The Psychic, the Cop and the Killer

by Annette Morris

"Then he would've got a job. Probably in the same type of industry."

  "Yep. I'll check the hotels ... If I ever ... ,"

  "Get a name. Yeah. I got it. We're lacking a major piece."

  "Yeah." John leans back and throws his pen onto the table. "Can you look again at the evidence we have? Maybe something in there will ... ,"

  "I've already checked it out. But I can again."

  He nods and swipes his hands through his hair. "God! This case is going nowhere fast."

  "It's just slow. Give it time."

  John looks down at his notes. "You're going to go through the evidence again. You're going to sit with a sketch artist. And I'm going to sit on my arse and wait for all the warrants."

  "Haven't you got paperwork you can do?"

  Grimacing, he says, "Yeah. Miles of it."

  "Good. You do the paperwork then."

  He sighs loudly.

  I laugh.

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  "Okay. What about Trudi Whelan?" John asks.

  It's my turn to sigh. "How about you order some lunch and we'll continue after?"

  He nods. "Yeah. Good idea. What do you want?"

  "There's a fish and chip shop that delivers."

  "That'll do."

  He rises to put in an order.

  I gather some cold drinks, then pace around the house sipping from my can.

  "What's up?" John asks when he comes back.

  "I was thinking."

  "Oh. What about?"

  "How this is going to work. I mean. The evidence is at the station. We'll have to go back, eventually."

  John picks up his cold can and opens it. He takes a long swallow before answering. "Yeah. I know. But I'm hoping that by the time you do go back, things might've calmed down somewhat."

  "Have you heard from the Captain? What's happening out there?"

  "I talked to him this morning. Some of the media... at least the ones not at your place are at the police station. The Captain suggests that we stay away from both places."

  "I get why I have to ... But why do you? You could go to the station and get the files we need and... ," I fumble to a halt as I watch John shaking his head.

  "Can't do that," he says. "Because the media could follow me back here."

  "Oh. Okay. Yeah." I hadn't thought of that. Then we'd have the media camped outside here. "So what's happening with ... Sorry. I've forgotten the detective's name."

  "Bill. Bill Travers."

  "Okay. So what's happening with him?"

  John's face tightens in anger. "He's asked for a lawyer. No charges have been laid yet. We don't have proof."

  "So. He's still working?"

  John shakes his head. "No. He's suspended."

  "Okay. That's good at least."

  "Yeah."

  "Okay. Where are we up to?"

  John leans over and checks his notes. "I'm going to try to get some jewellery from Trudi's parents. Although now that the cat's out of the bag ... So to speak ... It'll be a lot harder."

  "Why?"

  "Because one of the people who was investigating Trudi's disappearance, was involved in her rape and death. Would you help me if it was your daughter?"

  "If I wanted to find out the truth, I would. It wasn't your fault that he did it."

  "No. I know. But it's going to seem mighty suspicious. They may clam up and refuse to deal with me at all except through their lawyer."

  I sigh.

  "Anyway. I'll try to get some jewellery. I have to find out what shift he was on that day. What car he was driving. I have to get warrants for his house and clothes. None of that is going to be easy or quick."

  A knock on the door interrupts him. John goes to see who it is while I continue pacing. The tempting aroma of fried fish and chips hits my nose and I moan.

  John laughs as he places the food down onto the table. "Yeah. I'm a bit hungry too. How about we don't talk about crimes and just eat?"

  "Sounds good to me."

  We dig into the food and it tastes wonderful.

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  Chapter 16

  "Um. That food was good."

  "Yeah. Much appreciated."

  I could tell the reprieve was over. John was in back to work mode. "So," I began. "Did you set up a time for the sketch artist?"

  "Yeah. That's no problem. But she'll have to come here."

  "Okay. Yeah. I suppose so."

  John goes into the other room to make more calls.

  I clean up the mess from lunch. Then go back to reading the reports on the cases again.

