Mr Invisible

by Duncan Brockwell

  “Your wish is my command, my queen.”

  Georgina loved Mingzhu so much. Of all her close friends, she was the most loyal and trustworthy. She might have known Amelia the longest, but she often got the impression Amelia hated her success. Whenever she mentioned surfing, her supposed best friend would change the subject to something centred on her. Over the years, Georgina learned to ignore it. With Mingzhu, it was different, she guessed because they had similar interests. Her slender surf mate was as genuine and fun-loving as they came. “Thanks, babe, I appreciate it.”

  Outside, she and Mingzhu picked up their shortboards and bags. Georgina put the roof back up, leaving her phone and wallet inside and locked the car. “Right, let’s find a blinding set,” she said, her bag on one shoulder, the board under the other. Wearing short denim shorts, and a white vest top over a dark blue and white bikini, she walked with Mingzhu along the pathway in her thongs.

  At just gone nine in the morning the north beach had the best waves. Georgina put her bag and board down and slid her shorts off, then took off her vest top. On the line-up, a couple of guys caught their first barrels, one of them bailing as the crest of the wave rolled into a barrel. What a barney, she thought.

  It was going to be another scorcher, in the mid-to-late thirties, with promise of a huge storm that night. Georgina didn’t regret leaving her wetsuit behind. Determined to get a superb tan while carving up some waves, she bent down and picked up her Firewire board. “Are you ready?”

  She watched Mingzhu slip off her shorts, revealing a stunning floral bikini. The five foot three inch Chinese girl had the tautest abs. Shane often joked that she was so tiny that a strong gust of wind would have her away, yet he couldn’t argue her fearlessness and dedication to the surf. Mingzhu almost defied the laws of physics on her Stevenson board. “I can’t wait to get out there,” she said, the rush of adrenaline spiked as she ran along the sandy beach into the sea.

  Holding Mingzhu’s hand while running, Georgina laughed as her feet hit the water. The perfect temperature. When she was knee deep, she threw the board in front of her and jumped on her front. Paddling with her arms, she traversed some high waves getting to the line-up, where the same two guys were waiting for the ideal wave. In the distance, to her right, she could see the bright white beacon on top of the cliff.

  The fellas said hi, and she and Mingzhu chatted with them while they waited. The alpha of the two seemed competent enough. Georgina didn’t think the same about his mate. “You know, he might be better off down shore. The waves aren’t so intimidating.”

  The barney objected, telling her his foot slipped on his last wave, that it could happen to anyone. She nodded at Mingzhu and started paddling, a swell pushing her board along, until she jumped up and both feet landed on it simultaneously.

  When the wave was at its highest, she cascaded down its surface and carved right, taking her into the newly formed barrel, her long hair hitting the water as she zoomed along the inside of it. When she came out of the tube, Georgina went against the wave and flipped her board on purpose, not wanting to be dragged back to shore. Treading water, her board attached to her, she found Mingzhu and paddled back to the line-up.

  While sat on her board, her lower legs dangling in the water, she laughed with her friend. Alpha and Barney had moved further over, towards the gentler waves. Georgina searched the shoreline for her bag, when she saw a bloke bending over their belongings. “That guy’s right by our bags.” Waving her arms, crossing them over one another, she yelled, “Hey! Those are our bags.”

  The guy rifling through her stuff wore long khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt. He stood, looked at her and waved, like he was a friend of hers. “It’s Elf Man.”

  Without hesitation, Georgina went with the next wave, jumping on her board, heading for the shore, all the while watching him, as he turned and strolled towards the car park.

  Georgina hopped on her stomach and paddled to shore, Mingzhu by her side. “My keys are in my bag,” she told her mate. At knee depth, she jumped off her board and ran in the water to the beach, where she raced to her belongings.

  “Has he stolen anything?”

