Preston Quark's End Game

By Ken Moore

Neil Armstrong was a family man. His love of family took him from war-torn Bosnia to Western Australia. There in a land of peace and plenty with safety and security like no other he settled with his beloved wife, Helen and their children Tomo, Magda and Millie. In Perth he found a happiness he had not experienced for many years. That happiness e

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth Moore
• Release date: Dec 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780995406872

Book preview

Prologue

___________

I know you hate the idea of committing rape, Rashkie, but you have to do it. You have to do it for Millie. You have to rape me and I have to accuse you of it. I hate the idea of it too, and I hate that I have to accuse you. But it’s the only way.

I hate the rape part, it gives me the shudders. Just in case you’re worried, the murder doesn’t worry me at all.

"I’m not worried. As far as I am concerned the murder isn’t murder, it’s execution. It’s not like the rape really is rape, it just has to look so like it that no one, and I mean no other person, can tell the difference from the real thing.

"Well, I’m glad it isn’t the real thing, Magsie. There are people in Bosnia who would slit my throat for raping my cousin.

The people who don’t need to know in Bosnia won’t know. We are too far away. Yes, we are lucky that they have changed the law in W.A. and that there are now different kinds of rape.

I’m glad too.

That rape part’s OK it’s the violence part we can’t fake. Tomo is really going to have to hit you and hit you hard enough to allay suspicion. Are you happy with that?

Can’t say I’m happy about being walloped on the head with a lump of metal but, if we are to make it look good, it’s the only way. It’s good that I have such a hard head.

Yeah, sorry about that, Rashkie. But it has to look like the real thing. We can’t fake that. You will try not to hit him too hard, won’t you, Tomo?

Yeah, I will but we have to make it look good. I have to hit you twice, not once, Rashkie. It must look as if I really flattened you that second time. If we don’t make it look good the police might smell a rat and then we are all in trouble. We might all go to jail for nothing and we don’t want that.

Yeah. When I go to jail it has to be for rape. There must be no doubt about it. And with you and Tomo screaming rape, Magsie, there won’t be any doubt. People must howl for my blood. I must be put inside for a long time. So Tomo can hit me as hard as he likes. He has to make it look good.

Don’t worry, Rashkie, I will hit you hard enough but not too hard. We don’t want to kill you, just make it look good.

Now, Rashkie, you need a very hot shower. Soak in it for at least half an hour. Lots and lots of shampoo and soap. Then rinse it all off with cold. There must be not the least trace of where you come from left on your skin when the forensics examine you, and they will examine you. After you have done that and dressed, come back here. OK?

OK.

Rashkie left the room. He returned 40 minutes later.

That was a beautiful shower.

Good! Glad you enjoyed it. Now, Rashkie, I’m sorry, but we need that other evidence, that very necessary bit. Tomo, you get the bottle for Rashkie.

Rashkie and Tomo left the room. They returned a few minutes later. Rashkie held a mineral-water bottle in his hand.

OK. Some on my nightdress, here, and some on the front of your jeans, Rashkie. Now, Tomo, you put your arms around me and press me tight just as if you were comforting me. That’s all we need. Now wash out the bottle, well, with boiling water, Tomo. Then put some mineral water back into it and put it in the fridge. This has to be done right. There must be nothing we don’t want the police to see. Nothing for any investigator to be suspicious about. All set?

Tomo took the bottle.

Nema, not quite. I have to unzip the front of my pantalani.

Stop it, Rashkie! No Bosnian! There must be nothing that gives any indication of where you’re from. The less you say the better. OK? Start using Bosnian and the police might begin to put two and two together. Inspector Kelpie and his sidekick don’t miss much. The Quarks were pretty clever but the Bloodhound and the Windbag got them. We have to do better. We must never be found out, and I mean never.

It’s all right, Magsie. I was just testing. Just trying to see if you’re wide-awake. You’ve passed the test.

I’m glad I passed. Hope I pass with the police. Now, do the love-bite. Here, on my neck. Rashkie obliged. Now, the necessary damage, here on my nightdress.

She placed Rashkie’s hand on the neck of her nightdress and told him to pull but not too hard. That damage had to be such that it could be caused in several ways.

Rashkie pulled. The stitching in the fabric parted. The scene was completed. The preparations all done.

All set? OK? Let’s do it! Good luck!

