Crackenback Read online

  ‘We’ve heard the same story from every foster family he was with. He’d disappear periodically, then suddenly reappear.’

  Carmen nodded. ‘For a while there, I thought I was getting somewhere with him. I’d been an army cadet, and in those days I was still in the reserves. I felt the army would be good for him, straighten him out, instil in him what he lacked, which was discipline and a respect for authority.’

  ‘Seems he took your advice,’ Ryder said.

  ‘He did. He dropped out of year eleven and enlisted. I felt like celebrating at the time, it seemed like a massive victory, but now …’ Matthew Carmen gave a regretful shake of his head, the weight of his actions clearly troubling him. ‘Perhaps encouraging him to join the armed forces was a mistake. I worry it could have desensitised him further.’

  ‘What about friends?’ Ryder asked. ‘Was there anyone he was particularly friendly with?’

  Carmen shook his head again. ‘No one in particular. He used to spend a lot of time at the boxing gym down by the railway line, though. He could have been friendly with someone down there.’

  ‘The gym in Martinsfield?’

  ‘Yeah, I recommended he try out the gym. He’d been teaching himself hand-to-hand combat skills from a book he’d borrowed from the library.’

  ‘Is the gym still there?’

  ‘Yep, I walked past it the other day.’

  Ryder switched off the recording app, trying to curb his excitement over the new lead. ‘You’ve been extremely helpful, Mr Carmen.’

  ‘I hope so.’ The teacher looked at his watch. ‘If it’s okay, I might head off. I’m already late for second period. God knows what they’ll be up to.’

  Ryder smiled. ‘We’ll check out that gym, and if you think of anything else, please get in touch with us immediately.’

  They filed out of the office, retracing their steps through the now empty reception area. ‘We contacted his classmates last year, but he never kept in touch with any of them,’ Ryder said to Sterling as they walked back to the car. ‘Same with his army regiment.’

  ‘He destroys all his relationships?’

  ‘Sadly, I doubt he ever really learned how to make them in the first place.’

  ‘Do you know where he went whenever he disappeared?’ she asked.

  ‘Nope, we keep running into dead-ends.’

  ‘Maybe he was looking for his parents.’

  Ryder nodded. ‘That’s one theory. They died within a few years of each other, both from a drug overdose. Their bodies were so debilitated from the effects of long-term substance abuse, it’s difficult to know from the toxicology reports …’ Ryder hit the key fob and the car lights flashed.

  ‘Difficult to know what?’ Sterling asked when they were back in the car.

  Ryder placed his hands on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead to where two boys were playing handball on the pathway. ‘Whether or not his mother and father were his first two kills.’

  Ten minutes later, Ryder parked in the narrow laneway that separated the railway line from a group of rundown buildings. The tempting aroma of banana bread drifted towards him from the nearby rustic cafe as he locked the car.

  ‘That’s cool,’ said Sterling, pointing to a ramp at the front, whose decorative railing was made of repurposed steel and fashioned into a chunky steampunk design.

  ‘The cake smells pretty good, too,’ said Ryder with a smile.

  They passed an artist’s studio with dirty barred windows on either side of a graffitied roller door. Bald plaster busts peered out from behind the vertical bars like prisoners drawn to the light.

  Further along they came to the gym’s entrance, it’s opening hours scrawled on a piece of plyboard and nailed to a wooden door with flaking green paint. Inside, Ryder waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior. A boxing ring stood in the centre of the space while around the perimeter various lengths of rope hung from overhead beams, a few with punching bags attached. An old split-cycle air conditioner laboured away on one wall, while rows of free weights and bar bells lined the other.

  Ryder kicked aside a blue exercise ball and headed towards the ring where two men were sparring. Neither fighter looked up, too intent on ducking and weaving and landing the next punch. Above the ring, a metal fan rotated on slow.

  ‘Morning fellas,’ Ryder said loudly. ‘Detectives Ryder and Sterling from Sydney Homicide.’

  The men stilled and lowered their fists, their skin covered in a slick sheen of sweat. The shorter man was thickset, white and middle-aged. The younger man was of islander appearance and looked to be in his late teens.

