Foley & Rose Collection

Chapter 15

Russell Foley stifled a yawn. He was tired. His eyes, red and puffy from considerable lack of sleep, felt like someone had thrown a handful of sand in his face. He rubbed at the irritation, knowing it would only make it worse.

In front of him, on the opposite side of his desk, sat Assistant Commissioner, Peter Story. Story thumbed through the latest murder file, pausing over the glossy, eight-by-four, photographs taken by a forensic photographer at Kevin Thiele’s home several hours earlier.

Foley shifted noisily in his chair, and his superior lifted his eyes from the file and peered at him over the top of his glasses. The two men locked eyes briefly, and then Story resumed his perusal of the pages he held in his lap. When he had finished, he closed the file and placed it on the desk. He fixed his subordinate with a look that radiated frustration. “Well?” he queried.

“Well what, Sir?” Foley asked.

“Come on Russell, don’t ‘well what?’ me. You know what I want, you know what the boss wants, what we all want. When are we going to get the bastard?”

“I wish I could answer that, Sir.”

“Is it the same man?”

“I’m certain of it. The murder weapon appears to be the same in all four killings, and the connection between all four victims is now more apparent. They were all a part of our judicial system.”

“What do you suppose that means?” Storey asked.

Foley shrugged. “A grudge perhaps. Maybe someone with a b***h against the system. We’re looking back through old arrest and conviction records to see if there is a tangible link between the four victims.”

“That could take weeks,” Storey observed.

“Yes it could,” Foley agreed, “and if we don’t find any link, it could indicate the killer is choosing his victims at random; his only pre-requisite being they be a part of the legal system.” He paused. “Unfortunately, that would be the worst case scenario, because if he continues his killing spree, the next victim could be any one of us.”

“It would also make it even harder to identify the bastard,” Storey observed.

“Yes, I’m afraid it would. The best we can do is stay positive. This case is not the first tough case we’ve had.”

“Tougher than most,” Storey said. “I don’t suppose we have anything from Thiele’s house?”

“The forensic chaps are still going through the place, but I don’t think we’ll find anything other than Thiele’s prints. By all accounts, he was a quiet, un-assuming bloke; a bit of a loner. So far we’ve found nothing to suggest he had regular house guests.”

“What about that famous gut feeling of yours?” Story asked, hopefully.

“I’ve been thinking about it, of course.”

“And?”

“I think whoever is doing this is telling us this is his way of seeking justice.”

“Justice for what?”

“As I mentioned earlier, given the occupation of each of the victims, I suspect he believes he has been wronged by the legal system. Maybe this is his way of getting back at those responsible.”

“An ex-con with a revenge agenda?” Story offered.

“That’s the most likely scenario, and we have been looking into that since Carl Richter was killed. As you also know from my reports, we have spoken to a few former prison inmates who may have a motive, or enough of a grudge against authority to resort to murder; so far without any joy.”

“I’m concerned Russell, and so is the boss. I don’t suppose I have to tell you that?”

“We’re all concerned, Sir,” Foley responded. “I’ve got people working around the clock on this.”

Assistant Commissioner Peter Story leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and once again fixed Foley with a commanding look.

“Tell me about Sam Rose.”

“Rose?” Foley said, obviously taken by surprise. “What about him?”

“I heard he came here to see you, and then showed up at Thiele’s house last night. Is that correct?”

“Word gets around,” Russell noted.

“This is Police Headquarters, Russell. There are more leaks here than in an Indonesian refugee boat. Did Rose show up?”

“As a matter of fact he did,” Foley confirmed, but he never got further than the opposite side of the street.”

“What about his visit here yesterday, what’s he got to do with all this?”

he “He came in asking questions about the murders. I suspect he is working for someone. When I asked him, he said he was just curious. Needless to say, I don’t believe him.”

“You think someone hired him to look into these murders?”

“I think so, yes. I’m now even more convinced after he turned up at the scene last night.” Foley shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Any idea who might be paying for his services?”

“Well, it’s only a guess mind you, but he was pretty pally with Paddy O’Reily last night. I wouldn’t be surprised if the media hired him, and O’Reily is the go-between. The press has been pretty pissed off with the lack of information we’ve been giving them.”

“That’s interesting,” Story mused. “You might be right. I know people in the media. Perhaps I should have a chat with one or two of them.”

“You don’t expect them to admit to hiring a P.I. do you?” Foley asked.

“Perhaps not,” Story shrugged. “But, it’s got to be worth a try. How much does Rose know?”

“Nothing, he’s just fishing.” Foley insisted. “Paddy O’Reily was here, in the station, when the call came in. You know what he is like; I’m sure he called Rose.”

“Who called it into the station?”

“We’re checking the tape,” Foley answered. “We think the killer called it in himself, from Thiele’s phone.”

“Rose was a damn good investigator, Russell,” Story reminded. “Don’t sell him short. If he’s looking into this, he might not know anything yet, but he soon will.”

“Well he won’t get it from us,” Foley said, somewhat miffed. “We have a whole team of good investigators right here. If Rose wants to poke his nose around, he’s free to do so as long as he doesn’t interfere with our investigation. I read him the riot act yesterday. He’ll get no help from us, and he knows the consequences of getting in our way.”

“I don’t suppose you have ever considered burying the hatchet with Rose,” Story speculated. “There are times when I would like to see Sam back on the job. We really can’t afford to lose blokes like that.”

“I’d like to bury the hatchet in his thick head,” Foley stopped short of saying. “Rose left the job of his own free will, Sir. I for one don’t give a flying f**k what he chooses to do with his life, as long as it doesn’t involve me.”

“I’d like to bury the hatchet in his thick head,”“Well,” Story conceded, getting up. “It’s a matter for you two, of course. I just think it’s a shame to lose investigators of his calibre. I apologise if I was out of line.”

“Forget about it, Sir, and forget about Sam Rose. I have.”

“Keep me up to speed, Russell. The boss is on my back. We want this arsehole off the street.” Story turned his back on Foley, and without waiting for a reply, marched briskly from the room.

Russell Foley stared at the chair vacated by his superior. “We all want him off the street,” he murmured aloud.