Glimpse

  That was when he put his hand on her thigh for the first time and tugged her skirt up. She blinked back tears, and took a deep breath, desperate not to vomit.

  ****

  The skin across Rick’s hand was cut and bleeding, yet he couldn’t feel a thing. Within minutes of Juliet leaving he had come to his senses and realized he should have taken charge and done something, anything to stop her. Or he could have called PPP’s bluff and gone with her. How could he just stand there and let his wife go to meet with a murderer? He had lashed out and punched the lounge room door, splintering the thin timber which covered it, and knocked a hole all the way through.

  Think fuck you, think, he told himself. He knew he had to do something. He could not stand by and do nothing. He forced himself to calm down, while blood dripped from his exposed knuckles onto the carpet. He began pacing up and down, his brain rattling ideas around, and one by one he discounted them. I can’t call this in, if I do, and they search for her car and PPP sees them, he said he will kill Amy and Jules too, so that’s out.

  I can’t leave until he phones me…

  He stopped dead in his tracks. Wait, wait, wait, how does he know the home number, it’s unlisted? There is no way he could know that, or is there? He shook his head in exasperation, realizing that he had Juliet; all he had to do was ask her what the phone number was. He started pacing again and then stopped. Fuck, why didn’t I think of it before? I can divert the phone to Juliet’s mobile.

  On the kitchen bench was Juliet’s Nokia. He realized all he needed to do was to lift the landline handset and enter *21, her number and # and hang up. The home number would then divert to her mobile if it rang, and PPP would have no idea he was on the move.

  Hot on the heels of that feeling of hope, he crushed it. So, okay, I can leave the house and PPP won’t know, but where do I go?

  Again, he started pacing up and down, he needed help, he was desperate, but he couldn’t call the DCI; that was too dangerous. What about Pat?

  He snatched up Juliet’s phone and punched in her mobile number, and again his heart fell through the floor as he listened to the recorded message: The number you are trying to reach is switched off or not in a suitable reception area.

  He barely restrained himself from throwing the phone against the wall in a blinding rage. He resumed pacing again. He thought back to the last call he had received, what was it Pat had said? He searched his memory. He’d barely listened when he realized it was her, after the call from PPP. The look of near hatred on Juliet’s face had made him want to hang up. What did she say?

  He stopped and screwed up his eyes in concentration, forcing his subconscious to recall the conversation. Slowly, agonizingly slowly it came back. She said he’d killed again. She knew he had phoned us, how the fuck did she know that? She then said that they were going to have proof who he was in the morning, what proof? What would she have in the morning that she couldn’t have today? Fuck: The Trustee records, of course. She had said someone’s name, what was it?

  It started with a P, of course it started with a P, PPP? Hello? Peter? No, it wasn’t Peter, it was Paul YES, Paul. Paul what?

  He opened his eyes, suddenly feeling calm, yet his blood turned ice cold. The hairs rose on the back of his neck and arms, as he recalled going to the house in Mundaring. The kid, Paul, ten or eleven years old. The boy who seemed so calm, the one who ate his breakfast after finding the bodies of his father and mother. Paul Rankin. Fuck I’m so dumb! His father murdered his mother, and then kept her body in the freezer. Then, when he couldn’t take the guilt any longer, he killed himself and made an orphan out of his son Paul.

  How could I have forgotten that? HOW?

  But what did I do to let him down? God I’m an idiot. Pat said he had had an abusive father, and Paul told me his dad was cruel, but he loved him. He thought his mother had left home, but instead she had been murdered. I should have remembered this. It’s all my fault.

  He hung his head in shame as it all came flooding back. Paul had been taken to Harkerville orphanage, and he had checked up on him, once by phoning Cynthia Barnsley. She had said he was doing fine and had made a new friend, a boy named Jeremy. I should have done more, shouldn’t I? I should have gone to see him.

  Part of him railed against that: as a police officer, he was not in the habit of checking up on victims. They had victim support for that role. If cops checked up on the welfare of every person in need they came across, they wouldn’t have time to catch offenders. But, Paul had wanted to hold his gun, and he had promised him that if he stayed out of trouble, when he was old enough Rick would take him to a gun club and teach him to shoot.

  Is that it? Is that what all of this is about? A broken promise to take him shooting when he grew up?

  Rick sighed. He went into the bedroom, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he walked. Under the bed was the locked gun cabinet where he put his revolver, under lock and key, every night when he got home. That was one of Juliet’s rules, so Amy could never get to it and have an accident.

  He removed the Smith and Wesson .38 revolver, still in its holster from the case, stood and clipped it inside the rear of his trousers and walked back into the lounge room. He diverted the phone, slipped his jacket on to hide the gun, grabbed Juliet’s mobile from the bench top, and sprinted to the front door. He was going to save Amy and Juliet, or die trying.

  ****

  Colin Harris turned the TV down and picked up his mobile phone when it rang. He had been watching his wife’s favorite show with her: Sea Change. They both preferred comedy shows, and almost never watched crime dramas; too real-life for Colin. She pressed the mute button on the remote to quieten the TV, she looked annoyed at the interruption. He had only just arrived home and had sat down when his mobile chirped its happy tune.

  “Colin Harris.”

  “Hello, look I’m sorry to call you so late, it’s Tom Holmes, Patricia’s husband, is she still with you?”

