Glimpse

  Her mind turned to the one aspect that bothered her. Why had PPP gone to the city, and then spent two hours in a bar? If he had two tasks to fulfil, and had to wait, in between as she had hypothesized, why the city, and what could those two jobs have been?

  The city is big, with lots of busy shops on a Friday night. PPP could find anonymity there, that’s a given. Whatever he went to buy, he wanted to gain time, and use the crowds so that he wouldn’t easily be tracked down. So, Okay, he came in to buy something, but what could that thing be? More women’s clothes? Surely not? It must be more important than that.

  Question two: whatever he bought, he then decided to kill time in a pub, why? Why not go home? Answer: he wanted to use it in the city. Whatever it was, if it was something he wanted to use, rather than wear. Perhaps he worried that in using whatever it is, it could lead to his discovery if he went to his house. That discounts clothes, surely?

  At that moment, her mobile phone rang in her bag on the passenger seat, which startled her. She fumbled inside, took out her pink Motorola and flipped it open one handed. She was expecting it to be Rick. “Hello?” she answered, nervously.

  “Pat, it’s me, where the bloody hell are you? I brought you in a coffee to find you had disappeared, without a single word. I’ve been worried sick.”

  Bugger, I forgot to tell Tom. “Oh, Tom I am so sorry. I dashed out without a thought, please forgive me. I’ve been at a crime scene with the police. PPP has killed again. I am on my way home now and I will tell you all about it when I get there. I’m about ten or fifteen minutes away.”

  “A crime scene? Jesus Pat, isn’t this getting all bit too close to the bone? It’s not dangerous is it, you working like this with the cops?”

  She sighed, ignoring the pun he had made unintentionally: A surgeon saying it was close to the bone? “Tom, I’m doing something I always wanted to do, you know that. No, I don’t think it’s dangerous, and I did say sorry for getting so distracted that I ran out without telling you I was going. I will be home soon, let’s talk then, I’m driving, ok? Sorry I made you worry.”

  They both disconnected at the same time, and she tossed the phone onto the seat. Now, what was I thinking? Only then did it hit her what PPP had gone to the city to buy: a pre-paid, disposable mobile phone. With that realization came an understanding why he would wait in the pub: to telephone Rick. He wanted to do it from the city so that if Rick’s calls were being traced, he could dispose of the phone and be just another woman in the late-night shopping crowds.

  She pulled over, again parking illegally, snatched up her phone and flipped it open. With a sinking heart, she noticed it only had one bar of battery power. Damn, I knew I should have replaced the bloody thing. Of recent times, it had been playing up, the battery life had become shorter, and shorter. She loved the pink flip style of phone, but the battery life was dreadful.

  She dialed Rick’s number, expecting to hear the traditional ‘McCoy’ barked at her, but she didn’t. “Hello?” she heard him say quietly, and she knew by his tone that PPP had phoned.

  “Rick, it’s Pat, my phone is going to die soon so I don’t have long. He has called you, hasn’t he? Whatever you do you must not do what he says. He has killed again tonight, I think his name is Paul Rankin, tomorrow morning, early, we will know for sure. You must not do anything before then. Do you hear me?”

  “This is not a good time, Pat. I’ll talk to you in the morning, goodnight.” He hung up on her.

  Damn the man, he’s not thinking straight. Fuck, is it any wonder with Amy in the hands of a madman?

  She got six digits of Colin Harris’s phone number in when her phone screen went black and died. “Arggh,” she cried, and threw the useless thing on the floor on the passenger side of the car.

  In the next instant, she realized that if she had called the Chief Inspector, and he acted on her information, it could have caused a problem for Amy. Colin would have been forced to move, and PPP could have seen them arrive. If he had contacted Rick, as she now believed he had, his radar would be on high alert. Then, feeling cornered, he would have killed Amy, out of spite, and then probably himself. There had been numerous cases where sociopaths had done that when confronted.

  She knew full well that his type of narcissistic personality craved the limelight; even if it was to die as a martyr. He would either kill himself, or hand himself in, there was no way to know which side that coin would land on. A lot would depend on whether he thought he had a choice. She had no doubt that his first option would be to surrender, if given the chance, so he could become famous. The narcissist in him would love that. But that would only work if he was permitted to make that decision. But, if he thought he had no alternative, he would kill himself and anyone else he could take with him.

  She had to do something, but what?

  Think damn you, think. Paul Rankin, do I have his witness statement? She grabbed the pile of copied files she had taken home for her homework and flicked on the overhead light. She riffled though page after page within the manila folder marked Carly Biddle.

  She found it, very brief, but there it was with the other interviews of staff in the meat department. Oh, my God, he’s a butcher, why didn’t I think of that before? That’s why the bodies are hung upside down, like meat carcasses in a fridge. That’s also why the bodies were dissected so well, he is a bloody butcher, not a medical student or surgeon. It’s him, it’s him.

  She could find a phone box and call Colin, but she had a feeling if she did, she would be condemning Amy to death when the police raided his house. Life had no value to Rankin, his own, or anyone else’s, why would he bother surrendering in a raid carried out by armed police? Fame; that was the most obvious thing that would appeal to him. If she could get to him first, if she could assure him she would drag Rick’s name through the mud, and at the same time make him famous, maybe she could save Amy.