Chapter 1

___________

The Kalamunda Killers were in custody. The initial clamour had subsided. The media had gone into a frenzy and had trumpeted the virtues of solid police work. The persistent, persevering, plodding, but, above all, thinking, police officers had been ahead of technology. Maybe only by a minute or two but the time difference between Inspector Jack Kelpie and Senior Sergeant Willie Winnag’s arrival at the Quark slaughter-house, as it came to be known, and that of Assistant Commissioner Jarvis Nixon smashing his motorcycle through the French windows, might have been slight but might have just been the difference between rape and not rape. The two detectives were compared to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. They would have succeeded even if Rick Nairn’s technology had failed completely. Wherever they went they were hailed as heroes. The press hounded them. They were photographed going to the crime scene, coming away from it, going into the police station, into police HQ, into court. Wherever they went the media was ahead of them. At last Jack Kelpie called a halt. He had a lot of police work to do. The case was far from over. The media were getting in the way. He and Willie would give one photographic session and answer questions and that would be it. He asked the press to give him and Willie room to breathe. Their work was being hampered. Arresting suspects was one thing, proving a case, no matter how solid it looked, was quite another. All would be revealed in good time, then, after the case, Willie and he would pose for photographs for evermore. Jack knew that once the case was over his newsworthiness would be over also and the media would move to the next sensation. The media knew that better than he did, but they did ease up.

Chapter 2

___________

Early on the morning after their arrest both Quarks were charged with abduction, which was a holding charge only, and placed before the court at Central Law Courts, Perth. Then their interviewing began in earnest. Neither Quark had anything to say except that Erica was a willing party. She had sought out Bernice, had presented herself at their house and had consented to all that had taken place.

What about that bump on her head? That bruise on her jaw? The mutilated clothing and personal effects?

All part of the role-playing. The thing about role-playing is that it has to be realistic, hasn’t it? She wanted to live through the experience, wanted to taste terror. Wanted it rough. Very rough. Then, in a couple of days, she would have been released and be able to, truthfully, tell her Mum and Dad all that had happened to her. That she had been kidnapped. Had been taken to a strange house. Had there been raped repeatedly and had then been driven to a place near her home and dumped. She would give no help to the police. She would claim that she had been blindfolded all the time. Of course she wouldn’t say that it was all role-playing, that it was all with her consent. When she was returned home at her request after her curiosity, and desire, had been satisfied, for the time being she was hardly likely to tell that it was all because that was what she wanted. Even what she craved. She was a very sexy little thing. Very keen to taste the forbidden fruit. Well she had tasted it and now that she had been caught out was going to throw all the blame on the Quarks. After all, she was only 17. You know what these young girls are like. Wasn’t it all about curiosity, and youthful chemistry clicking in? Like so many other young girls she wanted to kick over the traces but in such a way that her parents would think she had been terribly wronged. She wanted her parents to believe that she had been terribly wronged. The only ones wronged here were the Quarks. They were totally innocent. They were the ones who had been wronged. Anyway, it was just a case of her word against theirs. Any sensible jury would understand that. Little Miss Erica was not as innocent as she would have everyone else believe.

They were both cunning, very cunning, these two Quarks. To them the truth was what they made it. The world was full of trusting fools and they would pull the wool over the eyes of everyone around them. They believed that the more bizarre their story, the more likely they were to get away with it. They said no more than they had to say. Even if no one believed their story there was a chance that without any other proof they would only be found guilty of abduction and that was a far cry from five murders. With the proper shonky lawyer to defend them who knows what could happen. The police might know they had the murderers safely under lock and key, but they had to prove it. Where was the proof? Yes, where was the proof? Let’s see those clever dicks get past their silence. The only evidence was safely hidden in the wall behind the summer-seat. The coppers might tear the house apart but they would never find that. No, they were beaten. There was no proof, other than those videos. So all they had to do was sit tight. Brazen it out. They knew the law. They didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to prove anything. It was the police who had to prove the case against them. Yeah, silence was golden. Silence might make the difference between maybe seven or eight years for abduction and going inside for the rest of their natural. And there was always the chance they would get away with it, completely. Juries had to be unanimous or, at least, make a majority decision. There was always the chance there would be a weirdo or two on the jury. People who themselves had run up against the law and knew what cops were like. Judges? They were such clowns, didn’t live in the real world. Didn’t they often err in their addresses to the jury and then there had to be a retrial. Two retrials and they would be off the hook. Yeah, there was a chance, a good chance, that they could get clean away with it. They would fight every inch of the way. Plead not guilty and deny everything. They were innocent! Why would they plead guilty?

