An Eye For An Eye. Arthur Klepfisz
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those who came to know her, it was never clear when she made the decision to head a sect, and possibly she herself could not have pinpointed the time in her life when such a momentous determination developed. Most likely it was a seamless transition generated by her desire to escape her parents’ fate, where she realised that like chess, at the end of the game, the queen and the pawn go back into the same box, but whilst the game was on, she was determined to win.
On Deborah’s 10-acre property, there were scattered huts and a larger house where she and her partner Bill stayed. Over 35 young children lived on the property and were clothed in exactly the same manner, all with their hair dyed blonde. A number of the adults in the sect were responsible for supervising and educating the children, as they did not attend outside schools. These supervisors were mainly women and meted out punishments in a strict manner, at times bordering on cruel. Any sign of rebellion by the children would be suppressed by the use of solitary isolation and canings.
Deborah also possessed a store of illicit drugs obtained from medical and paramedical contacts, and she allowed these to be used at times to sedate the children, as a means of controlling them. The drugs used ranged from tranquilisers and antidepressants to LSD.
The goal of the children’s schooling was that one day they would become nurses, social workers, teachers and the like. These were all occupations that could be used to assist Deborah in building up and protecting her group and her control over them.
The children were all given her surname of Duval. Brett learned that some of the children had been taken from young unmarried mothers, where social workers connected to The Union had convinced the distressed mothers to give the babies up for adoption. Other children were progeny of the adults who belonged to the sect and lived on the property. The remainder of the children originated from a breeding program instituted by Deborah, where she dictated which man would sleep with which woman on any particular night. These children also took on her surname and were dressed identically with the others.
Brett wondered if Deborah really thought she was developing a master race or whether she just viewed them as a bunch of screwed up kids that she could control, as she did the adults.
Immersed in his alcohol and maudlin thoughts, Brett recalled the conversation when Deborah had rung him the day before.
Wednesday, 20 January 1988
6.30 p.m.
Brett sat himself at the counter of the DT's pub with two of his workmates. DT’s was a pub he often frequented, a satisfactory waterhole and hiding place that he chose in preference to rushing home.
He nursed his beer, though the urge was to drink something more numbing but for the fact he had to drive home later. Though he had his workmates alongside, he might as well have been on his own, as the fog of his black mood began to engulf him.
He was no stranger to these moods and this night the alcohol and black mood blurred the world around him. Not by choice, the piercing sound of his phone dragged him back.
Deborah’s angry voice penetrated the fog, engulfing Brett.
‘I've had it with those media rags reporting a bunch of lies from the termites who've deserted. They're out to destroy me and The Union. I’ve heard that many of those deserters have been seeing that quack psychiatrist Dr Wright and complained about The Union, and he’s promised them to try and get the authorities involved.’
Brett remained silent, stunned by the angry outburst. What the fuck can I do about it, Deborah? he silently queried, as his mind translated her words into a demand.
As if reading his thoughts Deborah reminded him that in the same manner she had pumped air into his career, she could also readily deflate it. Her message was clear to Brett that he either assisted her with this problem "or else". He knew the "or else" was not an idle threat.
‘I want you to drive up to see me no later than 8.30 p.m. tonight so we can discuss the best way of dealing with this problem.’
Brett again heard this as an order, rather than a request.
He went through the motions of letting Jenny know that a major case was taking him out of town and he wouldn't be sleeping at home that night. When his call went through to message, allowing him to leave a scripted response without questions being raised, he felt a sense of relief. Not that he would have felt any pressure to answer truthfully, and having left the message, neither he nor Jenny would broach the matter again.
Brett's career had stalled in its original upward path as initially he had moved up the ranks, scoring significant convictions of drug peddlers, petty criminals and a rapist/murderer who ran a prostitution racket, even if it involved using unorthodox measures at times. If it came down to their word against his, then he knew he was safe, but he was tiring of the hassles of dealing with the Police Ethical Department.
Recently a young hoon had laid complaints against Brett, alleging he had “belted him up”. It wasn’t Brett’s job to catch idiots like this but he was driving home at the time, saw the hoon doing skids down a North Melbourne street, and decided he’d bring him in. The case was due to go to court, where he knew some smart-arse lawyer would attempt to give him a hard time. He knew how to handle himself in the witness box and believed he would get out of it, but who needed that shit? He thought to himself.
About a year and a half ago, he was put in charge of a task force whose main aim was to investigate The Union sect and the allegations of abuse voiced by a number of ex-members. Naturally he had undermined the investigation at every turn, but it had now come to a point where he needed to produce a scalp or his superiors at Police Headquarters would start asking questions. There had already been some grumbles that he’d been able to deflect, about the lack of progress.
So far he had never found a right time to tell Deborah about the prostitute who had died, and he wasn’t sure there would ever be a right time.
8.15 p.m.
Brett drove slowly up the long winding driveway of Deborah's commune. He felt more comfortable calling it that, rather than that stupid, pretentious name of the “Union”. It was a large property, set up high, so one could see the lights of Melbourne shining bright in the distance like jewels above the city sewers.
Brett didn't want his own kids ending up like this, like him, hating the world around them. He knew that he could probably stop work even now, as he had saved and invested carefully. The perks in his job had enabled him to accumulate a considerable sum of money.
No more than he deserved for dealing with the scum that were part of his work, he felt. He couldn't be too obvious with the way he spent his money, couldn’t splash it around, or questions would be asked. It would be stupid to buy expensive cars or houses, but he could still enjoy life's pleasures without drawing attention to himself. Shopkeepers, pub owners, fast food outlets, and prostitutes – they all felt the need to give him gifts. No way would he end up like his father – as broke as a compound fracture.
Deborah’s white colonial style house stood at the end of a winding path, set in 10 acres of wooded land. Poplar trees elegantly lined the route leading to the house, whilst the other sect members lived in scattered huts at least 100 yards away or more. The children's dormitory was placed amongst the huts.
Brett's visits to Deborah were not on a regular basis, but averaged about once a month, and were always associated with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Much as prey is mesmerised by a cobra about to strike, so Brett felt inextricably entangled in an erotic mesh that drew him to Deborah.
As he climbed out from his parked car, he became aware of a tall bearded man approaching him. Brett felt an instant dislike building up, as the needles of the unfamiliar man's hostility pierced the air around him. The man’s features appeared disconnected to each other, with teeth jostling for space and a furrowed, overpopulated forehead.
He had narrow, slit like eyes and his nose suggested pugilistic involvement in the past. The man's body was enveloped by a cloak of aggression and brute strength. Brett knew he could handle himself in a fight, but he didn't particularly want to take on King Kong, as he had instantly