The Killer of Oz

by Chelsea Field

  The more I thought about it, the more I knew it was right. Like my numbers. It wasn’t emotional. It was just clear, simple.

  And six months later, I engineered my first clean kill.

  (Experiment 1.3)

  Nobody investigated beyond the cursory requirements. Nobody knew. But damn me if I didn’t walk away with my chin held high.

  Seemed I was special after all.

  The four of us finished reading and stared at each other. Flashing red and blue lights marked the passing seconds.

  Wow.

  I felt more sympathy for Kirk than at any other time over the past few days, and yet the tragic horror of how his traumatized intellect had sought to fix its perceived powerlessness shook me to my core.

  It was also terrifying to think of how he’d succeeded in leading authorities to chalk up each death as an accident. Sure, his gray nomad lifestyle and “scientific” approach had allowed him to choose victims with only a passing and tenuous connection to him. And sure, Australia had a dangerous reputation. But the four deaths that appeared to have been caused by natural hazards—five if you counted Amy’s—would’ve seriously skewed the past decade’s statistics.

  Had that bothered the statistician in Kirk? Or added to his sense of being special? Of playing the odds and winning?

  How come no one had noticed?

  Etta broke the silence first with a low whistle. “Gosh, you gotta admire the man’s ingenuity.”

  I frowned. “I was feeling terrified by it, actually.” And I was a little unnerved that Etta was feeling admiration instead.

  Mum lowered her head to her hands. “I can’t believe it.” Her voice was muffled by her fingers. “It’s so sad. So horrible. So tragic.”

  No one disagreed.

  I shuffled closer and put my arm around her.

  “The worst thing,” she continued, “is that it could’ve been prevented. He should’ve been taken out of harm’s way years ago.”

  Mum didn’t raise her face from her hands, and Connor laid an uncertain hand on her arm. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

  “Me too,” Mum said. But it seemed to lend her the strength to straighten and give us a watery smile.

  “To think I was worried about the trouble your father would get into when we left him home alone… and yet not one urgent call from him.” She shook her head in wonder. “While I come here and…” Her smile wavered but persevered bravely. “Well. I’m never going to live this down.”

  23

  We delivered Kirk’s harrowing letter to the police and left.

  It felt strange to have wrapped up a case when we were still missing a bunch of the details. But Kirk’s denials about Amy were doubtless to save face in front of the other nomads. From what I’d seen, he didn’t have an article about Amy’s death in his creepy picture frame, but Etta said she’d found the relevant newspaper on his dining counter, so we figured he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. And we were confident that with the gray nomads facing smuggling charges—thanks to our evening’s work—the police would have plenty of leverage to get them talking. Besides, now the truth was out about Kirk, I had a feeling the others wouldn’t be trying too hard to protect him. The details would come out in the wash.

  So we were done. We’d identified Amy’s murderer.

  If only we could celebrate the fact.

  In an attempt to lighten the mood, I focused on Etta. “So spill. How did you lose control of the nomads when I went off to find something to tie them with?”

  Etta’s air of smug satisfaction faded momentarily. “Ugh. Norma faked a heart attack—her nursing experience made it a good one—and Ray attacked me while I was trying to help her. That old bastard must’ve had military or special ops training at some point.”

  I snickered. Choked it off. Snickered again.

  Etta scowled at me. “Just what do you find so funny about that?”

  “You don’t see it?” Her bewildered annoyance made me snigger harder. “You love exploiting people’s tendency to underestimate old folk—that’s what your harmless old lady act is all about. The nomads caught you in your own favorite trap!” I made an unattractive snorting noise and wiped away tears of amusement.

  I didn’t add that I considered myself far too wise to do the same these days. Etta had cured me of that misconception.

  Her feral grin returned. “I’ll concede your point. But I still whooped their asses. It just took a minute because Ray’s so much bigger than me. Plus my trap was better than theirs—I mean, who’s left laughing?”