  Scrambling to find her keys, she turned her bag inside out, praying they were hiding from her. “Shit!” she cried, conceding defeat. “He’s taken my keys.” She got up, picking up her bag and board. “My Jeep,” she said, running towards the pathway leading to the club’s car park.

  Georgina yelled out, angry and frustrated at the empty parking space. She wanted to cry. “What the hell am I going to do?” she asked Mingzhu, tears rolling. “He’s got my baby.”

  “He’s got our phones, too. We need to call the police, George. Come on, we’ll phone them from the club.”

  With her bag on her shoulder and board under her arm, Georgina walked with her friend to the front door of the lifesaving club. She knocked frantically on the glass door. It was only 09:45. “It probably won’t open until later,” she said, knocking again.

  “Someone’s in there,” Mingzhu said, peering through a window.

  A guy in his early thirties, fit with dark hair and a healthy tan, unlocked the door and opened it. “What’s all the noise about?”

  Georgina explained the situation and asked to use the phone. She spent a good hour trying to connect, and another waiting for the police to arrive. At almost midday, she told all to the female officer stood in front of her at the club’s bar. The staff member who’d let her in asked them to sit down at a table to allow members to order their drinks and food.

  While she and Mingzhu were explaining the situation, a male police officer walked up to their booth table. “A red Jeep, you said?”

  “Uh-huh!” He rattled off her registration number. “Um, yes, that’s it.”

  “It’s right out there,” he said, pointing to the front door.

  Mingzhu grabbed Georgina’s arm and pulled her to her feet.

  Outside, in the car park sat her beloved Jeep.

  18

  “You can go in now, Inspector Coates,” Nancy, Governor Brian Hicks’ secretary, said. “Apologies for the delay.” She stood and walked to the governor’s office door.

  Coates checked the time on the clock above Nancy’s desk: 12:35. Hicks had kept him waiting for thirty-five minutes, and he arrived fifteen minutes early. There was no need for such tardiness, he thought with resentment. He stood and met Nancy’s stare. “Thank you,” he said, sarcasm hanging on every syllable.

  The door opened and a rather tall man in a brown suit strode up to him and held his hand out, his shake firm and strong. “Detective Inspector David Coates,” he said by way of introduction, after Hicks introduced himself with a genuine smile.

  “I can’t apologise to you enough for the hold-up, inspector.” Hicks let go of Coates’ hand and walked him through to the spacious office. “We had a power cut literally a minute before I was due to meet you. As you can imagine, it’s a serious threat to this institution… I had to be on hand to supervise; I hope you understand.”

  Hicks had stormed past him at midday. The excuse sounded plausible. “Of course, governor. These things happen.”

  Hicks stood behind his mahogany desk and gestured a chair in front of him. Without hesitation, Coates took him up on his offer. The tall prison manager sat on his leather upholstered seat and leaned on his desk with his elbows. If Coates didn’t know any better, he would say Hicks was trying to intimidate him. He almost laughed.

  “Nancy tells me you’re here wanting information on an ex-convict of ours?” The fingertips of both hands met. “I’ll help in any way I can, inspector.”

  “Thank you, governor.” He relaxed into his leather seat. “I was hoping you might fill me in on Arthur Peebles’ time here?”

  Hicks’ eyes, upon hearing the name, grew narrower. “Why? What’s he been doing?”

  Professional courtesy made Coates pull his mobile out of his pocket and open his photos. Once he found a photo of Tara’s body, he handed the phone to Hicks
, who looked down at it, his eyebrows raised. “We have Peebles bang to rights for this,” Coates started. “There’s no margin for error here, either. The coroner has every type of evidence going that he’s the responsible party. We know he’s guilty, the only problem is–”

  “He’s no longer Arthur Peebles, am I right?”

  Coates nodded, then waited for the governor to explain.

  “I knew it wouldn’t be long,” Hicks confessed. “A guy like that wouldn’t change. He sure didn’t try changing in here, the little bastard. At his probation hearing, I tried. I told them he hasn’t changed, that if anything he’s ten times worse than when he arrived here. But would they listen? No, they sided with Peebles’ solicitor, and released him early. Hell, Ince didn’t do half of the things he was charged with, and he’s still here.”

