This is the 61st book in the long line of stories covering the life and times of Detective Grade Four Joseph Lind and his many partners.
It is alleged that there are over 300 unsolved homicide murders in New South Wales since records have been kept. Slowly there are examples of a number of these unsolved homicide murders being resolved with the Perpetrator being charged many years after the fact. With a different investigative direction and the huge leaps and bounds in DNA trace examination, the villain is being charged…in some cases forty years after the fact.
What makes these perps commit the crime of kidnapping a young adolescent or pre-adolescent female to commit horrendous acts before killing the victim…with the sadistic act never repeated?
What giant inner forces were at work to commit these crimes? Never to repeat a homicide murder on another pre-adolescent youth.
Most countries have examples of Serial Killers, but these are far and few between, with these ‘one off’ acts being the norm. Why do these ‘animals’ cease their sordid behaviour, living in anyone’s neighbourhood and known to be a quite and unassuming fellow? Do these persons have re-occurring nightmares or is that past act exorcised from their consciousness?
What makes a serial killer continue while these other sadistic men stop at just one when once is one time too many for them?
It must have been several hours before he was snapped from sleep by someone slapping the side of the van, wondering aloud if he was at ‘home’. He stood unsteadily from his bunk to open the door; his eyes blurry as he had trouble focusing. There were a fair few uniformed coppers and other SES people milling about, all with an accusatory glare, so it seemed. He stepped down to stand in front of the van, pretending to be still half asleep, showing confusion at the questions flung at him from several directions. With the constant disapproval, the weight of the words pushed him backwards, forcing him to sit uncomfortably on the Van’s steps.
“Sorry Officers…I was up past midnight until this morning fishing off the beach…about halfway along where there was a sizable gutter that I had not fished before…yeah, caught a few. Have gutted and scaled them. Given some away…was thinking of giving the flathead fillets to two of my fellow campers, saving one for meself having the two fillets of Bream for Tea tonight. What’s going on?”
The speech sounded confusing to him, so he needed to watch what he said as it could be construed as the ravings of a guilty person.
The Lead Copper took his particulars and asked again his wanderings over the past couple of hours…had he seen a young lass walking alone along the beach…what had he been doing during the last twenty-four hours.
“I’ve already told yers. Was beach fishing most of the night…been asleep since early morning, I guess…as soon as I came back to camp”. He rubbed his eyes and ruffled his hair trying to display he was still half asleep. He really didn’t need to worry as his appearance sure looked as though he had been rudely awakened.
He noticed his large knife stabbed into a log beside the fire pit like the Excalibur sword. He staggered in bare feet across the ground to extract it but was beaten by the Head Copper.
“Nice knife…yer gotta be careful around here. You leave it out like yer have and it is sure to be pinched...it’s got blood on it, mate…”
The young bloke scratched the back of his neck, trying to think carefully. When you are starved of sleep, that was a difficult proposition he thought.
“Yeah…didn’t think about something like that…Yeah, I told yers, I hooked a couple of fish, a fair sized Bream and two good size Dusty Lizards…caught a few others I suppose, but I can’t keep them for too long so’s I tossed them back or gave them away. The blood is fish blood…that’s me favourite fishing knife for filleting fish. A good feel…the same on me jeans if you’re wondering…” He looked across at his jeans flung haphazardly over a temporary clothesline. He hobbled over without shoes to straighten out the jeans. “The blood’s from gutting the fish. I wipe my blade on the legs of my jeans…a bad habit I know but…”. He gave a shrug, a cock of the head as though this explained his habit. The copper nodded as he weighed the knife, looking closely at the blade and then the jeans which had dried blood down both legs.
“A lot of blood on those jeans…and a warning, the Rangers don’t like yer tying a clothesline between trees…it can damage the tree bark”.
“Yeah…” The guy bent over to view his pants. “Me fishing pants. I guess they need a wash…I’ll wash them in the surf after you guys are finished with me”.
The boss copper nodded.
“It’s easy to see you don’t have a wife, eh?” He chuckled at his own joke. “Been here long?”
“Yeah, close to a week”. He looked around at the campsites, most occupied. “Yers can check with the Ranger. I’m paid up until the day after tomorrow…was thinking about extending it by a day or two…I don’t know…I guess it’ll depend on the weather. I can smell a change coming”. The bloke scanned the southern sky, nodded as though his opinion was the gospel truth.
Again, the boss copper nodded. The man’s general appearance and manner did not itch his nose or twitch his antennae.
“Seen anything peculiar?”
“A loner…someone who could be roughing it in the bush? Looking suspicious…out of place”. The copper realised as he was saying this, he was describing the bloke standing in front of him. But his antennae still had not twitched.