  Ryder opened his suit coat and flashed his badge.

  ‘Go and cool down, Troy,’ the older man said, pulling off his gloves and scooping up a towel from the corner of the ring. ‘How can I help?’ he asked, climbing through the ropes.

  ‘We’re looking for the owner?’ said Ryder.

  ‘You found him.’ The man towelled himself off as he came towards them. ‘Pete Hoffman,’ he said between deep breaths. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘We’re making enquiries about a man who used to come here.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? How long ago?’

  ‘Twenty-two years.’

  Hoffman shook his head. ‘I’ve only owned the place for eleven.’

  ‘Who was the previous owner?’

  ‘Old Clarey Amos. He started this place fifty years ago. Still comes in most days.’ He tilted his head towards the rear of the property. ‘He’s out the back now.’

  ‘Must be our lucky day,’ said Sterling.

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it, he’s got dementia; too many blows to the head in his fighting days.’ Hoffman slung the towel over his shoulder and led the way towards the back of the gym. ‘His long-term memory’s not too bad, though.’

  With the exception of a new-model laptop and laser printer, the gym’s back room could have been an office graveyard. Two old IBM golf ball typewriters sat on a ledge beside a photocopier of the same vintage and an antique duplicating machine. A sturdy black telephone with a straight cord and a silver dialling mechanism was among a pile of later-model phones in various colours, all with spiral cords. Everything in the room was coated in a generous layer of dust.

  Ryder looked at the black-and-white photographs on the walls. Boxers stared menacingly into the camera; each with fists raised in a high guard to protect their face. None of the half-hidden faces were familiar to Ryder, but he guessed the old bloke searching through a filing cabinet at the back of the room would know.

  ‘Clarey,’ Hoffman called out.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ The old man swung around, his body stooped, tufts of white hair sticking out from beneath a newsboy cap. ‘What can I do ya for?’ he asked, his gaze taking in all three of them.

  Ryder stepped forward and introduced himself and Sterling.

  ‘Come to arrest me, have ya?’ the old man asked, looking them up and down.

  Ryder smiled at the old-timer. ‘Are you confessing to a crime?’

  Clarey’s smile showed a disturbing number of missing teeth. ‘Not today.’

  ‘We’d like you to have a look at a few photographs, Mr Amos,’ said Sterling. ‘You might have seen this man’s face already on the TV or in the newspaper.’

  ‘Don’t read the paper, don’t watch the telly either.’

  The old man’s glassy-eyed stare hardly filled Ryder with confidence. ‘We’re going back twenty-two years,’ he said. ‘A former teacher told us he used to train here after school.’

  Clarey frowned. ‘We’ve had thousands through here since then.’ He took the pictures from Sterling and held them at arm’s length, the way you did when you needed reading glasses. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘Committed serious crimes,’ said Sterling. ‘Do you recognise him?’

  ‘Is this him now?’

  Ryder nodded. ‘These are the most recent photos we have.’

  Clarey shook his head. ‘Nah, no idea. What’s his name?’

  ‘Gavin Hutton.’

  Clarey blinked, and he squinted harder at the image. ‘Strike a light,’ he said softly.

  ‘He was good at hand-to-hand combat,’ Ryder pressed, afraid Clarey’s memory might suddenly desert him.

  ‘Too right he was. He showed promise but the poor bugger never had any money. I said if he cleaned up the gym, I’d train him for free.’

  ‘That was good of you,’ Ryder said, wondering whether Clarey Amos would have offered the same deal to a less talented fighter. ‘Did he have any mates here, people he used to hang out with?’

  ‘Never saw any. He always seemed to be on his own.’

  ‘Would there be anything in the old newsletters?’ asked Hoffman from the doorway.

  Clarey gave him a blank look.

  Hoffman shrugged. ‘I thought he might be in one, if he competed.’

  ‘I don’t need ’em,’ the old man scoffed. ‘I can see from this that it’s Hammer.’

  ‘Hammer?’ Ryder asked. ‘Hammer Hutton? Was that his fighting name?’