  “Why do you say that? How bad is he?”

  Getting up from his chair, Hicks walked over to a filing cabinet behind his desk and flicked through folders, until he found one in particular. It was marked Peebles. Back at his table, the governor sat and regarded the report, pulling out two photographs. “Now, I’m not showing you these, do you understand? If you so much as mention their existence, I walk away, never to be seen again, understood? This is highly classified… I’m trusting you with this.”

  “You can trust me, governor.” Coates waited for the first picture. “Look, all I want to do is catch this guy before he kills his next poor victim, all right?” He reached out and took the first photo.

  Bloody and brutal, the photograph showed a muscular naked white man spreadeagled on the shower room floor. The man’s face bore the brunt of the wounding, stabbed several times by the look of it. At the time of the picture being taken, the victim’s blood was draining away. There were a couple of stab wounds on the convict’s belly and neck. “Peebles did this?” Confused, Coates said, “Forgive me for asking, but why release him? He should’ve received another life sentence, right?”

  “Evidence, or lack thereof, should I say. We had our own internal investigators on this, and they couldn’t find anything on Peebles, even though I knew it was him.”

  “So, how did you know?”

  “Gripper hated Peebles; he loathed rapists and nonces. Not that I witnessed it, but apparently this beast made Peebles’ life hell here, and who stood to gain the most from Gripper being shanked in the showers? He did. And his life became far more bearable after Gripper’s departure, until that is, this prisoner came here six years ago.”

  Hicks handed him the second photo. Coates had to hold the picture away from his eyes. Again, brutal, it showed a black guy sat on a chair, his head back and a long deep gash in his throat. Fully clothed, the once-larger-than-life prisoner’s life force had soaked through his prison issue overalls. The felon’s eyes were wide open in terrified disbelief. “Where was this taken?” Coates asked the governor.

  “The projection room. Again, the investigators couldn’t find any evidence against Peebles, but he stood to gain the most. Hector took an immediate disliking – or rather hatred – to him. Every chance he got, he beat on the child rapist and murderer. Until that fateful afternoon, when Hector’s corpse turned up.”

  “And life improved for Peebles here after that?”

  “Oh no end. The rest of the inmates were too afraid to even speak to him, much less anything else. They didn’t want to be found with fifty-five stab wounds to their faces. No, they let him be. In fact, they let them both be. Two rapists, just allowed to walk around like they owned the place… Made me sick, turned my stomach, watching that, all because we couldn’t prove his involvement. And without proof, we couldn’t use the murders against him at his probation hearing either. That’s how he was released, that and having an exceptional solicitor.”

  One thing bugged Coates. “These are both big boys, right?”

  “Oh yeah, I wouldn’t mess with them.”

  “Then how did Peebles manage to get to them? He’s no match for these guys. Only what, five-nine? Maybe ten or eleven stone? How does an average Joe like that take out two strapping lads like these, hmm? It doesn’t make sense. And this Gripper, the one in the shower, did Peebles creep up on him, or what?”

  Hicks shrugged. “It sounds far-fetched, inspector, but I know Peebles killed them both.” He reached across the desk and took the photos back. He shook his head, his eyes sad. “And now he’s gone and murdered that pretty girl.”

  Coates popped his phone back in his suit jacket pocket. “I’m afraid so,” he said in condolence to Hicks. “What matters now is catching this bastard. Where is he?”

  “How the hell would I know? I’m a prison governor, inspector; I don’t follow ex-convicts after they’re released. You’ll have to take that up with someone at either the Ministry of Justice, or probation service. Once he’s out of here, he’s not my problem.”

  Coates nodded his understanding. “I don’t suppose you have contacts at the Ministry of Justice, do you? I could really use some help on this. I need to find out why Peebles’ record has been redacted.”

