The gates opened and Kennedy drove them inside, where Coates saw two more police cars and an unmarked car parked up in front of the building. “We have company?”
“Nothing to worry about, inspector.” Kennedy switched off the engine and turned in his seat to face him. “Our chief superintendent’s here.”
His colleague’s remark, and smug grin told him the opposite. Coates ignored him and opened his door. “Sorry, sergeant, what were you going to tell me?” He waited for her to shake her head, telling him she would catch him up after they’d been to the crime scene. He nodded and stepped into the hot sun, putting his shades on. He whistled, impressed. “Surfing bought all this?”
“Uh-huh, surfing, footy and modelling.”
Following Kennedy’s lead inside the house, Coates walked upstairs to the first floor, which he assumed was the living room. It had to be, given the huge television mounted on the wall, the sofas, armchairs, and coffee table. Expensive-looking paintings adorned the walls. He didn’t need to ask where the crime took place; there was blood everywhere.
Willis pulled out her mobile and handed it to him. “We found the body here, on his back, laid out like this, his arm outstretched.”
“Like he was reaching out for Shaw?” The photo showed Daley’s eyes were open. His once-white vest red in the picture, Coates flicked through them. He studied close-ups of the wounds. Overkill. Why carry on stabbing someone after an injury so severe? And as for slitting the footballer’s throat, again overkill. “He’s enjoying himself,” Coates said to Willis and Kennedy. “He didn’t need to continue with the assault.”
“If your guy’s obsessed with Miss Shaw, Daley’s a threat, wouldn’t you say?” Kennedy folded his arms. “Killing her boyfriend would have been satisfying to him.”
Coates agreed. “What else did you find?”
“Daley’s a licensed firearm owner, with two pistols registered under his name,” Willis explained. “We found this Beretta Bobcat in Miss Shaw’s handbag.”
He glanced at the photo of the small handgun.
“But we can’t find the Beretta M9 anywhere. Daley has a safe in the master bedroom hidden behind a picture. The locksmith’s been, we’ve looked inside, and we found shells but no pistol, which is why we believe Peebles now possesses a firearm.”
Gun control was what he loved about the UK. Arming police officers only incited criminals to arm themselves, in his opinion. “Great!” He heard voices approaching from the stairs.
“Here he is,” a man in a dark-blue police uniform, complete with stripes on his arms, a sturdy hat and polished-to-a-mirror-shine shoes said. “Detective Inspector Coates, am I right?” He neither smiled nor held his hand out. “Here to show us how you do it over the pond, I hear. My detectives aren’t good enough for this case apparently. Oh no, we need training from a real detective, a pommie detective.”
Coates groaned inside. “Nope, just here to apprehend Peebles and I’ll be on my way, sir.” The look of utter contempt made him angry.
“Ah yes, Arthur Peebles,” the uniform said. “Your government’s embarrassment. If I had my way, I would let the press in here now. But, my boss read me the rule book and ordered me to extend you my every courtesy. Welcome! That being said, trying to hide five murders isn’t going to be easy, is it, Detective Coates?”
“Excuse me, sir, five?” He glanced at Willis, who shrugged.
“Sorry! I didn’t get around to telling you before we arrived,” she confessed. “Four of their friends are feared murdered as well, although there are no bodies to identify. But the blood’s enough to make us believe they were killed.”
“Where? How?” were the first two questions he thought of.
“We don’t know how without bodies. But we found blood, bone and brain matter in Mr King’s and Miss Kelly’s home, and traces of bleach mixed with saliva and blood, which indicates that one of them might have been forced to drink it. Plus we found a funnel on the floor. We also found rope next to two chairs. We believe they were tied up and bludgeoned to death, using this baseball bat.”
Coates observed the bloodstained bat in a photo. “Shit! This is what I was afraid of. He’s not even trying to hide it.” Willis shook her head. “And he’s not scared of getting caught either. He’s not afraid of prison. In fact, he probably considers this a little holiday before he’s locked up again.”