  Who is better qualified to convince a madman than me? This was what I lived and trained for: to be face to face with a serial killer and talk him down.

  She ran her finger down the page until she found his address. Mundaring. That was another clincher: it was so close to Midland. Next, she reached for the glove box and took out her map book and looked up Phillips Road. Satisfied she could find it, she started the car, and pulled back out into the traffic. She was going to meet a serial killer, for the first time, outside of a mental asylum or courtroom.

  Chapter 21: Hope and Good Intentions

  “You can’t be serious, swap my wife for my daughter? I’m not making that choice,” Rick shouted.

  “I understand, Rick. It’s is a tough decision. Okay, I will let you know where you can find Amy’s body, after I finish with it.”

  “Wait,” Juliet screamed, “She’s my daughter too. Don’t I get a say in this? I’ll do it, tell me what to do.”

  “Jules, you can’t, you can’t sacrifice yourself like that, and besides, he may not let Amy go anyway.”

  “Oh Rick, stop judging other people by your own low standards. Unlike you, when I give my word I keep it. I have said I will free Amy, and I will once I have Julie. Now, are we going to have some fun, or not?”

  “Rick,” she pleaded, “I’m going to do this, you can’t stop me. You wanted to give yourself to him to save Amy, why can’t I do the same? She is our daughter, and if one of us has to die to save her, who says it should be you and not me?”

  “Are you listening to your wife, Rick, are you hearing how wonderful this woman is? Why would you have screwed that other thing, when you had a woman like this at home?”

  Rick hung his head in anger, shame, and frustration. Tears spilled from his eyes as he realized Juliet would not be swayed.

  “So, are we in agreement?”

  “Yes, tell me what to do,” Juliet replied quietly.

  “Wait, what are you going to do with her? We deserve to know.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. No Rick, you don’t deserve to know anything. So far as I am concerned you gav
e up all rights to Julie when you had sex with that other woman behind Julie’s back. And if that wasn’t bad enough, now you’re at it with Mrs. Holmes. What she does with me, is between us, not you. But you should know, I may, or may not kill her. I may just want to talk to her and tell her all about what a rat you were all those years ago. Or, I may have sex with her. And, finally, I might kill her, but it is my choice, not yours. Do you understand, and do you agree Julie?”

  “Yes,” she answered, trancelike.

  Rick was incapable of speech; He had never felt so helpless in his life.

  “Good. Now, Julie, you will take Rick’s mobile phone, and Rick, you will stay home. I will call now and again on your landline, to make sure you stay there, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, I get it.” His mind raced, trying to find a way out of the dire situation he was letting Juliet walk into.

  “Good, because, if you are not there when I call, or if I call and the phone is engaged, well, firstly how can I tell you where to pick up little Amy from? And, secondly, I will know you have lied to me again. If you make me think that, both Amy and Juliet die. Let me hear you say you understand my instructions, Rick.”

  “I understand.” He choked.

  “Good boy. Julie go and get in your car, and drive toward the city, slowly, and take Rick’s phone with you. At some point, I will be behind you, making sure no one is following you. I know your car, and the route you will take. When I’m convinced you have not lied to me, I will flash my headlights, and phone you. Then and only then will I tell you where to go to meet me. Then you will throw the phone out of the window. I will be watching to make sure you do. When we meet, I will take you to Amy in my car, and then, we will take her to somewhere safe. I will call you at that point, Rick, and tell you where she is. Only then can you leave the house and go and pick her up. Do we all understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. What are you waiting for? Let’s go and get your daughter, Julie.”

  The phone went dead. Juliet turned to Rick, “I forgave you, and you fucked her? You made me think our lives were perfect and you screwed her?”

  “I didn’t, and I never would have, I swear it to you.”

  “Can you hear yourself, Rick? Why should I believe you when you admit you thought about doing it with her?”

  Before he could answer, the phone rang again, and he expected it to be PPP, “hello?”

  “Rick, it’s Pat, my phone is going to die soon so I don’t have long. He has called you, hasn’t he? Whatever you do you must not do what he says. He has killed again tonight, I think his name is Paul Rankin, tomorrow morning, we will know for sure. You must not do anything before then. Do you hear me?”

  “This is not a good time, Pat. I’ll talk to you in the morning, goodnight.”

  He hung up and looked at his wife, who was sneering. “She calls you, at a time like this. I trusted you, how stupid am I?”

  “Jules, I swear you have this all wrong, he has played with your mind, tricked you. Pat was calling to try to help save Amy. I promise you, she and I have never done anything like that, and never would have.”

  He reached out and put his hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off. “Don’t touch me.”

  She snatched the phone from his hand and walked out. He wanted to run after her, wanted to convince her, but he knew he had thought of being unfaithful, and he was ashamed. He heard her car start and pull out of the driveway. He was left alone

  ****

  Phillips Road was long and dark, very dark. There were very few street lights for most of it until she ventured around a curve and saw a lone lamp on a crooked pole, opposite an old shop front building. She slowed down, and by the dim light could just make out the faded and peeling painted sign that said Rankin’s Meats. It was strange to see a single shop, among houses while on the opposite side there were no homes at all, just park or bushland; it was hard to tell which in the dark.

