss.
I looked.
"You mean the pink one with a big rat in the middle?" I said uncertainly.
"Yes, yes...it's a kangaroo you fool! What do you see?"
"...er... a pink stamp with a roo in the middle...but it looks more like a rat to me, sir" I said bravely.
"Forget the fucking rat! Look at the sides, look at those..." he leaned over and smashed his index finger at the side of the stamp a number of times.
"You mean those little half holes?" I asked incredulously, the guy was a certified nut.
"Yes! there you see?"
"er...no...sir they just little half holes... some are more rounder than others"
"That's it! Exactly!"
"It is?"
'That stamp has been reperfed, boy!" he stated with authority normally reserved by doctors pronouncing someone dead.
"Re...what, Sir?"
"Reperfed, for Christ sake! reperfed...means that some utterly immoral person has cut new ones, they are not the original perfs!"
"Fuck me, really?" I said feigning surprise at the perfidy of the act, when actually I was thinking, that he needed some medication, and quick.
"Exactly! And you know what that means? Don't you?"
"Absolutely, Sir" I lied, so that, maybe soon I could go.
"Right...go do something about it." he said and with a wave of his hand dismissed me.


(to be continued)

The Perfidious Perforator!

I

Very early in my career with the NSW Police Force I was involved in back door sort of way in an investigation into a stamp scandal of titanic proportions.
Fresh out of the Academy I was posted to an inner city division investigating fraud and similar white collar crimes. A job that I hated from the very beginning - where was the excitement? Where the danger? I did not even get to wear a gun or bash someone brains in for a whole two years!

One day, which promised to be as dull and boring as the previous 365 I was called into the Senior Detective's office. He smiled at me, right away I knew that it was trouble, that iceberg never smiled. A thin desiccated man of around 60, grey from head to foot...if he had laid down on a slab the pathologist would have immediately tied a label around his big toe! And his office even smelled like some sort of contagious corner of Sydney Hospital. His smile revealed a set of teeth that would have made prince Charles very happy to see them on someone else.

"Yes, Sir?" I said standing in attention by the front of his desk.
"Sit down, Louie." He said pointing to the chair right in front of where I was standing. His voice was not unlike that of Boris Karloff, probably the best Frankenstein monster. This was the second sign that there was only trouble ahead in my future. If I got the third sign I was truly fucked.
"How are you settling in, Louie?" That was it, I was fucked!


II
I had been working under him for just about a full year and he had never asked how i was doing.
"er...fine Sir," I answered without a sign of a tremor in my voice,
"Louie, I have a special job for you...er...sort off the books, you might say." he stopped and stared at me. Measuring me up or more probably fitting me up.
"Yes, Sir." Gutless me answered. he seemed to approve and opened the middle draw of his desk and extracted a thin Manilla folder. Opened and grimaced, then pushed it toward me. "Open it." He said with disgust. I opened it I looked and lifted the only sheet in the file, looking for the rest. "Sir?" I said.
"Do you know what they are ?" he asked and for the first time a flood of emotion coloured his speech, some blood must have actually reached his cheeks as the death pallor was momentarily lost.
"...er...stamps, Sir" I answered not sure which one of us was insane.
"Stamps?" He raised his voice as if I had just called his mother a slut. "Stamps you say?" he repeated raising his voice to unheard of volumes.
"Sir?" I said while my mind was saying 'what the fuck? has he flipped?'
"They are not stamps. young man. They are an abomination!" he screamed, spittle flying in all directions.

...to be continued.

My style

I have shown you what Steve looks like when conducting an interrogation - not many crims can withstand the force of those eyes!

For the few that do...well, there is always my way!

Just kidding...maybe!

See you soon, and if you can't behave...make sure we don't catch you!

Short Story.

Hi fellow readers/writers. If you have read Incy Wincy Spider you will know that one of the main characters is my best friend: Steve Lucas. One of Steve's many attributes is his interrogation of possible perps. - where he makes full use of his laser-like eyes. Here is a ketch of Steve doing his best to intimidate possible liars:

Anyway, I thought I would post a short story about the time when Steve and I first started working together. I hope you will like it:

DS Breccia case file – The phantom

I

The case of the Phantom was my first case that involved a serial killer. When the call first came-in, I had no idea of the work and commitment that would be necessary to resolve it.

