before.
It had been on the door of my daughter's room at Saint Immaculata's. Angelina Dellaporte was Chastity's roommate, and the owner of the snazzy dress.
`Hey, Maria,' I said. `Do you have a sister at Saint Immaculata's by any chance?'
`Yes, Angie,' she said. `Bobbie and I went there too.'
I showed her the list of names of the other missing women and we finally hit the jackpot.
`Hallelujah!' I said to Fox as we drove back to the station.
`So they went to the same school but not at the same time,' he said. `And some left ages ago. So where does that get us?'
`Further ahead than we were.' But I could tell he was sceptical. I ignored it. `Let's go and rattle Sister Immaculata's cage, you never know what we might turn up.'
A few minutes later we were in the Iron Nun's office. She was sitting behind her desk and we were standing. I was going for the psychological advantage. Every little bit helped in dealings with my mother.
`Sasha Lucas, Monique Dewson, Ashleigh Johnson and now Roberta Fellows. Do these names ring a bell?' I asked.
`They are former students,' said Sister Immaculata with calm deliberation.
`And?'
`What else do you want me to say?'
`Anything that might help my investigation.'
`Investigation?' She looked at me blankly.
`Hello! You do know these women are missing?'
`Are they?'
`It's been plastered over the media.'
`You know I don't read the newspapers, Eve.' Her voice held gentle reproach and made me want to gnash my teeth.
Instead, I sighed and plonked myself down on one of the hard-backed chairs next to the desk. To hell with psychological advantages. They rarely worked with the Iron Nun anyway.
`Okay,' I said. `These women have gone missing over the past couple of weeks. They were last seen at the Paradise Nightclub. There's been no trace of them since. Is there anything these girls had in common? Anything that links them together?'
Sister Immaculata's glasses glinted so that it was impossible to read any expression in her eyes. I was never sure if this was a deliberate ploy or not but it was effective all the same.
`They were all high-achieving students.' She folded her lips and her hands and gazed at me, serenely.
`That's it?'
She smiled and remained silent so I carried on fishing.
`Were they friends? In the same class?'
`No.'
I huffed. Angels had more luck turning stones into bread than me getting information out of my nun mum. Everything with her was on a need to know basis. I'd always had to pump hard to get any pertinent facts and even then the information wasn't always forthcoming. Like, who was my father? And did he know I existed? You know, fundamental stuff.
I stood up and made to leave. `If you think of anything, let me know,' I tossed over my shoulder as we made for the door.
`You didn't give her one of your business cards,' said Fox as we strode down one of the lengthy, polished wood corridors.
`No need. She knows my number.'
`I forgot. Your kid goes to the school.'
That was one reason. I wasn't ready to share that the Mother Theresa look-alike was my mum. The knowledge might put him off his stride, and we didn't want that, now, did we?
Our next stop was the Paradise Nightclub. It was just before their noon opening time and the previous night's debris was being cleared up, bars restocked and floors mopped and polished. Where the outside was hideous purple, the inside wasn't much better, just darker and seedier. It wasn't my idea of paradise at all.
We interviewed the club owner, Stan Zefferelli, over a cheap instant coffee served in a polystyrene cup. Classy.
Zefferelli was barrel-chested, beer-bellied and wore his dirty blond hair long with Elvis Presley style sideburns. He walked like a duck on heat and had the nasty habit of scratching his crotch and juggling with the family jewels. He wore saggy black trackie pants with holes in the rear and a floppy T-shirt that once upon a time must have been white. It sported the faded legend that Paradise Sucked. I presumed he was referring to the club and I heartily agreed with him.
He seemed unconcerned about the missing girls but stroppy his club was the focus of a police op.
`It's bad for business,' he said and gave us a circus-standard juggling performance before taking a slurp of coffee. `You guys will give the place the kiss of death if you hang around for too long.'
`Aren't you worried women seem to be disappearing from your club?' I asked.
`People disappear all the time. It's no big deal. It hasn't put off the punters. But you will.'
`Forget it. We're not leaving until we discover what's going on. These girls weren't the type to simply go walkabout.'
Zefferelli's lip curled. He gave me a suggestive up and down. `You never been tempted to go off with a bloke for some hot sex?' he said. `Or are you a dyke?'
I ground my teeth and resisted the urge to dismantle his juggling act. One swift kick would have done it. Or point blank range with my Glock. But I resisted. I'm a professional.
And, anyway, he did have a point about the slinking off for some hot sex. Wasn't that how I ended up with Chastity? Four days on a boat with a blond hunk I'd picked up at a party.
In my defence, it was before I understood about safe sex, stranger danger or slip, slop, slap. So hey, I was a late developer. Who wouldn't have been with a harlot-turned-zealot nun as a mum? I met the skipper of Wild Thing and the rest was history. Your protected, naive convent girl went overboard. Literally.
Could the same sort of thing have happened here with these convent-raised girls? But three of them had been missing for a while so it didn't seem likely.
Apart from that, Fox and I learned absolutely zilch from Zefferelli. I decided we'd revisit the club that night and be part of the action. Perhaps we'd missed something vital.
I took Fox, as he'd got to know the layout pretty well. And with him looking so good in his spangles, there was the chance we might strike lucky and get a pick up by the perp.
We got there late and struggled through the Thursday night crowd. You'd think there was no place else to go in Perth on a steamy Thursday night. Heck, these people needed to get a life. I did a double-take when I thought I saw Sister Mercy, sans habit. But I must have been hallucinating. No way would a nun trip the light fantastic in a sleazy joint like the Paradise. I resolved once I'd cracked the case, I would take a long holiday. And perhaps ease up on the caffeine.
Fox and I sat at the bar and tried to look as though we were having a good time.
