After the noise had abated, he laughed still.
He still had Shane’s gun in his hand.
Getting up, Georgina kept her Glock on Elf Man, making sure he didn’t raise his arm.
“Do the world a favour and finish this, would you? Or I will,” Coates said.
Slowly, she stepped towards her tormentor. “I loathe you,” she said, pointing the gun at his face. “Why did you butcher my friends? Shane, why murder my boyfriend? Explain it to me, you piece of shit, or so help me God.”
“Because,” he said, gargling a blood bubble over his face, “I could.”
His laugh angered her. Images of Amelia flashed in her mind. Memories of Isla, Oliver and Kereama, too. And then a recollection of Shane made her squeeze the trigger.
The bullet blew a hole in Elf Man’s cheek. Georgina heard the faintest laugh still, prompting her to fire the gun a second time.
The bullet hit him in the centre of his forehead, scattering his brain over the concrete. His dead eyes stared skyward, but at least she couldn’t hear him laugh.
Satisfied that Elf Man was dead, she dropped the gun and fell to the floor, exhausted.
Coates caught her.
58
Coates peered inside the private hospital room. Sunday morning and the sun shone outside. “Knock, knock,” he said, his voice soft.
“Inspector, please come in,” Shaw’s father said. “Take a seat.”
Shaw didn’t look at him; she stared into the air, past her parents. Coates guessed she had much to process, what with the deaths of her long-term boyfriend and close friends. He nodded and walked to the opposing side of Shaw’s bed, flowers in hand. “These are for you. I’m sorry! I didn’t know what you like.”
“You’re not supposed to bring flowers to hospitals,” Shaw’s mother said. She reached out for them. “I’ll take them home with me and put them in water. Thank you from Georgina. She’s not spoken since waking up.”
Coates sat opposite her father and regarded her mother. “How is she?”
“Exhausted. She stayed in overnight on a drip. The bastard shot her in the shoulder; plus, she has bruises everywhere. The doctors had to take glass out of her feet. Basically a mess, but she’ll mend.” She held her daughter’s hand. “We’ll be here to help her make sense of it.”
“I’m not sure there’s a person on the planet who could do that.” Coates shook his head. “Make sense of it, I mean.”
“Who is this Danny Elfman, detective?” Shaw’s father asked. “Is it true his real name’s Arthur Peebles? And is it true he should still be in prison for rape and murder?”
“I’m afraid so, sir, yes,” he confirmed, unable to lie. “He had every opportunity in life. Peebles was one of four born to wealthy parents who doted on them. His two brothers and sister are all upstanding, well-rounded pillars of the community by all accounts. And his mum is a respected physician while his dad owned a printing company. There is no earthly reason why he should go on to enjoy hurting others. At the trial he tried blaming his co-defendant.”
“So much for nature. I always was a big believer in nurture.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s as simple as that, sir. We now know Peebles instigated everything. At the age of fourteen, he raped a young girl; beat her to death with a brick before burying her with his co-defendant’s help. At school, he might as well have been Mr Invisible, according to his classmates. Never a high-achiever, he never did anything worthy of note. In prison, he murdered two fellow inmates, but the governor couldn’t prove it. Peebles has never been friendly enough with someone to be influenced by them, so I think nurture’s out.”
Mr Shaw stared at him. “So, what then? If not nature or nurture, why did he murder my daughter’s friends?” Shaw’s father welled up.
“You really want to hear it?” He waited for the parents to nod. “It’s controversial, and I’m no criminologist, not by any means, but I think he had bad wiring. Put simply, his brain bypassed his conscience. He couldn’t feel empathy, or anything, really.”
“That would explain it,” Mr Shaw agreed.
After a lengthy silence, Coates went to stand. “Right, on that note, I think I’ll leave you to help your daughter heal.” He looked down at Shaw’s pretty face – liking the fact she was wearing a hospital gown instead of a bloody T-shirt – and said goodbye to her as softly as he could manage.
“Thank you, inspector, for everything.”
He stopped at the door, turned and smiled at her. “For what? I should be thanking you for saving my life.” He looked at the parents. “That’s one tough cookie you have there, Mr and Mrs Shaw.”
He jumped in a taxi outside the main reception doors and asked the driver to take him to Bondi Beach. He wanted to see what Kennedy had been raving about. In honour of him, he guessed.
The seventeen-minute drive from Sydney Hospital and Sydney Eye Hospital to the beach relaxed him. With the case solved, Coates could enjoy the rest of the day, his return flight not until mid-afternoon on Monday. He planned on buying an ice cream and sitting on the sand to eat it. Then he might have some beers at one of the café bars, either at The Starfish, Lush or The Bucket List.
Sergeant Packard had sold him on trying the food at Lush, having been to Australia a few times himself. Coates only regretted his family wasn’t with him. “Thanks,” he said, paying the taxi driver and heading in the direction of the beach.
It was busy with everyone from young families to hardcore surfers. Strolling up to the bar at The Starfish, he ordered his ice cream, paid for it, and walked, still wearing his suit, to a free spot on the sand. Careful not to drop his ice cream, he rolled up his trouser legs and sat, the sun beaming down on him. He took his shoes and socks off.
Yeah, he could get used to this, he thought, finishing his cone. Why didn’t he bring swimmers? Not caring, he stood, then strolled to the water’s edge. The water warm, he waded in, up to his knees, and laughed when a bigger wave whooshed up to his midriff.
Coates submersed himself. He understood why Kennedy had loved Bondi Beach so much; it was wonderful. And he loved Sydney. Scott Kennedy had sold it to him. He vowed to bring his family here as one of their big holidays. Treading water, he tried to put Elf Man out of his mind; he didn’t want to be wasting thoughts on him… Instead, he turned his thoughts to Georgina Shaw, glad she would in time recover.
THE END
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank, first and foremost, you, the reader, for taking a chance on reading my book. Without you picking it up and reading it, there would be no need for me writing it, or the publisher releasing it. So, thank you. If you enjoyed Mr Invisible, please consider leaving a review. And if you’d like some behind the scenes information, please follow me on Instagram: @dcbrockwell or my Facebook page: DCBrockwell Author. In addition to writing, I like gardening and making cocktails, so you’ll find quite a mixed bag on my Instagram account.
I would also love to thank the team at Bloodhound Books. Betsy and Fred, for taking a punt on my story, thank you so much for this opportunity to showcase my work; it’s more appreciated than you know. Morgen Bailey, my editor for shaping it up, ready for publication. Also Heather Fitt and the publicity team. Thank you all for your contributions. I hope I don’t let you all down.
And I can’t sign off without thanking my beta readers, who often pull me up on poor choices with storylines. Extra special mention has to go to Donna Morfett, Lesley Lloyd, Pauline Render Byron, Beryl Murrell, Lynda Checkley and Ang Lamb. All members of my group, Brockwell’s Betas have been a source of invaluable support, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Duncan Brockwell can be found here:
Instagram: @dcbrockwell
Facebook Page: DCBrockwell Author
Twitter: DCBrockwell
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