It was about five minutes to six on a Friday morning and I had worked all night, mostly writing reports. I was tired from sitting too much, but I was feeling pretty happy with myself for not catching a case before the weekend. I had just packed up my briefcase; I was ready to go home. I had a long trip ahead of me - from the city all the way to Dural, where I still liked to spend most weekends at home with my brothers and my parents. A whole two days off, eating my mum's great food and spending time with my dad and brothers. I was really looking forward to it.

But 'it' was not to be.

Doug, the desk Sargent on duty, called me on the internal line and told me that there was a patrolman on the radio reporting that a body had been found on Maroubra beach.

“Damn it Doug! Can't it keep till Rosco comes in?” I asked him, hopefully.

“Come on Louie, you know what Rosco is like. He is always late, who knows when he'll be in. Anyway you still have five minutes of your shift to go. This body is definitely yours, mate.” He said like he just told me to clean up my room.

“Shit!” I took a deep breath, dropped my briefcase on my desk, and resigned myself to the new 'it'. “OK, where is it and who's on the scene?”

“On the beach at Maroubra, right next to the car-park. Just two patrolmen, the techs and the Doc will be along soon as they finish up elsewhere. DC Lucas is on his way over there...I had to get him out of bed.”

“Well, there's always a silver lining...” I said cheering up somewhat, “If I'm not going to bed; why should he sleep in!”

“Right Louie, you are a sweet friend.” Doug said, but I reckoned that he was being sarcastic. “Better get going before the sea gulls and crabs leave you nothin' to look at, don't you think?”

“Yeah, yeah you're worse than a nagging wife, you know that, Doug?...I hope you get bad dreams.” I knew he was three minutes from going home to a nice soft bed.

“Not me Louie,” he reassured me,” I sleep like a baby.”

“So, you haven't stopped wetting the bed, uh?” And with that parting comment I felt that I had won a minor skirmish and quickly departed for the car park.

I eased Doris out of her spot. It was a beautiful summer's morning, still, cool - the air was all enveloping like tepid bath. The sun was not quite over the horizon. The birds were singing themselves awake. I let Doris's top down and actually felt refreshed and happy to be alive. I took my time driving from the City to Maroubra, it wasn't very far, not much traffic – straight down Anzac Parade all the way. I got there way before Steve.

PC Steve Lucas had come up from somewhere in the bush about a year earlier, he had been assigned to me as my 'partner' while he trained to be a DC. I had not liked him at first but his magnetic personality had taken no time at all to break down my natural xenophobia, and now we were pretty close colleagues, even friends. I had invited him to stay with me in my small flat in Woolloomooloo: the couch was a night n' day and not too bad. At first it had been just a friendly gesture as he had no where to stay and knew no one in Sydney. But to our mutual surprise, it had worked out fine and we still shared my flat – all three of us. I did not mention that Steve had a dog – Roger. The less is said about Roger, the better.

The Patrolmen on the scene had cordoned off a large area around the victim and were leaning on their patrol car sipping from a take away cups and having a smoke. They straightened once they saw me getting out of my car, but I waved to them to relax. I had heard of these two: two tough Highway Constables with the unhappy nick names of Jack n' Jill, although both were males. We nodded our chins at each other and the greeting bit was over.

“What have we got?” I asked either one.

“The vic. is a male, 35 to 45 years old, no ID of any kind on him that we could see without touching him...”

“You didn't fuck up my crime scene, right?” I barked.

“No, Louie...er...sir. Jack ...er...only felt the vic.'s throat to make sure he was dead.” The one on the right said pointing to his partner, and since he'd referred to him as Jack, I figured that he must be Jill.

“Yeah, as Jack says I only felt for his pulse. He was sure dead....sir” The other agreed nodding, so now I had no idea of who was whom.

“Right” I said, “thanks Jack.” and they both smiled.

