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That raised my eyebrows. "It isn't on the business registration?"
"It's a post office box."
I frowned. "I didn't think it was legal to do that. I thought it had to be a street address."
"Normally, it does."
Meaning T.J. either knew someone or had paid someone. Which meant he had money or connections that weren't obvious from the condition of his business.
"He has no license or police record," Jack continued. "The tax office has his address listed as Fitzroy, but the house was razed for apartments earlier this year."
Meaning he could be missing or simply didn't want to be found. I made a mental note to check with Cass this afternoon, then said, "Is it possible to put a tap on the phone?"
"It's in the pipeline, so make sure you leave no trace of your presence."
Which meant scent, if we were dealing with another were. I frowned and glanced at my watch, wondering if I could get to Liander's workshop and back to St. Kilda in twenty minutes. I knew he kept scent-erasing soap there, simply because he often redid my look for undercover operations, and scent erasure was a vital part of that. I might be pushing it time-wise, but it had to be done.
"There are two men who regularly collect the messages," I said. "I'll try to get pics of them today, and send them through."
"Good. And we don't think this is a one-off. There's a report coming out of Sydney about a brutal murder that bears striking similarities to our case."
"Meaning the victim was a recently released, long-term prisoner?"
"Yeah. We're trying to get full details at the moment."
"It might also be worth working up a list of recently released or about-to-be-released long-term inmates." If this was the beginning of a murder spree, such a list might help us save some lives.
"We're onto that, too," Jack commented. "We've already located two possibilities - two men were released from Perth penitentiary three weeks ago. One has since relocated to his hometown in Dunedan - which is in the middle of Western Australia - and the other went to Brisbane."
"I gather you've contacted the Directorate divisions in Brisbane and Perth, and warned them there might be trouble?"
"Yes. And I've also sent requests to all Directorate divisions to provide us with information on any crimes of a similar nature. We expect to get some hits. An organization this well protected probably won't be targeting just criminals."
Not if they were advertising in local newspapers. "This must be a new operation, though. Otherwise, we'd surely have heard of them before now."
"Not necessarily. If they've kept their operations interstate until now, there would have been no reason for us to be notified. Each division is basically autonomous."
Yet they'd all come from the one source - Melbourne - and I was betting Director Hunter kept a close eye on the other divisions. The Directorate was her baby, after all.
"I'm going to lunch now, boss, but I'll be back at the brothel by one-thirty."
"Okay, but I want you to return to the Directorate after that. You need to write up the report for the murder and the shooting incident."
I wrinkled my nose. I hated paperwork at the best of times. And, I thought, with a wash of sadness, there was now no Kade to sweet-talk into helping me.
"Will do," I said, and hung up. My phone beeped notification of an incoming message. It was the address Quinn had promised. I opened the car door and fired up the onboard computer, switching it to navigation and typing in the address. It turned out I could probably walk there in less than five minutes.
I turned off the computer and locked the car, then once again shifted shape. With all this flying, my arms were starting to get a little tired, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. There was no way on this Earth I was going to drive to Liander's workshop and then back to St. Kilda in the twenty minutes I had. Not with traffic the way it was.
Of course, the skies had traffic of a different kind, and between avoiding the flocks of seagulls and pigeons -
which always went somewhat crazy when I neared them - and the strengthening wind, I was a few minutes late getting back to the Acland Street spa.
I pulled my outfit together the best I could, then strolled through the old bluestone gateway that was the main entrance to the spa. The good thing about being in St. Kilda was that no one really took any notice of what you were wearing - or almost wearing. The strange and outlandish were common around here, and not even the receptionist batted an eyelid as I strolled into the foyer.
"How may I help you?" Her voice was deep and rich, and oddly in tune with the opulent foyer.
"Riley Jenson. I'm here to meet Mr. O'Conor." Though I kept my voice soft, it seemed to echo in the lush stillness of the place.