  John comes back into the room. "The sketch artist will be here within the hour."

  I nod and go back to reading. But then realise John is still standing there. I look up. "What's up?"

  "I have to go out. I have to see if I can get some jewellery from the Whelan's. If we can get some jewellery, you may get more information we need to put him away."

  I nod and go back to reading. I realise after a few minutes that he's still standing there. I look up again. "Is there a problem?"

  He fidgets. "You'll be here alone for a while. Will you be okay?"

  I frown at him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  He fidgets again.

  "What? What's going on John. Spit it out."

  He runs his hand through his hair. "There's a chance that Bill could be watching the house. He knows you're with me."

  "Oh! You're saying he could be angry and want to take it out on me?"

  John nods.

  "Okay. Well. I have your number. I'll lock up after you leave and ring you if he shows up." I go back to reading the report. But still John doesn't leave. I look up again. "What?"

  "Maybe I should call someone to come and stay with you?"

  I sigh. "Look. If he's going to come, he will. There's nothing you can do about it. The sketch artist will be here soon. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll get back. I'll be fine. Go."

  He hesitates. "You sure?"

  "Yes. Go."

  He gives me a quick kiss, turns and walks out the door.

  I hear his car start and leave.

  I walk around the house double checking all the doors and windows are closed and locked. I just want to make certain, there is no easy way into the house. There's nothing I can do about Bill though. If he comes, he comes. All the protection in the world isn't going to stop him. I know that. He's a cop. He knows how to get into places. All I can do, is make sure I take precautions. I should be okay. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

  A knock on the door a little while later has my heart in my mouth. Is it the sketch artist or Bill? Only one way to find out. I walk over and check the peephole. There is a woman standing there. "Yes. Who is it?" I call out.

  "Hi. I'm Julia Thompson. I'm the sketch artist."

  "Oh. Yes. Okay. Give me a minute." I fumble with the lock as I'm unused to it. Finally, the door is unlocked.

  I open it a little way and peer through the gap. Without warning, the door flies back against me and hits me hard in the face. The punch of the door swings me around. I get dizzy and see stars. I hear a woman scream. I turn towards the sound, my finger scrambling for a grip on something to hold me steady. My head is throbbing. Pain hits the side of my face. I am unsure what is happening.

  I stagger and fall to my knees on the floor. Even though my eyes are closed with the pain, I can see a bright light flashing again and again.

  A hand grabs me by the shoulder and turns me. Pain scores me on my arm. I scream and black out.

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  Chapter 17

  "Caitlyn? Come on, baby. Talk to me. Caitlyn?"

  I hear the voice and struggle to surface. As reality intrudes, pain hits me hard. Pain on my head, my face and arm. I moan as the pain becomes more intense.

  "Caitlyn. It's okay. The ambulance is on the way. Stay with me. Okay."

  The thought of an ambulance upsets me. I'm not sure why, but I begin to struggle t
o get up.

  "Caitlyn. Come on, baby. It's okay. I've got you."

  I hear voices. People talking. The pain in my arm throbs. My head hurts. I have a splitting headache. What the hell's happened to me? I moan again.

  "Caitlyn. It's okay, baby. Stay with me."

  I hear voices talking again. I can't make out what they're saying. I hear a siren in the distance. It seems to be getting louder. The noise makes the pain in my head intensify. I moan again. The noise becomes louder, piercer and sharper. I moan from the noise. Why can't someone stop that sound? It hurts. I struggle to get up. To get away from the noise. I can't take it. I'm going to be sick. I roll over and vomit. That makes the pain in my head worse. The pain blooms hot inside my head and then nothing. I pass out again.

  I wake and glance around. I'm in a hospital room. My thoughts flicker backwards over the events I remember. I remember talking to John in his house. Him saying he had to leave. There was a knock on the door. It had been the sketch artist ... no wait ... I remember seeing a shadow. My heart stops. Bill! It was the detective who'd been at the door. As I'd opened the door for the sketch artist Bill had pushed inside. I remember now. He'd hit me. That's why my head hurt.