I walked under the crime scene tape that they had strung from the four corners of a rough 15 metre sided square with star posts at each apex. The vic. Was located toward the bottom of the square. I stopped a metre inside the square. I took a careful look at the crime scene. I find that first impressions are always crucial, for me at least. One thing that stood out right away, and that neither Jack nor Jill had mentioned, is that the vic had been shot in the head. They must have figured that I would work that bit out for myself – half of the back of his head was missing as part of a large exit wound. There were bits of skull and brain and blood fanned out behind the victim's head. But not directly behind it, about twenty centimetres to the side of the head. The wound was encrusted with sand.

“You guys did not move him?” I called out to Jack n' Jill.

“As we said we did not move him an inch...sir” one of them answered. I nodded to myself and then I looked toward the beach. I could see that the overnight high tide had washed the beach flat. There was just one set of tracks coming from the water line, stopping about 3 metres from where the vic must have stood. They were the tracks of someone just walking, not running, not rushing. They were bare-feet tracks, they stopped and then they continued to the side of the victim and stopped again, where they got fractionally deeper. Then there was another set of tracks moving parallel to the first set , going the other way, unhurried, to disappear into the waterline.

The killer had walked toward our victim, had shot him, turned him over and then walked away just as calmly. It was an execution; not an ounce of passion, fear, hesitation was evident. The kill had been calculated, cold and unhurried and probably pre-planned to the second. I waved to one of the patrolmen to come over.

“Jack, see those tracks coming and going to the waterline?”

“Yes Louie..er...sir, I see them.”

“From the way they curve, I reckon that the killer must have been walking in the water for a spell and coming from the south. Walk along the beach and see if you can find out where he came out of the water and where he went after that...can you do that?”

“Sure, sir.”

“And constable...”

“Yes sir?”

“Take your boots and socks off first”

“Sir?”

“Bare feet please. We don’t want you ruin your nice boots.” I lied.

“Oh yes sir.” He quickly took his police issued boots and socks off. Skirting the crime scene tape perimeter, he re-joined with the tracks on the other side of the square and then continued parallel to them down the beach. I watched him go, watched his tracks and then waved to his mate.

“You guys heard from the Techs and ME units yet?”

“Yes, sir. They are on their way. They would have been here sooner but had to finish up with an earlier scene at the Cross.”

“Right, thanks.”

“No worries...and here comes your partner,sir. Looks tired don't he?”

“Yes, he sure does” I agreed with a big smile.

The lanky form of Steve in T-shirt and jeans flowed toward me. “Hei.” He said

“Hei.” I said back.

“What's up?”

“You tell me,” I said. After all, I was supposed to be training him.

“Right.” he said and swung a long leg over the tape and came over next to me to inspect the crime scene. I waited. I could almost hear his sleep dampened mental clogs warm up and get up to speed. His eyes brightened like someone had turned on a switch. He did not say anything. But continued to survey the crime scene, the tracks going and coming. I noticed that he focused on the now distant form of the patrolman and a faint smile brushed his face.

“Well?” I said, “I'm growing old here.”

“You are old.” He said. “OK. This is definitely where it happened. The perp walked up to the vic. Stopped and shot him from about ten feet away. He then came over and turned him over. Probably searched him. Might have taken his wallet or something. Then walked back the way he had come, cool as a cucumber.”

“How big is he?” I asked.

“Who the vic.?”

“No not the vic. I can see how big he is. The killer, how big is he?”

“No idea.” he said.

“Right. Did you notice the tracks?”

“Yes; coming and going”

“Do you see Jack's or Jill's tracks?”

“Yes...oh, I see where you what you mean.” He said, his face brightening, “Jack or Jill is about six feet two inches tall and about 200 pounds...the killer's tracks are smaller and less indented...probably five foot ten inches and 160 pound...I'd guess”

“Good enough.” I nodded, “but you need to join the rest of us in the 21^st century, mate – we use metres and kilograms in the big city.”

“Whatever...”

“What else can you tell me...” I asked. I wasn't going to let him off that easy. He looked puzzled and then turned to the crime scene once more. I could see his mind ticking off all the points in his head. The list rotated in his mind a couple of times and then he gave up. “Nothing much.” He said shaking his head. “What do you reckon?”

“OK.” I said, “I won't say anything about the vic. As forensics will be here soon as well as the doc. They can tell us more about that part. I will say that the vic. Is fully dressed, shoes still on...he did not come here for a swim. He was meeting someone.”

