The Princess and the Cop (15 page)
And then, after a quick change, Inspector and Princess Corrigan set out on their honeymoon to somewhere.
****
We went to Hawaii and to Tahiti and then came back to Surfers’ Paradise. Tessa and I were both good swimmers and she ensured that I got plenty of exercise on my injured leg. At times I got a bit grumpy with the pain from my leg and, at those times, my adorable wife threw herself on top of me, sometimes naked, preferably, and sometimes not, and began to kiss me all over my face with great passion.
So, when the most beautiful woman in the world begins kissing you with the most beautiful body in the world pressed on yours, with the most beautiful lips in the world kissing you, whatyagoin’ to do. Yep, kiss back! And the pain magically left.
We walked on the beaches for long distances until, one glorious day, I handed her my cane and picked up the pace. Within a week I was slowly jogging and, within another week, running. Tessa kept up with me.
Tessa disliked bathing caps because she had a fair store of thick hair to push under it. So, often, she went without, swimming like a mermaid with her beautiful hair flowing behind her. Then came the problem of drying it. She solved that by lying me down, adjusting me and then lying down with her head on my stomach and spreading her hair up over my body and we lay together in the sun. And at that time I don’t think I’ve ever been more contented.
From Surfers’ we made a journey of inspection of the new Maison Grunge and she gave it the thumbs down. So she insisted on buying a big unit just near Police Headquarters—I could walk to work---as a wedding gift. It was luxury furnished and we decided that it was time for our dream of a honeymoon to end and I should be given a medical examination. I passed and was ready for work.
At about the same time she received a phone call from Gerhardt, in Bassenburg. David was not doing well in the ruler stakes and Gerhardt was concerned. Bassenburg needed her, and, after a very emotional discussion one night, we decided she should go home—for how long would depend on the seriousness of the mess that the Prince had landed her country in.
The farewell the next night was long and emotional and, on her part, tearful. ‘We’re hardly married, darling, and now I’m pulling us apart, and I promised I
wouldn’t. It won’t be long, I promise. Is that Cuban lady out of sight? Do I have to worry?’
‘She’s gone back home, Tessa. Deported. Use the computer like we used to and we’ll try to talk morning and evening. If it’s urgent ring me, at any time. And ask me anything. I’ll try to help from here. And don’t stop loving me!’
I watched her walk to the plane, dabbing at tears.
I knew it wouldn’t be long, but that didn’t remove the big lump in my chest.
We’d been at the peak of happiness and now, the pits of unhappiness. I promised myself that we’d never be parted again.
17.
My Tessa had walked into trouble and I wanted to be with her, helping her. I thought of resigning and going to her, but she dissuaded me. I should be a Policeman again, she said.
She ruled with the help, or otherwise, of six advisors, and here was the problem.
Six against one. Her father had fought them and was winning, but then died. I wondered about his death. If only I could get over there, I might have a look at that.
But that was not possible. I could only talk to her on the computer, when possible, or on the phone.
Because, by courtesy of the Commissioner, my old friend, Don Simmons, I’d inherited the Taylor twins—Alan and Alwyn---- as vile a pair of citizens of the fair State of Queensland as one would ever find. Perhaps on a par with the Cubans, now gone, but more cunningly vicious.
And they were mine, all mine!
It was a very interesting and challenging case.
The Taylors were identical twins, so identical that their own parents couldn’t tell them apart. And they were evil little bastards from the word go, committing minor crimes and then bigger crimes and defying the victims to declare which twin had committed the crime. And, if judgment were approaching, they swapped identities, each claiming to be the other.
Their handwriting was identical, their numbering the same and their DNA and blood groups probably the same but they smilingly declined to give samples. After getting to know them, I defy anyone to tell them apart because of their voices. I had to wonder whether they practised that. I wanted to ping the guilty one but I had to admire their skills.
They mocked any Police assigned to investigate them, holding close to each other in loving partnership.
They were clever accountants, in partnership, and their practice was prosperous. In their own way they were very, very clever. Vicious they certainly were but they could turn on the charm when required. They were fairly good-looking with black hair, blue eyes and quite handsome faces.
But their eyes were truly the windows to their souls. Under pressure, as I found out, or playing their savage games with people, like the Police, their eyes became flinty and cold and an ordinary person would have shivered to see them. The twins lacked compassion of any kind.
Alan had been married to a nice lady called Patricia and Alwyn lived with them for a while, until Patricia objected. Alan had proposed that Patricia share herself with Alwyn. Patricia had told her motherly next door neighbour about this, and many other things. She’d refused the proposal and Alwyn left to live elsewhere.
Then Patricia was murdered by stabbing.
They lived in a wealthy western suburb of Brisbane. One evening, the next door neighbour, the motherly Mrs. Wolza, thought she heard a short scream from the Taylors’. She called out to Patricia and kept calling for a while. Then she made her way across to the next door house and saw Alan well down the street, heading off. She called him back and he denied hearing any scream. He told her he’d only just arrived home, a while ago, walking from the rail station some distance away, threw his briefcase in the front door, called to his wife and was now on his way to the Sherwood Arms to meet Alwyn. He was not blood-marked in any way and was his usual, objectionable self.
The Sherwood Arms was the local pub where Alan and Alwyn were well-known.
Witnesses remembered seeing them drinking together, in their usual good form and in their usual identical dress. Nobody could remember when both or either of them had arrived at the pub.