  ‘Sure was.’ Clarey gave Ryder a direct look, his eyes suddenly clear and focused. ‘The ref had to stop every bout before he beat his opponent to a pulp.’

  Ryder pulled into the car dealership on Parramatta Road and climbed from the vehicle as the promotional banners scattered throughout the property flapped like wet sails in the stiff breeze. A portly salesman looked up from where he’d been polishing the bonnet of a midnight-blue sedan and ambled towards them. Ryder flashed his badge, stopping the bloke in his tracks. He pointed Sterling towards the service centre, up one end of the red-brick building away from the sparkling new-car showroom at the other end.

  Kimberley Dickson was sitting behind the counter, a telephone receiver pressed to her ear, her dyed burgundy hair pulled severely back from her face. She looked up, eyes widening in alarm as Ryder stepped through the automatic doors. Covering the mouthpiece, she spoke to the bespectacled man beside her. ‘This one’s for me, Sean,’ she said, signalling towards Ryder with her eyes. ‘Can you take over this call for me?’

  Despite his curiosity, the service manager picked up Kimberley’s transferred call without protest.

  Gavin Hutton’s heavily pregnant former partner led them outside and around the corner of the building, moving with the tell-tale gait of a mum-to-be. ‘We can talk here,’ she said, casting her eyes up and down the cement path running the length of the building. ‘No one’s having a smoko right now.’

  A year ago, the mere mention of a cigarette would have set off a craving in Ryder, to say nothing of the unpleasant aroma of stale butts wafting from the metal disposer on the wall. Thankfully, he’d kicked that habit to the kerb.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Kimberley asked, clearly upset by their presence. ‘Couldn’t this have waited until after work?’

  ‘We’ve had a call to the hotline,’ Ryder said evenly. ‘A reported sighting of Gavin.’

  She groaned, eyes scanning the area. ‘I’m permanent here now. I’m going on maternity leave next week. The company can’t know about him. They’ll fire me.’

  ‘That would be unfair dismissal,’ put in Sterling.

  ‘Oh, get real,’ Kimberley retorted. ‘You think they’ll worry about that when he could turn up here with a gun?’ She rubbed a hand across her swollen belly, her eyes clouded with worry.

  ‘We’ve had a reported sighting at Jervis Bay,’ Ryder said quietly. ‘Do you know if Gavin had any ties to the place?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t even know where that is.’

  ‘It’s on the coast, near Nowra. Take your time. Might he have gone down there to visit friends or to fight?’

  Her eyes snapped to his. ‘Fight?’

  Ryder had been a cop long enough to know that the woman’s surprise was genuine. ‘He was a talented amateur boxer; his fighting name was Hammer Hutton.’

  ‘Hammer Hutton,’ she mouthed the words quietly to herself. ‘I didn’t know that. Maybe he thought it would frighten me.’

  Ryder waited, giving her time to think. He knew that people’s memories were notoriously unreliable. You could ask the same question a week apart and get two entirely different answers. ‘Think, Kim. Jervis Bay. Could he have gone down there for work?’

  She frowned. ‘Is that anywhere near Berry—’

  ‘Yes,’ Sterling said quickly. ‘It’s about half an hour away.’

  ‘Do you remember him going there?’ asked Ryder.

  ‘Well, that’s the only place I ever remember him going for work. He did a course down there.’

  An image of the picturesque rural village with its cafes and galleries formed in Ryder’s mind. ‘What kind of course?’

  ‘Security.’ Kimberley put her hand on her back and shifted uncomfortably. ‘But I thought it was more than just Berry, something like Berryman … or Berryville.’

  ‘Not Berridale?’ Ryder asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Is Berridale near Jervis Bay?’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Ryder looked at Sterling, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘But it is in the Snowy Mountains.’

  ‘Can I go now?’ Kimberley asked.

  ‘One more thing. What company ran the course? Did he sign up online?’