“I knew that.” Steve said. I grimaced and mentally warned my self 'here we go again'

I continued and pointed to the tracks in the wet sand, where they were more defined. “If you look carefully you'll notice that the right and left tracks are different. The perp has a club foot or something similar” I concluded.

“I knew that” Steve nodded. I continued undaunted. “From the width of the foot imprints I would guess that the perp is probably Caucasian, but it's just a guess.” He broke with the 'I knew that' habit and asked, “How old is his grandmother?”

“She's probably dead, smart ass.” I said and turned around. A racket behind us had alerted me of the arrival of the Techs and the ME truck. “Come on Steve lets leave this to the A-Team” I said and made my way to Patrolman Jack or Jill. “Jack you want to go get us a cup of coffee and some breakfast? Get yourself and your partner something too...it's on me” I handed him a fifty dollar note.

“Sure, no worries...sir” He said and got out his little book to write down what we wanted. Then he got in his patrol car and took off.

Steve was busily writing in his book a careful, accurate, and condensed account of the crime scene. I loved his notes – it was like reading a short story by Hemingway. I leaned on Doris's mudguard, lit up a smoke and wondered where the other Jack had got to; I could no longer see him on the beach. Then I heard him coming up behind me at a run.

“Where did you get to?” I asked when I heard his huffing and puffing close to me.

“Sir, the tracks came out of the water after about half a kilometer and went straight through a small walkway that cuts through that scrub over there...” he caught his breath and he pointed, “it leads to a smaller car park, which is presently empty.” he stopped, tried to control his puffing, and looked around in some alarm.'Where's Jack gone?” he exhaled.

“Relax...er...Jack... I sent him to get us some breakfast. Anything else?” Reassured that his partner had not deserted him, he continued, “...er...yes sir. The car park is not surfaced like the main one. It's only hard dirt but some parts are still moist from the dew. I reckon I saw one of the perp's funny footprints next to a car tire's prints...er..it might be the perp's car, sir”

“Good work Jack! Will you be able to find it again?”

“Oh yes sir I left my cap covering the foot print, and then ran all the way back here sir”

“Top work. Get that tech standing around over there trying to look busy and drag her down there. Tell her I want pics and casts of everything. OK?”

“...er..yes sir...” but he looked a little hesitant.

“Don't worry, I'll send Jack down to you with your breakfast as soon as he gets back, Jack” I reassured him.

“Yes sir, thank you sir” I watched him grab the tech by the arm and in a few sentences explain what was needed. The tech looked my way. Uncertain. I moved my head in the direction she was meant to go and they took off, Jack helping her with a bunch of 21^st century equipment.

II

Well, that's how the Phantom case got started for us. Feeding the data of our case into the police database for the whole of Australia brought up a number of similar cases: in almost every major city and some country centres as well. Not all the cases could be attributed to the Phantom, who got dobbed with that moniker because he appeared out of nowhere, assassinated his target and then disappeared back into nowhere...till the next job. We could not find any relationship between any of the victims, locations, times, nothing seemed to be connected to anything else.

Except for one thing.

I noticed it at the autopsy of our first victim. Later, with the photos from the autopsies of other victims we were able to assign at least fifteen hits to our Phantom. It was like a signature, and it was a mistake. I guessed that his self indulgence had got the better of him and it finally led to his downfall and capture. He shot every victim in the face, but that was not his mistake. His mistake was in showing off his skill – each shot was always located right between the eyebrows; just in that small hollow above the bridge of the nose. It was a signature. It was a mistake.

It took us six months to correlate all the hits and all the air-travelers to and from each murder scene. And then we knew that he lived in Sydney. Hours,days,weeks were spent looking at surveillance tapes from airports, from pay booths on toll-ways and from anywhere we could get some footage. Finally, we narrowed his location to the Castle Hill area. It wasn't very hard from then on. Steve joined the local gun club and once again the Phantom's pride let him down - he could not help showing off his shooting skill. The extreme care with which he picked up all his spent shell casings was also a bit of a give away. His club foot was not obvious when he was wearing shoes, but one day I had a patrolman in civies call on him at his home trying to sell him a cheaper power and gas deal. The Phantom answered the knock and there he was at the front door in a singlet, shorts and thongs – the club foot was confirmed.

