Breaking Point (Chapter-13)

Boston-Wright walked briskly into Creed’s office the following morning, closing the door and pulling out a chair in front of his desk. She looked rattled and Creed picked up on it.

“What’s up, Boston-Wright? You, okay?” Creed asked with a curious look on his face. The blood had drained a little from Boston-Wright’s face, making her look whiter than normal, almost sickly.

“I had a strange call last night on the home phone,” Boston-Wright replied, fidgeting in her seat and picking her nails at the same time.

“And who was it?” Creed asked.

“The person didn’t speak. It was silent. I couldn’t help thinking that Talbot made a comment about our family home that afternoon. Then I get a prank call.”

“Do you want me to arrange a trace?” Creed offered.

“I don’t think the call wasn’t long enough to get a trace, but you could try. It just rattled me a little. I’ve never had prank calls before,” Boston-Wright replied, her voice jittery.

Pratt knocked on the door and barged in, thereby ending the private conversation between Boston-Wright and Creed. Boston-Wright could have done with a bit more time. It may have given her some reassurances and perhaps settled her nerves, but that opportunity had gone.

“I spoke to a mate of mine, a psychologist by trade, who’s done a bit of profiling for the boys in Sydney,” Pratt went on. “I spoke to him about our victims, and he’s come back with a rough sketch of the type of person we may be looking for.”

“Interesting,” Creed replied, looking at Pratt’s notebook as he opened it and was about to give an outline.

“Okay, it’s hard to determine if our killer is a serial killer,” Pratt started with the summary. Boston-Wright and Creed listened attentively. Boston-Wright was impressed with Pratt’s last rush of enthusiasm, especially for a copper who was about to retire. Maybe he wanted to go out with a bang.

“A person who commits a number of murders over a period of time is patient and organized,” Pratt continued.

That certainly fits the profile of Mick Talbot. Here was a man who spent most of his life in the armed services, used to discipline and most likely well-organized. He’s probably built up a good skill in being patient, something enhanced as he retired and started doing skilled labor jobs with Dad’s Army. Some of his work had been quite intricate, again requiring patience.

“Killing is not the main game. It’s just a byproduct of control,” Pratt stated.

Talbot was certainly a controlling person, as both Creed and Boston-Wright had observed, especially with his wife. She looked positively scared of her husband. Both detectives determined that the marriage would most likely be a loveless one, despite being in their later years. Creed recalled their visit to the Casino caravan park where Mrs. Talbot was sent to the shops to get supplies and Talbot was most edgy that she had not returned within a specified time period. It was as if she had been let off a leash and should have returned.

Creed asked that with all the female victims having had recent sexual activity, would sex be a major driver in such a person.

“Only as a way to express control,” Pratt advised. “Lustful sex, kinky sex maybe as an outlet to some aggression but certainly not love.” The no love bit seemed to fit with Talbot. However, it could not be determined if Talbot had sex with any of the victims. Creed leaned back in his chair; his hands interlocked behind his head as he thought over what Pratt was saying.

Pratt continued reading from his notes. “These types of killers outwardly exhibit calmness but underneath they have a fire of aggression they try to keep in check.” Talbot would fit the bill, although they had not seen any aggression.

Another trait Pratt shared was that such killers have an underlying trigger; something deep-seated that set them off on their killing way. In the case of the Tweed Coast victims, they are all black, mostly aboriginal, except for the Afro-American tourist Sharon Berg. All female except for Tom Langley, who was Darlene Ferguson’s pimp come boyfriend. Perhaps the killer hates aboriginal women?

But Sam Thompson is wrong. Yes, he was black, but he was male. There was no sexual activity with him, but his murder was the most violent, tortured, leg broken, stabbed and then doused in petrol and set alight. In some ways it would seem Sam was a mistake. Perhaps the killer was at their breaking point.

Boston-Wright and Creed thanked Pratt for the insights his friend gave them. They concluded that they were still on the right track in pursuing Talbot. Boston-Wright suggested she should make a visit to Talbot’s house alone and ask him some more questions. Boston-Wright was convinced it was Talbot who had made the prank call the night before; perhaps she could get him freely talking without Creed being around.

“Maybe he called to have a chat the other night and then froze before hanging up. You will recall both he and his wife were quite charming to me when we searched the house, showing me family photos and snaps of when he was in the Army,” Boston-Wright commented.

“Yes, that’s true. Maybe you could draw him out further,” Creed said, rubbing his right hand through his hair and ending in a sigh.

“But whatever you do, Boston-Wright, you must be on guard at all times. He may be letting you into his world, but these killers have no regard for life. You are disposable,” Creed reminded her, sending a chill down her spine.

The two detectives tossed around some ideas on how to approach Talbot. He must not be suspicious about being interviewed. Rather, Boston-Wright was popping in for a chat. If it felt formal or something premeditated, Talbot would clam up and not speak freely. The invitation to meet would need to sound special, even personal.

Boston-Wright and Creed worked on a phone script. It was decided that Boston-Wright would call at around 6 o’clock and say she was on her way home, asking if she could drop off some items the team collected during the search. The tone needed to be carefree, almost a throwaway conversation. But she needed to show empathy. The items she was returning were no longer needed for the investigation, but she realized their personal importance to Mick Talbot and his wife. She wanted to personally deliver them back to their family home.

Creed was nervous. Nervous for where the case was heading and nervous for Boston-Wright. She was putting her life at risk. If Talbot smelt a rat, Boston-Wright could be in serious trouble. Creed reminded Boston-Wright that under no circumstances was she to go anywhere with Mr. Talbot alone. It would be preferable that Kay Talbot is at home when she popped around. Perhaps she could try to find that out when she phoned Talbot later. A comment about sampling another slice of Kay’s famous lemon crunch pie could be weaved into the conversation.

While Boston-Wright tossed some ideas around on her notepad, Creed phoned O’Halloran upstairs, seeking more resources. He gave the Chief Super a snapshot of where the investigation was and that he felt confident they were getting closer to an arrest. An imminent arrest pleased O’Halloran until Creed sprang the idea of more overtime for a few of the lads to act as surveillance for Boston-Wright while she was in with Talbot. Somebody needed to be close just in case things went wrong. O’Halloran granted Creed some more overtime but reminded him of how much this case was costing and that they needed an arrest soon.

Creed called a few of his most trusted officers into his office and explained what was about to go down. He needed his best and most alert officers on the surveillance roster tonight, as they were protecting one of their own. As Creed wound up the brief, he looked through the venetian blinds in his office out to Boston-Wright sitting at her desk. She may have been the newest and least qualified member to the murder squad, but she was growing in importance with spades. He felt like a father figure to her, in some ways a job passed onto him by his former colleague Bruno Boston. He liked the role.

Boston-Wright practiced her script, occasionally glancing up at the wall clock. At precisely 6 o’clock, she looked over at Creed, took a deep breath, turned her chair toward a blank wall and dialed Talbot. The call connected and Mick Talbot answered.

In her most calming voice, Boston-Wright offered to drop some items off to Talbot’s house on her way home. To be more convincing, she even lowered her voice occasionally to give the impression that what she was doing was a secret, but she wanted the Talbots to have their personal possessions returned immediately.

Mick Talbot was polite in inviting Boston-Wright to stay for dinner with both he and his wife. The knowledge that Kay Talbot would be home gave Boston-Wright some sense of relief. The visit was set.