  ‘I have no idea. All I know is that the people doing the course had to leave their cars in Berridale and travel together from there. I don’t know where they went after that. Gavin wasn’t a talker, Detective, and we were almost over as a couple by then. He moved overseas pretty soon after that.’ She checked the time on her watch. ‘Look, I have to get back to work. They’ll be wondering what’s going on.’

  Ryder nodded. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  They accompanied her back to the office, and Ryder waited until the curious manager was within earshot before giving Kimberley his card. ‘Take this. I’ll arrange for an hourly patrol to drive past your place. We’ve had reports of other letterboxes being broken into in your suburb. If we’re unaware of a problem, we can’t do anything about it, so thanks for alerting us.’

  Kimberley turned it over in her hands before looking up at Ryder, her eyes shining with gratitude. ‘Thank you for coming out. I was … worried about identity theft.’

  ‘Well, mostly they’re after credit cards,’ Ryder said. ‘If you’re not due for a new one, I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem.’

  ‘Good luck with the baby,’ Sterling added as they turned and left the office. When they were outside, she looked at Ryder. ‘What’s the significance of the Snowy Mountains?’

  ‘We’ve had credible reports of a man squatting in barns and sheds along the Alpine Way in the Snowies,’ said Ryder. ‘Several cars were broken into, but only cash, sleeping bags and first-aid kits were taken. Credit cards and other valuables were left behind, which sets them apart from other break-ins.’

  ‘And Hutton uses cash only, no cards?’

  Ryder was pleased at how closely the new recruit was paying attention. ‘Right.’

  Sterling paused before they got in the car. ‘Smart lady, Kimberley Dickson, playing along with you like that.’

  Ryder eyed the bumper-to-bumper traffic crawling along Parramatta Road, relieved they were only a few minutes from the station. ‘Yep. She might not know where Jervis Bay is, but she’s one hell of an actress.’

  Six

  ‘I’ve turned around.’ Flowers’ voice resonated from the speaker as Ryder pulled into the carpark at police headquarters. ‘I was at Bulli when the sergeant at Jervis Bay called and told me not to bother coming down. Turns out it wasn’t Hutton—it was a Norwegian tourist. Our May weather is warmer than Bergen in the height of summer apparently, perfect for sleeping on the beach.’

  ‘Did he resemble Hutton at all?’ Ryder asked.

  ‘Around the same height but that’s about it. The poor bloke had never heard of Gavin Hutton. He had no idea what was going on.’

  ‘I’m as sick of these false sightings as you are,’ Ryder said. ‘But trust me, one day it’ll be him. He can’t hide forever.’

  ‘Learn anything at the school, Sarge?’ Flowers asked.

  Ryder brought him up to date, recounting their trip to Martinsfield High School and then on to the gym where a young Hammer Hutton had turned his body into a lethal weapon.

  Flowers gave a low whistle. ‘Fergus Suter wouldn’t have stood a chance against Hutton. We know Suter treated his body like a temple, but Dominic Burrows was high on meth. He would have taken it to Hutton with the superhuman strength they get from that drug.’

  ‘Probably why the crime scene was a bloodbath. And that’s not all …’ Ryder summed up their conversation with Kimberley Dickson.

  ‘A security course in Berridale?’ Flowers mused. ‘Why didn’t she tell us about that before? I remember us asking her if Hutton had been to the Snowy Mountains.’

  ‘I don’t think we mentioned Berridale specifically. Anyway, I’ve been telling Sterling about the reported sightings last year, and how the trail went cold.’

  ‘We did arrest the Charlotte Pass killer, though, so not all was lost,’ said Flowers, his voice ringing with pride.

  ‘A band is only as good as their last album, Flowers,’ said Ryder.

  ‘You’ll have to get used to the music references, Sterling,’ Flowers said with a sigh. ‘Sarge is a frustrated rock star.’

  Ryder and Sterling had just arrived back at the station when a call came through from Vanessa. Ryder stopped by the water cooler in the corridor and put her on hold. She knew from experience he wouldn’t keep her waiting long.

  ‘Why don’t you start searching online security courses, Sterling, particularly in New South Wales? Once you have a list, start calling around and asking if Hutton was a former participant.’