The Chief Superintendent clapped with sarcasm. “Wow! I see why they sent you now. My detectives wouldn’t have made those judgements. I’ll be singing your praises to your superintendent; you can count on that.”
Refusing to bite, Coates smiled. “Would you, sir? That would be smashing.” He let his face drop in a heartbeat. “Sergeants Willis and Kennedy, would you walk me through the two other crime scenes, please?”
49
Georgina couldn’t tell what time it was, with her hands bound to the metal pole, a rag in her mouth and her fingers and thumbs wrapped in duct tape, she could neither call out for help nor set herself free.
She screamed into her gag for the hundredth time, desperate for an urban explorer, or cop, or anyone to find her and take her away from this graffiti-covered nightmare.
Why her? What had she done to deserve this? Georgina thought of herself as a good person; she didn’t treat people badly. She raised money for charities. Maybe this was the cost of fame? It seemed a bit harsh if she had to lose her boyfriend and two best friends. Then she reasoned karma wasn’t to blame. Georgina didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone; she wouldn’t hurt a living creature. Her mum would have something to say if she did.
The heat cut through her. Clammy from all the tugging on the cable ties and screaming into her gag, which didn’t help keep the bities away, she continued fighting her restraints. Thirsty, she looked over at Elf Man’s side of the mattress and tried to grip a bottle of water with her foot. She missed the first time. The second time she hit the top of the cap, and the bottle fell on its side and rolled away from her. She wanted to cry.
Although petrified of Elf Man, of what he planned to do with her, he hadn’t touched her, yet. There would come a time when he wanted to touch her. The way he gazed at her, with those lust-filled orbs, terrified her.
Elf Man had left her gagged and tied the previous day. In the evening, she’d asked him how his day went, making small talk. He informed her that he spent the day tailing the police, watching them work his case. He told her that two cops drove to the airport to meet some guy in a suit Elf Man took to be a detective. He was very smug when he told her that they’d found Shane’s body. Georgina tried to kick him, but he moved. Then he’d slapped her, splitting her lip for the second time.
According to Elf Man, she forced him to hit her, not that it stopped him from begging for her forgiveness after the fact. He scared her because of his lack of self-control when angry. Elf Man released his anger immediately, lashing out at what he deemed a threat. He appeared not to have any boundaries.
After spending the day alone, the Brit returned to feed her, cold baked beans. The only food on offer, she’d wolfed them down.
A buzzing in her ear made her try to break the cables ties for the hundredth time. How were the thin plastic ties so strong? She should be able to break them. The buzzing increased and the mosquito landed on her face. Sweaty, hot and bothered, she shook her head until the bloodsucker flew away. Mosquitos were the least of her worries; there were plenty of deadlier insects in these woods that she knew of.
Rustling in the bushes made her stop. There were so many wild animals around these parts, she thought, it could have been anything, or worse… Elf Man. Staring at the doorway, surrounded by brambles that had grown through the walls and in the one glassless window, she waited, breath held.
“Honey, I’m home,” Elf Man said, carrying a white bag.
He stepped up to her, bent over, and took the rag out of her mouth.
With her stomach growling, she had to find out what he was carrying in the plastic bag. Two tablespoon
s of baked beans was all she’d eaten since Wednesday evening. Even if she managed to escape, she would be too weak to run… Or maybe he wanted that. “What’ve you got there?”
Her smirking captor pulled a cardboard container out. “What do you Aussies call these?” It wasn’t the first time he had mocked her language.
“Sangers.” Her hope shone bright, as he tore open the pack and took out a triangular sandwich. She ate heartily, taking huge bites out of it every time he presented her with the delicious tuna mayo treat. Being fed by his hand was humiliating, but it didn’t stop her scoffing the sandwich.
“You are hungry,” he said, placing the second half in front of her.
“Water, please,” she begged. Georgina shuffled in anticipation of hydration, her mouth so dry she found swallowing difficult. She drank greedily from the bottle he placed in front of her mouth. By the time he took the bottle away, she had swallowed almost two thirds of a two-litre bottle of water. “Thank you!”
