As far as we could tell, money nor sexual gratification had been a motivation for the murders. It was as if he had a genuine thirst for blood, and that appeared to be his only motive. To feed. But, as the old saying goes, luck doesn’t last forever. And if that was how the Daylesford Devil had been eluding us for so long, through luck, then he was about to run out.
4.
Our big break came just two weeks after the Heidenberg woman had been killed. It was a Thursday evening and Warren and I had just returned to the station after a day of door knocking and patrols. Alyce, our resident switchboard operator and receptionist, took a phone call from old Mrs. Weaver who lived out on Drummond lane, which ran off the Daylesford- Cider Hill Road. She said she had seen a man loitering around the Kennedy house, which she could see from her kitchen window. Joe Kennedy ran a butcher shop in town and Mrs. Weaver knew that he worked late on a Thursday. His 17-year-old daughter, Tami, would be home alone, the girl’s mum having died two years before from pneumonia. Since her death, it had been just the two of them. Mrs. Weaver said the man had been sitting in a thick clump of bushes, appearing to be watching the house and that someone should make sure the girl was OK. We agreed to pop out and check on her.
The funny thing about fate is that you can never guess how it will shape the future. I still believe to this day, that if the events of that evening had played out any other way, then Lucifer would have escaped again. But one Simple Twist of Fate had sealed his.
5.
The day that would come to be known as “Lucifer’s Last Day” was January 24th, 1935. What I believe to be the intervention of fate, was nothing more than a mere oversight by my partner, Warren, who had driven us all over town that day. He had forgotten to keep his eye on one very important aspect when driving a motor vehicle. Our car ran out of fuel two miles from the Kennedy house. If we hadn’t run out, and ended up driving our patrol car to the farmhouse, the killer would have surely heard our approach and been alerted, thus allowing him to escape. Instead, he never knew we were coming.
The sun had disappeared over the far horizon as we drove out of town, and by the time the car coughed and spluttered, it had grown almost dark.
“Fuckin piece of crap,” Warren cried as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. He smacked his hand down hard on the steering wheel a couple of times in disgust, then got out and slammed his door shut.
“Ah damn it. Come on. Nice night for a walk.” I nodded in agreement and we walked along the edge of the road, Drummond lane only ten minutes further along. It was only two days after the full moon had peaked and the large shiny disc was already sitting high in the sky, illuminating our way like a huge lamp post.
“Those lights over there,” I said as we turned onto Drummond Lane, pointing across the paddock to our left, “is that it?” Warren looked and nodded.
“Yup. That’s it,” he said, and then suddenly turned and cut across the ditch, grabbed hold of the fence that flanked the road and swung his leg over. He stood there, straddling the wires and beckoned me to climb over.
“Cross country?” I asked and swung my leg over, then the other in a small hop. My pants temporarily caught on the barb wire that topped the fence, threatening to tear a hole in them, but Warren lowered the fence a little more and they popped free. I turned and held the fence down for him in return, once I was safely over. We continued heading towards the lights, a few hundred yards across the freshly harvested paddock. January was always a great time for farmers with harvesting dominating this time of year. The smell of freshly cut grain hung thick in the air. It looked to be a wheat field, and the stubble reached knee height. Warren walked ahead of me a little and I followed, steadily increasing my pace, eager to ensure the girl’s safety.
6.
We heard a very faint crying as we neared the tree line that skirted one side of the Kennedy’s yard. The main house looked to have a single light burning in the kitchen, the rest of the house appearing dark and ominous. There was also a light burning in the main shed which sat about a hundred yards off to our right. Warren had put his finger to his lips as we neared the trees to ensure my silence, and just as he was about to whisper something there was a small scream followed by ghostly silence. The scream had sounded more like an exhausted protest, but the silence that now followed was what panicked me most. The echo from that scream had played havoc with our sense of direction and for a moment we weren’t sure which building it had come from.
“You go to the house. I’ll take the shed,” Warren said, and then as an afterthought, “Be quiet, Jim.” He began to turn, then pointed at my belt. “And take your pistol out,” he said pointing at my still holstered weapon. I hadn’t seen him draw his, but he now held it with two hands in front of his chest, barrel pointed toward the ground. I nodded, drew my pistol and turned towards the house.
7.
“Hello?” I whispered with a wavering voice as I peered in through the fly screen door. The main door was open and I could see the kitchen deserted, the only sound, some crickets chirping somewhere out in the darkness. I felt for the handle, pulled it down gradually,