  I reach up with an arm and touch my head. Bandages are on my forehead. My other arm pains. I glance down. There's a bandage on that arm too. What did the detective do? Fear hits me hard. He could've killed me! I thought I'd be okay in the house. And he just pushed himself inside and attacked me. My heart begins beating faster and faster as the reality of what could have happened hits me.

  I hear people running. Nurses run into the room. Someone pushes some buttons. Someone else does something with the drip in my arm.

  John comes running into the room. He looks haggard as if he hasn't slept in some time. "Caitlyn?" he yells.

  I glance up at him and try to smile.

  "Caitlyn?" He grabs my arm. "Caitlyn. You're going to be okay."

  I try to nod, but the nurse must've pushed through some more medication and I drop out before I can.

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  Chapter 18

  When I woke next, I hear voices arguing loudly.

  "We're keeping them out as best we can!"

  "Well. Your best is not good enough. I've organised some bodyguards. Round the clock."

  "As long as they don't upset the working of this hospital."

  "So the hospital is more important than your patients?"

  I must've made some sound, because the voices abruptly stop.

  "Caitlyn?"

  I open my eyes to see John and another man standing beside the bed.

  "Caitlyn." The other man interrupts. "Hi. I'm Doctor Brown. How are you feeling?"

  I try to talk but my throat's too sore to push the words out. I'm so thirsty.

  "Here," John says. He pushes a straw against my lips.

  I open my mouth and drink down some clear, sparkling water. It never tasted so good.

  "That's enough," the doctor says. "Don't drink too much at once."

  "What's going on?" I ask.

  "What do you remember Caitlyn?" he asks.

  "I remember Bill, the detective pushing through the door and the door hitting me in the head. Then I remember more pain on my face ... and then my arm. I must've blacked out or something."

  The doctor nods and writes something down on the chart. "We've got you on high pain medication. We'll see how that goes for a while and then we'll start to reduce it. If you need more pain control, push this button," the doctor points to a button.

  I nod, but that hurts, so I say, "Okay."

  "Don't stay too long," the doctor warns John before he turns and walks out.

  "Arse..." John mutters.

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  "Why is the doctor so grumpy?" I ask John.

  "Probably me. I've been giving him a hard time," John admits.

  "Why?"

  John takes a breath, looks away for a minute and looks back at me. "Some of the media managed to sneak in and the doctor protested when I organised guards." He waves his hand. "Doesn't matter. Forget it. It's not important. God! Caitlyn. When I saw you there ... what he'd done ... I ... " He grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. His eyes close as if he's in pain.

  "It's okay John. It's okay. It's over."

  He shakes his head. "It's not over," he replies ominously.

  "What?" I frown up at him. What is he talking about now?

  "The bastard's denying he hit you. He says the door hit you and he tried to grab you, but you fell and cut your arm on the door."

  I frown. "But I remember him hitting me?"

  John sighs. "I'll start at the beginning. The sketch artist says that Bill went in like a bull in a china shop. He shoved her out of the way, hit you in the head and you fell unconscious onto the floor. He hit you again when you were down. She says he also had something in his hand, she thinks a knife. She saw something in his hand and shoved him out of the way. But he still caught you on your arm with it."

  He took a breath. "His story is the door flew back hard when you opened it. Then the door smacked into your head. You put your arm up to block the door and something sharp on the door scratched your arm."

  I sigh. "So it's his word against mine and the sketch artist?"

  John nods. "There's no proof either way," he adds.

  I sigh again. "Great! That's just great!"

  "I'm sorry."

  "For what? You weren't there."

  "No. I should've realised he would try something. I just thought it was an off chance you know. Like he could ... But surely he wouldn't? I thought it was safe to leave you there. I won't make that mistake again. That's for sure."