Elf Man sat on the mattress next to her and dug out his meal, which consisted of a sandwich and a six-pack of beer. Picking up a bottle, he grinned at her. “And this?”
“A coldie, or stubby.” The British seemed so taken by the Australian language, not that she understood why.
“And a toilet?”
“Dunny.”
Bored of the conversation, she turned away from him and stared at her bound hands. How was she going to free herself? All afternoon, she’d tried to tear the tape, except he had wrapped at least three layers around her fingers and thumbs.
Georgina baulked when Elf Man touched her back. It didn’t deter him; he continued stroking her. “You are so beautiful,” she heard him say in a soothing voice. A scared sob escaped her, and he withdrew his touch. With her eyes closed tight, she prayed for him to go away.
“For fuck’s sake, my love, I pay you compliments, I feed you and keep you hydrated. What more do you want from me, huh?” His voice was on the cusp of angry.
“To go home.”
“And you will,” he said, getting up and crouching in front of her. “We’ll build a home. Doesn’t that sound good? We’ll pick a small town where no one knows us, yeah? Our house will be private, just the two of us in a vast sprawl of land, where we can roll in the fields together. No one will come visit us; we’ll be this happy unit, oblivious to the outside world. How does that sound?”
Delusional, she thought, scared of his expectant eyes, the hope they held. With one word she could destroy his dream and send him into a violent frenzy. “Lovely,” she said, her small, wavering voice a clear indication of the fear she felt.
“Really?” A frown appeared. “You wouldn’t be humouring me, would you? Otherwise, why did you say it like that? Where’s the enthusiasm, huh?”
He stood, towering over her, his glare boring into her.
“I’m sorry!”
“You’re sorry?” His voice grew in volume. “My ex is sorry. Don’t be like her.”
Attempting to change the subject, Georgina looked up at him and gave him her loveliest smile. “You had a girlfriend? What’s her name?”
“What, you don’t believe me?” He pulled his mobile out of his shorts pocket. “Here. Her name’s Tara.”
She studied the photo of a gorgeous girl, who she guessed was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. The poor girl and Georgina had similarities in looks. Tara had lovely, shiny black hair, just like she did. And they both had silky smooth, tanned skin. They were similar builds, petite, with little in the way of cleavage. “She’s beautiful. What happened?”
“I loved her so much, and I thought she loved me. We shared time together; I told her things about my life, intimate, secret details. Oh, she understood me, you know? Have you ever had that before?”
He began to relax, she thought, listening to him reminisce about this poor woman. Did he mean the question rhetorically or not, she wondered. Shane understood her more than anyone else. Just the thought of him lying on their living room carpet in a pool of his own blood made her angry.
“Then I find out she was humouring me all along,” he said, his anger simmering to the surface again. “She didn’t mean the lovely things she said. All I want is someone to be nice to me, to care about me, that’s all. And that bitch lied to me. But she won’t lie to anyone else, not now.”
He flicked through his photos and shoved it in front of her. Georgina turned her head upon viewing the bloody image of the dead woman. She felt sick. Closing her eyes, she had to be smart. If he became angry with her, he might kill her. Opening them, she looked up at him. “I’m not humouring you, Danny, I promise. Our new home together does sound lovely, the way you tell it, with the rolling hills.”
“Really?” He crouched down and met her stare. “You really think it’ll work? You think we’ll be happy? And it will be just you and me forever?”
The hope returned. “This is what I want, Danny. Just you and me.” Her smile almost convinced herself.
When Elf Man moved in for a kiss, she turned her head and his horrible lips met her dirty cheek. His touch almost made her recoil. He might get mad, she thought, if she flinched at his affection. “We’re not there yet though, Danny. We’ve still got to prove to each other that our love is true, don’t we? I mean, I don’t know about you, but I only want the real thing.”
Excited, Elf Man backed away. “I want that too.” He moved closer. “So, how do I convince you of my love?”