  She folded her arms and looked smug again. “Besides, now I’ve caught two serial killers.”

  We lapsed into silence for a while after that, and I realized Etta was right. As bad as I felt for Kirk’s traumatic childhood and subsequent descent into madness and mass murder, our night’s work was worth celebrating. No more people would die pointless deaths in his attempt to patch his damaged soul. And though it made Amy’s murder no less tragic, her death had stopped a serial killer. If she hadn’t somehow pushed Kirk into breaking his MO and killing someone with a stronger connection to him, he might have gone on murdering innocent acquaintances in the guise of Australian accidents for many more years.

  I wondered how many lives Amy had inadvertently saved.

  By the time we’d dropped Peanut home and returned to our hotel, it was late. But Lily was awake and waiting for us.

  We shared our news first, and then—after exclamations and a second round of hot chocolates—we lost ourselves in the more lighthearted tale of Lily’s mission of bringing down the Brat Brigade.

  “Our operation got off to a good start,” she told us. “I sat on a deck chair and hid my face and fake manager badge behind a big newspaper. Since the brats are always so careful not to get caught in the act, Caitlyn’s job was to incite them at the right moment. I wasn’t sure if she’d be brave enough to do it, but it was like watching a bookworm crack open its cocoon and turn into a smart-mouthed butterfly.” Lily made a show of wiping feigned tears from her eyes. “Beautiful.”

  I bit my lip, not clear yet whether to laugh or worry.

  “So Caitlyn waits till the brats have been in the pool for a few minutes, then goes over and asks, ‘Enjoying yourselves? I don’t think there’s enough chlorine on the planet to get me in there after the explosive diarrhea incident this morning.’ The brats start screeching and swearing and Caitlyn adds off the cuff. ‘But I suppose you three already have potty mouths, so I guess it won’t hurt you.’” Lily grinned in appreciation. “So of course they leap out and shove her into the pool. We’d figured that was a possibility and made sure Caitlyn’s phone and book were safe, by the way. Then it was my turn.”

  Lily paused with dramatic timing to sip her hot chocolate, then went on with obvious relish.

  “I marched up to them and said that due to their flagrant disregard of the pool rules, they were banned from the pool area for the rest of their stay.” Her features flashed satisfaction. “You should’ve seen the brat’s faces. Even better, you should’ve seen Caitlyn’s.”

  I slung an arm around her. “Ha. Well, I’m not sure you’d find that strategy in the Approved Parenting Rulebook, and I pity the poor receptionist who has to deal with the snotty, irate parents, but you sure made Caitlyn’s holiday.”

  Lily frowned thoughtfully. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

  “Damn straight you did,” Mum chimed in. “And I can guarantee your unorthodox approach was a whole lot more effective than the traditional one. I’ve never met a bully that’ll stop just because the victim asks nicely.” Her lips thinned, and I wondered if she was thinking of Kirk’s father like I was.

  I drank more hot chocolate.

  Everyone else did too.

  Even Herbert got in on the action via a sneaky nose dip into an untended mug. His resulting chocolate-tinted muzzle brought us great amusement.

  Lily wrangled him with a wet wipe before he could redecorate the hotel suite unduly. Then looked up w
ith a shy smile. “You know, I’m beginning to think I might make an all right parent after all.”

  Mum pulled Lily down beside her and gave her a hug. “Glad you’re starting to catch on, darling.”

  Herbert followed his nose wiper over and bumped the cozy pair with a meaningful nudge. He wanted his bedtime bottle, and if he didn’t get it, he would raid our hot chocolate stashes until we capitulated.

  Mum started to rise, but Lily pulled her down this time. “I’ll feed him,” she said, springing to her feet. “I figure I could use the practice.”

  24

  We decided to stay an extra couple of days in Queensland so we could tie up loose ends with the police and the Taste Society and experience some of the tourist attractions we’d yet to see. The Great Barrier Reef, for one.