  "John ... you said yourself It was an off chance. He might've gone to the house. There was no guarantee. I really didn't think he would try something like this."

  "Anyway. I've hired ... or at least the Captain has hired bodyguards for you ... 24 hours around the clock protection."

  I groan.

  "I want to keep you safe Caitlyn," he pleads.

  "I know."

  "And ... ,"

  "What?"

  "The media grabbed hold of it. They're camped outside the hospital and... my house."

  I groan louder. "What are we going to do now?"

  "Well. You'll be here for a while and ... ,"

  I begin shaking my head even though it hurts. "No. I want to leave."

  "You can't leave now Caitlyn. You might have a concussion. You still have to have scans and ... ,"

  "I'm fine. I can take pain medication once I leave here. I don't want to stay here. I want to leave."

  "Why? Just stay here and wait until you get better," he pleads.

  I shake my head. "For how long? No. We have to keep working on the case. If I'm in here, I can't do that and I can't help you. We have to get this guy and put him away."

  John sighs. "Look. I'll arrange for the sketch artist to come up here. You can do the sketch here. Okay?"

  "Okay. But after that?"

  "After that," he promises.

  "Did you get some jewellery from Trudi's parents?"

  He nods. "Yes." He glared down at me, hands on his hips. "But there is no way in hell I'm giving you that in here. You were just hit in the head twice."

  "Yeah," I sigh. "It hurts too."

  He leans down and kisses me gently on the lips. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

  "It's not your fault," I tell him.

  "He could've killed you."

  I take a breath and push back the fear. "I know. It was good that the sketch artist was there. Even though it was what got him through the door in the first place."

  "Yeah. Makes you wonder though. How many people has he hurt?"

  "Yeah. It does."

  A noise at the door had my head swinging towards it.

  "Mum!" Anna cries as she races into the room.

  ▲ ▲ ▲ ▲ ▲ ▲ ▲

  I smile and hold out my one good arm to grab her.
She leans in and cuddles me as best as she can.

  "Mum. You should see the reporters outside. There are heaps of them! The flashes from their cameras almost blinded me. They kept yelling out my name and asking questions. I couldn't hear a lot. Grandma wrapped me in a huge blanket and pulled me through the crowd ... ,"

  "Take a breath, Anna," a woman's voice calls.

  I glance over to see my mum walking towards me. "Hi mum. Thanks for looking after Anna for me."

  She nods and then looks over at John. "So you're the one that got my daughter hurt?"

  I cringe. This wasn't going to go well.

  It takes some time to calm mum down and explain to her what happened. John explains to her he has organised bodyguards for me.

  "Bit late," she says to him. "The horse has bolted."

  John frowns.

  "It's okay John," I reassure him. "We just have to catch him now."

  He nods. Then leaves to make some calls.

  Mum turns to me. "So. You and the hottie, huh?"

  I laugh, then cringe when my head hurts. Trust mum to say something like that.

  Mum stays for an hour. I'm really tired by the time she leaves and the pain's getting worse. So I push the button for more pain medication.

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  Chapter 19

  When I next open my eyes, I'm startled to see a strange woman sitting beside the bed. I jump slightly and have a moment of fear.

  "Hi," she says. "I'm Julia Thompson. I'm the sketch artist. How are you feeling?"

  I smile or try to around the pain. "I've been better."

  "I just want to say... the guy that hit you... he's an arsehole. And if I were you I'd stick with those guards outside like glue."

  I laugh. "Yeah. I kind've figured that out."

  "Seriously. I couldn't believe it when he pushed me out of the way and walked in and hit you. Then hits you again! Then when he got out the knife." She shakes her head. "I stopped him from hurting you more, but that was about all I could do."

  "How did you stop him?"

  She laughs. "I started taking photos with my phone."

  Amazed, I stare at her. "I would never have thought of that."

  She laughs again. "Most people wouldn't. But I'm a photographer as well as an artist. It's moulded into me that when I see something I take a picture of it."