“Unwrapping my hands would go a long way.” She saw the excitement flash across his face. “It hurts, Danny. What harm can freeing my fingers and thumbs do, huh? I can’t go anywhere; my hands are still cuffed to this pole.”
Without thinking, he started unwinding the sticky duct tape. “This last bit might hurt,” he said to her, whipping it off in one smooth motion, taking the fine downy hairs with it. “There. Do you see how much I love you?”
“Thank you, Danny, thank you so much,” she said, moving and flexing her hands, letting the blood circulate. “I can see now how much I mean to you.” Having her hands free was in no way progress to getting out of this alive. From now on, she had to placate his fractious ego, or he might do some serious damage.
50
“I wouldn’t pay him much mind, inspector,” Sergeant Willis whispered. “He feels responsible for this. Kennedy’s not good at letting things go, so in his eyes, handing this case over to you makes him a failure.”
Coates inspected the phone’s photo of the bed in front of him. On screen, the covers were soiled, particularly on one side. Spatter marks sprayed the wall behind it. The bed was a shell, the mattress and sheets taken in as evidence, until such a time as they could be destroyed. The carpet beneath, however, still had bloodstains. “What do you mean? How can he be responsible?”
Janae Willis leaned in closer to his ear. “We interviewed Mr Tua after his assault on the Metro. We identified Peebles, or rather Elfman, but couldn’t locate him. Then Mr Daley showed us footage taken by Elfman showing him inside their home while they slept. He held a knife against Mr Daley’s throat, before… pleasuring himself at Miss Shaw’s bedside.”
“Pleasuring himself?” Coates raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah, you know.” She gestured with her hand.
“You mean in their home?” His question sounded naïve.
“In their bedroom with them in it. The creepiest thing I ever saw, I swear. Anyway, we met them on Tuesday, and we scheduled an installation of a panic button for Thursday, but then this happened on Wednesday night or the early hours of Thursday morning, so you can understand why Kennedy’s a bit, shall we say, off?”
“Wait! You didn’t offer them any protection?”
“Yes, the panic button,” she reiterated. “Weren’t you listening? We tried asking the brass for manpower, but they wouldn’t go for it. Our super said security was a waste. You know as well as I do how little protection we can offer victims of stalkers. I hate it, but–”
“Of course. I apologise; I
didn’t mean to make it sound like I was blaming you. We practically have to catch them in their home, I appreciate that.” For the first time since meeting Sergeant Scott Kennedy, Coates sympathised with the man. His inaction had indirectly caused five murders. He and Willis were tasked with protecting Shaw, Daley and their friends. They failed.
Willis was about to respond, when Coates’ mobile vibrated in his pocket. “Gary, this is a surprise. What’ve you got for me?” Before he left the UK, he asked Packard to keep digging into Peebles. As much as he was a luddite, Coates believed the answers lay in the ether.
“I’ve been scouring Peebles’ online activity for days now, sir, and I may have found something interesting. Of course it might be nothing, but I thought I’d let you judge that for yourself.”
Turning his back on Sergeant Willis, he walked to the rear of the bedroom. “Go on, man, tell me what you found. These calls cost a fortune. What’ve you got for me?”
“He’s shown a keen interest in a place called Waterfall Sanatorium. He looked it up no less than eight times on his laptop before he left. It’s an abandoned tuberculosis hospital just outside of Heathcote, a small town about an hour’s drive from Sydney.”
Coates took out his notepad and pen. “Can you repeat that please.”
“Waterfall Sanatorium. According to Wikipedia, the hospital was home to some two thousand TB patients before they died, and the buildings have been left abandoned for thirty-odd years now. I thought you’d appreciate the heads-up… Could be worth looking into.”
Coates thanked his UK partner and filled him in on the murders, before he hung up and turned to Janae Willis, who was waiting for him. “What have you been told about Waterfall Sanatorium?”
“Forget it!” Sergeant Kennedy strutted into Kereama Tua and Amelia Thomas’ bedroom. “The surrounding woods are too thick and overgrown. And besides, the elements made the buildings crumble away. All that’s left is rubble.”
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