  “I’m afraid not. He was sentenced as a minor, right?”

  “Right, so?”

  “The probation service will have given him a new life somewhere. A new name, in a place they can keep an eye on him. You’re from Sussex way, yes?”

  “Lewes, yeah,” he said, slowly understanding. “And you think he was relocated to the south east for his protection?” It made sense, he supposed.

  “They did the same for Venables and Thompson.”

  Coates was beginning to think he would never find Peebles.

  19

  Kereama Tua leaned across and kissed Amelia goodbye on the cheek. “I’ll be back by five,” he said. “See you later. Have fun shopping.” He opened her car door and picked up his rucksack from under the dash. “And try not to worry about this bloody pom, all right. I’m telling you he’s all piss and wind.”

  After waving her off, he stood outside the entrance to the Central Metro Station, put his bag by his feet and took out his pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he leaned back against a wall and inhaled, relishing the smoke hitting his throat. Amelia hated him smoking. A stupid and costly habit, he earned enough and told himself he could quit anytime he liked.

  Packed on the pavement outside the underground with commuters trying to travel to work on a Friday morning, one woman caught his attention. She wore a suit and a killer smile, with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. He blew a plume of smoke above people’s heads.

  Wearing a pair of blue jeans, a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and a light leather jacket, he stamped out his cigarette and picked up his bag. Kereama would normally drive to the recording studio in Cronulla, however his car was having its yearly inspection. The Metro would be packed, until he reached the outskirts of the city. By the time he got to Sutherland, he might actually grab a seat.

  Squeezing through the pack of travellers, he found himself walking with the crowd towards the escalator down to the platforms. He’d organised his ticket online, so he didn’t need to pay at the booth. With his eye on the blonde in front, he stood two steps above her, taking in her strong, yet sweet perfume. She smelled divine.

  Having stepped off the escalator, about to approach her, the tall woman turned left and disappeared, catching a train going in the opposite direction. “Bugger!” he mumbled, then shrugged and carried on.

  It didn’t take him long to find another beauty. On his platform, he stood among the crowd, locked in like cattle, when a black woman in her early twenties caught his eye in front and to the left. She beamed healthy white teeth at him from between commuters, but had to turn her head to find him. He smiled back.

  Onboard the train, he had to stand, holding a vertical handrail, his bag by his feet. A woman stood next to him wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I smoke, lady, bite me!” he said with a sneer. He was a fucking rock star; he didn’t take shit from an arsehole like that. When she huffed and turned away, he chuckled to himself, the black girl in fr
ont of the doors laughing with him. He mouthed, “Snooty bitch”. And she laughed again. While stood there, he imagined ripping her clothes off. He wondered what she hid beneath the office attire.

  Disappointed, he watched as the black woman turned when they started to slow down pulling into Carlton Station. Movement, as people squeezed past him. He saw her disappear. Gutted, he breathed in, letting more commuters pass him, when he felt a stabbing pain in his side.

  He groaned and placed his right hand over his ribs.

  When he stared at the palm of his hand, warm sticky blood made him gulp. His hand red, blood dripping from it, he went cold.

  People were still piling out of the carriage.

  He stared at his blood-covered hand.

  A scream came from behind him.

  Sweat trickled down his temples; he felt queasy and needed to exit the train before the doors closed.

  When he went to walk forwards, the commuters in front took steps to the side, forming a pathway.

  Holding his side, his palm covering the wound, he staggered one weary step after another until he was on the platform. He heard the bleep of the doors closing.

  With blood dripping on the concrete, Kereama scanned the area for a first aid station, all the while commuters looked on in horror. “We need to get you to the hospital, mate,” he heard some guy say, as he felt hands helping him towards a seat. “Someone call an ambo, please?”

  Before he knew what was going on, he lay on his back, a crowd of people gathered around him, concerned faces peering down at him. Then, the mob seemed to disappear, and he saw a male and female paramedic above him in their dark blue uniforms.