Soon we knew all about him and followed him for weeks, without a result. Without 100% certainty that this was our man, we could not move on him. There was talk of suspending the investigation – it was costing too much. Most of my team was withdrawn from me to go on with other duties. But Steve and I stuck with it. We alternated shifts so that one of us was always observing the Phantom. We hardly got any sleep, week in - week out.

One day, out of the blue The Phantom aka John Wilmer got in his car and headed toward the city. It looked like he that he might be heading toward the airport. I was able to twist my commander’s arm to let us scramble a team. Soon we were rushing to the airport sirens screaming. We used a different route to the one Wilmer was using, with Steve on his tail.

We did get there before him and I had a plainclothes observer at every possible airline counter. When Wilmer booked onto a flight for Adelaide using a different name, we knew we had him in our sights. But, where was his gun? Later, we found out that he had mailed his gun in pieces to private Post Office boxes, mixed in with toys and other stuff.

He never got to kill his next victim - I was able to shoot his gun hand just before he completed his kill. We arrested him and extradited him to NSW. His gun was matched to be the murder gun used on a couple of his victims. Further forensic examination of his home revealed more guns and other evidence, which sealed the case against him.

Realising his position, he confessed, as I knew he would. His pride compelled him to show how smart he had been to elude us for so long. In my last interview with the very ordinary looking man we had known as the Phantom, he asked me how we had got onto him at all, just as I was leaving. I turned. Leaned on the table and looked straight into his lifeless eyes, “There is always a mistake, John. That's what policing is all about. We, the fumbling flat-footed cops, can make a hundred mistakes and in the long run, they wont matter much. But you and others of your kind cannot afford to make a single one. When you do, we've got you!” I answered, “Your mistake? You, John, let your ego do the thinking.”

John Wilmer, the phantom, was convicted for three of his many murders, and sentenced to life. But He died in jail after only one year - one of his fellow convicts did not like his 'high and mighty' attitude and promptly knifed him in the back. You just can't teach old dogs new tricks!

ONE SHOT!

I have just finished another Jack Reacher novel by Mr. Lee Child - anther great read (or should I say listen as I actually listened to the audio book performed by the best reader in the world - Jeff Harding!)

I enjoyed it thoroughly and listened well into the night and into the next day. Jack Reacher - invincible!

But, I could not help drawing a comparison between the book and that terrible movie that spawned from it. Don't get me wrong Tom Cruise is an excellent actor, I cannot think of another movie where he has not done an extraordinary job. If the movie had been completely dissociated from the Jack Reacher series, it would not have been a bad movie in itself - plenty of action, wisecracks and fast moving.

However, Jack Reacher is described as 6'5" - Tom Cruise? Really? That's the person that first came to mind? Insane!

In every book that I have read so far in the Reacher series (about 8) one of the very few faults ascribed to Reacher is that he is a poor driver. What do the script writers do? Put in a boring and overdone car chase! Insane!

The plot in the book is so much better than what the scriptwriters came up for the movie that one wonders why Mr Child ever agreed to lend his prestigious name to it at all.

If there is ever another Jack Reacher movie I hope that a more apt actor will be chosen, personally I reckon Hugh Jackman was made for it!

What do you think?

New Edition - New Cover - New Chapter -

Incy Wincy has a totally new look - a brilliant new cover designed by talented A. M. Cullens from Killing for Pages Publishing.

Combined with this new look an additional chapter has been added - Chapter 0 !!!

And, for a limited time only the price of the book reduced to just 99 cents - what a fantastic deal!

Killing for pages Publishing has also produced an awesome video, all about ME!

You can enjoy it here:

Incy Wincy Spider

Are they the BEST publisher in the World? You bet!

Just when you thought Sydney was safe ... When murder most foul is committed anywhere I step in:  Breccia ... Louie Breccia!

Don't mess with my cases. Don't mess with my ladies. And definitely do not mess with my car: Doris!

Join me and my best of mates, Steve, in the not-to-be-missed, jaw-clenching, nail-biting, page-turning novel that is Incy Wincy Spider.

http://www.amazon.com/Incy-Wincy-Spider-Breccia-ebook/dp

Soon to be followed by Breccia 2: Little Miss Muffett