  She stopped the car thirty meters past the building, so she was in shadow, and turned off her ignition. The building looked as if it was empty, there wasn’t a light anywhere, and the front windows had been painted over to stop passers-by looking in. She could see in the gloom the shadow of the house attached behind, but there were no welcoming lights there either.

  No one is home. There’s nothing for it, but wait.

  Her plan, such as it was, was to knock on the door when he got home and try to talk to him. Five minutes later, she changed her mind, let’s have a look around the back, maybe there is a way in, Amy could be inside, and I can free her.

  She got out and closed her door quietly behind her, then making even less noise, opened the boot of the car. In the side compartment was her breakdown torch, which she picked up, then she had a second idea, and took the wheel spanner from the tool kit. Suitably armed, she locked the car and crossed the road, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, as she approached the shop.

  Up close, the building looked even more derelict. It clearly hadn’t had a coat of paint in years. She tried to find any part of the window where the coating had worn away so she could see inside. Right up against the corner, there was a spot and she squatted down low, and shone her torch through the gap.

  It was as she expected an old closed butcher shop to look like, with a long refrigerated counter, wooden chopping block, and old signs of meat cuts on the wall. It looked like a set from a horror film, and a shiver ran down her spine.

  Next, she went around the side of the building to the wooden front door, which appeared as if it hadn’t been opened in years. The alcove was strewn with cobwebs hanging down from the corners, and once again she felt she was visiting a haunted house. There must be a rear entrance, she decided, and took off to investigate, glad to get away from the cobwebs.

  As quietly as she could she walked from shadow to shadow to the corner and then around it after peeking to make sure the coast was clear first. It was as quiet as a grave and that thought didn’t please her at all. There was a gravel alley behind the house, which was overgrown with weeds, and trees which overhung the corrugated iron fences. It was very, very dark.

  Pat was glad she had the torch as she stepped as quietly as she could, but the gravel scrunched under her shoes. When she drew level with the rear of the shop, she found a double gate, the same height as the fence, and covered in sheets of iron so she couldn’t see through. There was a hand hole through which she thought she could reach to open the latch, located on the inside.

  Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she put her hand through; hoping upon hope there wasn’t a big dog on the other side that would bite her. Her fingers closed over the draw bolt and she see-sawed it to and fro, until it opened. The mechanism and hinges had been well oiled, which took her by surprise, so the gate opened quietly, and she stepped through, then latched it closed behind her.

  She turned the torch off, just in case he was home, and stood still to let her eyes adjust to the dark. She was standing on a paved area, obviously used to park a car, though the flag stones were uneven with neglect. It then turned into a path, that lead to the back veranda of the house. There was a straggly old tree to her right, and weeds nearly a meter-high struggling to grow in the crowded flower beds either side of the path. To her left was a large old shed.

  Being careful where she placed her feet she tiptoed to the shed, not daring to turn the torch back on. There were no windows, just a door, secured by a gleaming big padlock which looked almost new. She tapped on the door. There was no answer from inside.

  She contemplated using the wheel spanner to break the clasp which held the padlock but thought she would check out the house first. If I force an entry, and Paul Rankin is not the killer, I’m in a lot of trouble, she warned herself. I’m here to reason with him, not break into his home.

  Her heels made their inevitable noise on the path as she started off toward the main building, and she cursed her choice of footwear. Right, like I should have gone ho
me and changed first.

  The sheer magnitude of what she was doing came home to her. She was being stupid, no, more than stupid, far more. She turned to leave, she needed support and help, and was going to call the DCI from the first call box she could find.

  Then she heard a vehicle approaching, and her heart missed a beat. She prayed it wasn’t PPP, but a neighbor returning home. Like a petrified deer, she couldn’t move, and slowly the sound got closer. It was only when she saw the glow of the headlights turn into the alleyway; she came to her senses and looked around for somewhere to hide.

  ****

  Juliet cringed every time he touched her during the drive, but she tried to hide it, for Amy’s sake.

  She had done as she had been told, her mind racing with fear, and anger at Rick’s betrayal. Finally, a car behind her flashed its headlights, and Rick’s phone rang.

  “I’m here,” she said hoarsely.

  “Toss the phone out the window, so I can see, and then find a place to pull over. We’ll take my vehicle to get Amy.”

  She wound down the window and held her arm out with the phone in her hand. She wanted to be sure he saw she was doing as she had been told. She dropped it, then put her indicator on and pulled out of the light night time traffic, and parked. She saw in the rear vision mirror the glare from the headlights of the vehicle pull up behind. She took a deep breath and got out of her car and hurriedly walked to the white van.

  Once she got in she had to stifle a scream; a woman was sitting in the driver’s seat. She saw her smile, and then heard the unmistakable voice of PPP. “You weren’t expecting this, were you, Julie? Come on, hop in, belt on, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us. What shall we chat about? Oh, I know, we can talk about what a bastard your husband is, that will be fun, won’t it?”