Mrs.Wolza called the Police. They made an external search of doubtful legality and one thought he could see a figure lying on the floor. That was enough for the Police to break in—belief that a person was in imminent danger--- and Patricia Taylor was found dead, from a single stab wound to the heart. Death was put at about the time of the scream. There were no defensive wounds, indicating she’d been caught by surprise.
Alan was grief-stricken.
We never ever did find out what plans the twins had for her body in due course. Assuming they’d done it. But no one else seemed to have been in the house. It was very careless of them. Even moving her out of sight would have helped their cause but we agreed that Mrs.Wolza’s relatively quick appearance had disrupted things somewhat.
The Police had no trouble finding and arresting Alan Taylor, and here the trouble began.
Both men claimed to be Alan. A search of their wallets confirmed this. Their driver’s licences, credit cards and other identifying documents were both in Alan’s name. Even the papers in their cars were the same. We could have gone them for forgery but there were bigger fish. A few days later they were both Alwyn. And they continued with this charade.
When I was put on the case, upon resuming work, I had to admire their ingenuity.
Every test that they were subjected to couldn’t shake their story. I went the standard path, trying to purloin their toothbrushes and other similar things, to get DNA samples. But the lawyers acted and we were blocked. I knew the toothbrushes and the like would now be quickly scrapped.
It didn’t really matter. We had no relevant DNA samples from the crime scene. We had unfettered access to the house, through my new understudy Warren Wilson’s fetish for search warrants, and could have got all the evidence we needed. But I didn’t bother, much to Warren’s disappointment. What good would it have done us?
This was an unusual case that required unusual methods.
Some officers were for charging them both but the Prosecution people, following the straight judicial line, argued that we couldn’t charge an innocent man just in case he was the guilty one.
I interviewed them, along with Warren Wilson, a senior constable who’d just become a detective and was to train with me. He made the word enthusiasm seem like a gross understatement.
But he let the Taylors get to him. He was young and inexperienced and I gave him guidance in not letting the likes of the twins stir him. Stay good-humoured, I said, and keep them just a little off-balance. And stay in charge.
On no account let them take over.
I was a much happier cop since marrying my beauty.
I wanted them examined, naked, to ensure there were no distinguishing marks but injunctions soon stopped that and the Taylors just smiled with their remarkably perfect teeth and left the station arm in arm---closely arm in arm.
I noticed that and hurried out of the interrogation room after them. I followed them discreetly down to the car park, they in the elevator and me beating them to the first floor by stairs, gammy leg and all. They emerged from the lift and then kissed each other firmly on the lips and went to their separate cars. I stayed out of sight.
I kept this revelation to myself.
We had a conference with the Commissioner that afternoon. He was frustrated. The media were friendly, but mocking. They were intrigued by the case, just as homicide squads in other States were. They were constantly asking for updates and the Commissioner felt he was under pressure.
Usually cool Don had never displayed this kind of feeling before.
I had a lot of phone calls from my counterparts in other States—with suggestions and questions both.
‘I hope to Christ I never get a case like that,’ said one. ‘What are you going to do, Bart?’
‘Stay tuned. I’ll win in the end,’ I said. ‘I’ll never believe that they’re smarter than I am.’
Which twin was the guilty one? In fact, which twin was which?
I felt no pressure. I was married to the most beautiful person in the world.
But one thing bugged me. We had no murder weapon. When Mrs.Wolza had met Alan, after hearing the scream, she swore he could not have concealed a knife of the size of the suspected murder weapon. It was about the size of a carving knife, an ordinary household utility. Not something to be dropped into a trouser pocket. The Taylors’ carving knife was missing.
We searched the house and grounds, with a big force of Police and State Emergency Service volunteers. Nothing!
I sat in my office and thought. I spent a lot of time thinking, turning things around. I turned to my computer that night to talk to my Tessa. When talking to Tessa, she of the high IQ, I put it to her and she did some research for me. It turned out that identical twins were not unusual but twins of the nature of the Taylors were.
‘It seems that, from an early age, these types of twins actually practised being identical, darling. It was a childish game until they turned to using people, playing with them. There are plenty of cases in the world. They begin to play with the minds of other people from a very young age. Would you be able to track their lives through from early childhood?’
‘You should have been a detective, sweetheart. When this is done, I’ll be at your side, to help you. I love you.’
‘Please be quick. I can’t handle this!’
****
I put my team onto tracking the Taylors from early childhood but the trail was cold, mostly.
Occasionally, we found an ex-teacher. The message was the same.
‘They played games with us and they committed some terrible offences against other kids in the school grounds, even little girls in the toilets, but each said the other did it,’ said one teacher. ‘I was afraid of them and just hoped they didn’t turn on me. There was no refuge from them. Parents removed their children from the school because of the Taylors. They were vicious little mongrels, Inspector.’
‘Still are!’ I said.
I went further back and traced the name of the birth doctor. I was still on about distinguishing marks. He was now a psychiatrist, and a distinguished one. His name was Professor Henry Bostock and, when I mentioned the Taylor twins, I had his interest immediately.
‘So you’ve got the little bastards on your hands, have you? Good luck to you. Come to lunch at the Brisbane Club, Inspector. You can have as much of my time as you like.’
I didn’t regularly inhabit posh clubs like the Brisbane Club but the Professor was waiting—a big, bearded, friendly bloke, with a big bow-tie, who gave me a beer before lunch and an excellent red wine with lunch. Then we adjourned to a comfortable lounge while I told him all the details of the case so far.
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