The forensics began their search of Quarks’ house immediately. To preserve the integrity of the crime scene only those involved in the search were allowed into the area. It didn’t take long to find the smashed mobile phone and Erica’s mutilated clothing, all ready for disposal. Then there was the video. It told its own story. Where was any consent by Erica recorded there? The Quarks countered that by saying it was all part of the game. It had been arranged so beforehand. Erica wanted it that way. The tape had to appear genuine, otherwise what would be the point? Every move they had made that was shown on that tape had been an attempt to shield Erica. She didn’t want her parents to know what she got up to. The police knew what they said was all rubbish but the jury didn’t know that. There was the slimmest of chances they could beat the rap. Even if their defence failed and they forfeited any discount in sentence for an early plea of guilty, all they would get for their not guilty plea would be, maybe, a couple of years extra. It was worth the try. On that tape, too, was Superintendent Eric Nairn assaulting both of them when they were under arrest. In fact, Mr Quark was being physically held by Assistant Commissioner Nixon at the time of that gratuitous and cowardly assault. That gave some indication of how the police worked. Only a coward would hit a man when he was being held by someone else, completely unable to defend himself. Was Nairn being charged for assault? If not, why not? Yes, muddy the waters as much as possible. It must be made clear that the Quarks were not to be made the scapegoats for several murders. Anyway, where were the bodies of those other girls? Were they at the Quark house? No, they were not. Where was the least indication that the Quarks had ever had any dealings with them? There was none. In cases of this kind weren’t trophies always taken and held by the murders? Did the police find any trophies? No! Not a shred of evidence. Indeed, the Quarks might be somewhat kinky, might be into corrupting teenage girls. That was not being denied, but they were not the only ones into that line of sexual gratification and they were not, most definitely not, murderers.

And so the Quarks pushed their luck to the limit. And they had had lots of luck up to now.

The forensics worked methodically through the house. That great four-poster was gone over and over again. The floors in that bedroom and every other room in the house were swabbed and vacuumed and the vacuum bags sent off for analysis. The walls were checked. The bathroom was checked. The laundry was checked. The washing machine was taken apart and checked. Not a thing was found. Nothing. There were no bloodstains, no DNA of any kind, no body hairs either pubic or otherwise, no fingerprints, no foreign fibres, not even a speck of dandruff or a droplet of perspiration that would lock the Quarks into murder. Inside the house was a complete dead-end. Outside the house the garden was probed. Nothing. The patio paving hadn’t been disturbed in years. Nothing there. The forensics were stumped. Jack Kelpie visited the scene and thought deeply. He recalled his search. That off-putting, You don’t need a Search Warrant, Jack. You can search our house any time you like, and then there was that going outside to sit on the summer-seat tight up against the wall. Yes, tight up against the wall they sat. The summer-seat was still there. And, yes, it was still tight up against the wall. Could there be something in the framework of that seat? Not a chance. Could there be something under it? No, that area hadn’t been disturbed in a long time, either. What about behind it? What about the wall? Why where those flower-pots there and nowhere else? Was there something in the wall behind the summer-seat?

There was one way to find out. Take down the wall stone by stone. Tear down the house if necessary. Let’s not pussy-foot around. Let’s do this job right. Those five missing girls cried out for justice. Jack Kelpie would do his best to see that they had justice. As far as he was concerned the Quarks were ghouls, serial killers. They might think they could fool everyone but they were not going to fool him. Jack gave the order, Take down that wall, stone by stone.

And there the forensics struck oil, at last! It had been a close thing. Frustration gone. The forensics cheered. That night they celebrated. On that happy happy day the Quarks lost the game. Now they clammed up. Now, they had nothing to say at all.

Now, came the hard bit. The girls on those videos had to be identified. Oh, yes, they had to be identified. The police didn’t know them. Yes, they had seen photographs of them, provided by their parents, but that was not proof positive. In these cases, everything has to be proved to the hilt. There was no trouble with the Quarks, they were on every video, they no longer had a defence. All that was needed, to tidy up the loose ends, was that at least one parent, or someone very close, looked at those videos and established identity for the purpose of framing further charges of abduction, rape and murder of a named person. Otherwise it would have to be rape and murder of a person unknown. That could be messy.

It is often said by experienced police officers that the worst part of the job is advising mothers or fathers, wives or husbands or other close relatives of the loss of a loved one. Perhaps more distressing is establishing the identity of the victim. There are those police officers who never get over the experience and require counselling for years afterwards. None ever forgets it. Police work is not quite so cosy as it sometimes seems.

In this case attempts were made to lighten the load. Sergeant Peter Kneebone was able to identify Bree Ellis. Her parents were spared that trauma. Casey Light’s mother, Grandpa Young, Judge Wills and Millie Armstrong’s father were not spared. There was no way round it; they had to be shown the tapes. The police used