  Etta—on the high of having caught a serial killer—wanted to keep hunting. So she disappeared on a three-day shooting tour of feral pigs in the Daintree. I was just grateful someone else had to stress about her gun safety for a while.

  Actually, before she left, she’d surprised me with an apology. Somehow that seemed almost as surreal as catching another serial killer.

  She’d stared at her shoes instead of giving me her usual sharp and penetrating gaze. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I know I invited myself along on this trip and have been a bit selfish this past week. I just really had to get out of LA, and—”

  “Wait, why? What’s going on?”

  “Never mind that. The point is I’m sorry, and by way of apology, I’ve organized for you all to go on a private tour to swim with turtles off the coast of Cape Tribulation.”

  “Wow.” I was momentarily speechless. “Etta. That’s too much.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about the cost. I talked the guy into doing it for free.” She grinned then and wheeled her suitcase out the door.

  That had been two days ago, and we’d gone on the tour yesterday. The experience had been the highlight of everyone’s holiday so far.

  We were due to return to Adelaide tomorrow morning, and Connor and I were sitting at an out-of-the-way bus stop near Mossman Gorge.

  Like so much of Queensland, it was postcard perfect. A sea of vibrant green sugarcane encircled by lushly vegetated mountains on a backdrop of bright blue sky.

  In fact, it seemed obscene that a bus stop and the highway it sat on should have such incredible views when so many people looked out their windows every day to see brick, concrete, or steel. Sometimes the cost of convenience felt too great to me. If only someone would invent teleportation.

  Even so, I’d prefer to be experiencing this particular view by postcard at this point. The sugarcane brought back bad memories of heat and darkness and desperation. Of fearing my life would end in an explosion of fire. And the pretty mountains behind them made me think of leeches and scorpions and the inability to draw breath.

  All of which meant I didn’t mind when Dr. Pasquel Merlot blocked our view.

  “Thank you for meeting me here,” he said. “I needed to talk to you.”

  He was still full of that restless, fidgety energy but appeared even more sleep deprived this time.

  Connor looked him up and down, taking in his tension. “All right.”

  Pasquel thrust a photo into Connor’s hands. “This is all the family I have left in the world now. I love them more than anything.”

  Two smiling faces stared up at us—one, a dark-haired woman around my and Amy’s age, the other, a gap-toothed kid about seven years old. Both shared Pasquel’s blue eyes and dimpled chin.

  Connor handed the photo back. “That’s understandable.”

  Where was this going?

  Pasquel swallowed, hesitated. “I hope it is. Because what I’m about to tell you might be less so.”

  He hovered for a moment, then sat on the bench beside Connor.

  “Eight nights ago, the night of Amy’s death, my daughter and granddaughter were driving up from Cairns to spend a few days with me. My daughter Kalani is a single mother, so she enjoys the help, and I adore the company. I’ve been thinking of retiring and moving closer so I can see them more often. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive—”

  Pasquel cleared his throat and clasped his hands in an attempt to force them to stillness.

  “Anyway. I was finishing up at work, preparing the shipment for Amy to collect on her way to the airport, when my computer starts making this noise I’ve never heard it make before. I went over, and this footage of Kalani and Nedra—that’s my granddaughter—picking up snacks at a servo showed on the screen. Then a bunch of writing started scrawling across the monitor. It said something like:

  As you can see, your daughter and granddaughter are in a gas station in Kuranda on their way to you. If you want them to survive the trip, pay attention.

  Amy will arrive in ten minutes. Before she does, go through your recent delivery of lab consumables and locate the black centrifuge tube amid the clear ones. You’ll find a single capsule inside. Put this capsule, unbroken, into the thermos of coffee Amy has in her car. Without her knowledge.

  If you fail to follow these instructions, or if you warn Amy, call the police, or breathe a word of this to anyone before seven full days have passed, your last remaining family will die.

  Horribly.

  By the way, your hair’s looking particularly unkempt right now. You might want to comb it.

  Think fast! I’ll be watching.”

  Dr. Merlot’s face was tight and his complexion sallow as he looked into the past. But his hands still tried to fidget. Connor and I were rooted to the spot in riveted silence. I wasn’t sure who was most tense out of the three of us.

  “Then the words and footage disappeared like it had never been there,” Pasquel said, smoothing the photo over his knee. “But they were burned in my brain rightly enough.”

  He looked up then, his features twisted in torment. “I didn’t know what to do. I had only minutes, and I didn’t think even the Taste Society could do anything to protect my family that quickly. But I swear I didn’t believe whatever was in that pill would kill Amy… I mean, if they could so easily take out my daughter and granddaughter, why not kill Amy directly? It didn’t make sense. And it didn’t make sense from a delaying-the-shipment point of view either, especially with all the Taste Society’s contingencies for that sort of thing. Besides, why not just tell me to fudge the order?” He wrung his hands.

  “So I did what they said.” His voice choked to a whisper. “I killed Amy.”

  The scientist pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket—one which was as worn and stained as the rest of him—and dabbed at his wet eyes. Then blew his nose noisily.

  “I didn’t realize that at the time, of course. I ripped a chunk of money out of my super account and sent Kalani and Nedra on a holiday in Bali—hoping that whoever’s behind all this couldn’t get at them there. But by the time they’d landed, Amy was already dead.” He swallowed like it hurt. “And I figured it wasn’t worth risking their lives for the sake of a few more days before I turned myself in. I’m still not even sure if Amy was supposed to die or if that was bad luck. None of it makes any sense to me. The postage date on that box of lab consumables meant they must have set it up at least a week in advance. Maybe if the weather conditions hadn’t been so extreme…”

  Pasquel had obviously thought long and hard about this. During many sleepless nights, I suspected. He shrugged, then squared his shoulders.

  “But my seven days are over, and I know you were investigating the case for the Taste Society, so I wanted to give you a heads-up. To let our employer get its ducks in a row and do whatever’s needed to protect its secrets and backside before I go to the police station.”

  Connor swore.

  I wanted to weep. What the hell kind of choice had Dr. Merlot been given? If forced to choose between gambling on an action with an unknown outcome or doing nothing and condemning your loved ones to death, could anyone do nothing?

  Yet now Pasquel would lose his job and be se
parated from his family by the steel bars of the penitentiary system. He might even die in there. Prison was a stressful place, and Merlot was already in his twilight years.

  Unless…

  “Um, are you sure you need to turn yourself in? The person the police are looking at for Amy’s death is a serial killer anyway. Adding hers to the tally probably won’t even impact his sentence.” I trailed off, second-guessing my words. Even if it didn’t impact Kirk’s prison sentence, it could impact his relationship with his all-important gray nomads. I hesitated.

  But Merlot was already shaking his head resolutely. “No. Since this whole thing makes no sense to me, I’m concerned the person behind it might want to use this as future leverage. I’m compromised. And I refuse to be in a position where I can risk anyone else’s lives.” He stood up. “Please ask the Taste Society to act quickly. I can’t bear this on my conscience for much longer.”

  Connor and I were left reeling. What had just happened? Who could have organized this nightmare? And why? Surely Kirk wasn’t behind it…

  How did we get it so wrong?

  How could we have completely missed the truth?

  Because Dr. Merlot didn’t have a motive to kill Amy. Nor was the method a good fit, considering the many better options afforded by his lab and scientific background.

  We’d been right about that.

  Which led straight back to who did. Who was behind this? Who had manufactured a motive and the means to force Pasquel to act? And why? As Pasquel had said, if they could take out his daughter and granddaughter, why not take out Amy directly?

  And why tell him to keep his mouth shut for seven days then let him do as he willed?

  Could it all have been for misdirection’s sake?