  Colin sat up straight in the chair, the man sounded worried and angry, the tension was palpable. “No, Tom, I’ve only just got home, she left me ages ago.”

  “Well she’s not bloody well here, and quite frankly, I’m annoyed at the intrusion this damned volunteer work has had on our lives.”

  “Have you tried to phone her?”

  “Of course I’ve bloody well phoned her; I spoke to her ages ago and she said she was on her way home. She said she would be here within fifteen minutes, but she never made it. Her phone is dead or switched off, either way the bloody thing won’t answer. She told me the other day it was playing up.”

  “Give me your number Tom, I have a feeling she might have gone to visit Rick, that’s Sergeant Rick McCoy, his daughter has been kidnapped. I will call him and see if she is there for you.”

  “Sorry about this, love,” he said to his wife who looked like she was getting more upset by the minute, as he dialed Rick’s mobile phone number. He was dismayed when it rang out.

  Why wouldn’t he answer? His daughter is missing, he should be waiting, phone in hand for news. He crossed the room to the hallway where his briefcase sat on the table. Behind him the volume increased on the TV. He rifled through it and found his address book. After checking the number, he dialed Rick’s home. “Hello?” Rick’s voice shot out from the phone.

  “Rick, it’s Colin Harris, I have a very worried Tom Holmes calling me looking for his wife who is long overdue at home, is she with you?”

  “No, she is not with me.”

  “Calm down, Rick, I’m not suggesting anything untoward, but Pat appears to be missing. Are you in the car, it sounds like you’re driving?”

  “No, I’m not, must be a bad line, I have to go, sorry.”

  The line went dead, and Colin stood with phone in hand, more confused than at any time before. What the hell is going on?

  Damn them, Pat disappears, Rick hangs up on me, something is going on. What? He stood tapping his phone against his forehead and realized there was only one po
ssible explanation for their behavior. Pat has figured out who PPP is, she’s told Rick, and they are on their way to save Amy. I must stop him; Rick will kill him.

  His wife stared at him as he dialed another number, then back to the TV. “Tom,” he said as it answered. “I’m concerned for Pat too, she is not with Rick, and he is acting strangely. I’m worried she may have figured out who the killer is, told Rick, and they are going to confront him. Is there any of her notes there that might give us a clue to who or where she has gone?”

  “Jesus Christ, I knew something like this would happen. Why did you drag her into this? Hang on let me go to her study.”

  Minutes dragged by as he paced up and down, ignoring the requests from his wife as to what was going on. He had a very bad feeling, and over the years, he had learned to trust those feelings.

  “Colin, I’m back in her office and the files I saw her working on are all gone. All there is, is a sheet of paper, it looks like some sort of typed witness statement: on one side, and her handwriting is on the other. That’s where I got your phone number from. It’s a list of things about PPP dressing up like a woman, and a name circled several times: Paul Rankin. Who is Paul Rankin?”

  “I’ve no idea, Tom, but I will find out, I will get back to you as soon as I have news.”

  He hung up. “Sorry love, I have to go back to work.” He raced out the door. She stared at his departing back, and shook her head, then turned the volume back up. She was a cop’s wife, after all, and had seen this behavior many times over the years.

  On the way to his car he dialed Tyler’s number. He was climbing in when it answered. “Tyler, it’s me, sorry I know its late, meet me at work, we have a problem.”

  ****

  Pat could almost hear her own heartbeat as she cowered behind the wheeled rubbish bin on the rear veranda. She concentrated on keeping her breath from panting, knowing she would be heard if she panicked any more. What was I thinking coming here? She berated herself as the gate opened, then a white van drove in. She dared not stick her head up again to watch, but heard the car door open again, and then the steel gates close.

  A white van; the vehicle driven by the man suspected of leaving the suitcase at the dump. Any lingering doubts disappeared in a vapor cloud; It’s him, and he’s going to find me here in his garden – what was I thinking?

  Then she heard a male voice. “Come on Julie, bring the hamburger and fries for Amy, she must be starving by now.”

  Julie? That can’t be Juliet, surely? What’s she doing here?

  “You promised you would let her go.”

  Oh, the bloody fools, why couldn’t you wait until tomorrow? Now he’s got two hostages, three, once he finds me.

  “And so, I shall, love. Let’s go and see her, and have a good long chin wag, shall we?”

  She heard the other door open, and then close. Pat’s mind raced. If I stand up now it will be on my terms, but if I stay hidden and Rankin discovered me, it will be on his. Then I will lose all credibility.

  Without thinking any further, she quietly put the wheel spanner on the ground and stood up. Trying to look casual as she leaned on the bin she said in a voice that sounded calmer than she felt: “Hello PPP, or should I call you Paul, or Mr. Rankin?”

  Rankin whirled around, startled. “Who the bloody hell…what are you doing here?”

  She watched as he opened the handbag he was carrying and in the dim light saw him pluck something from it. The moonlight glinted off the blade and she saw it was a knife. The fear factor she was already feeling climbed several notches. Juliet cowered back against the van. Suddenly, Pat saw this could get very ugly, very quickly.

  “Paul, its Patricia Holmes, I’ve been helping and advising the police. I’m a great admirer of your work. I came to ask your permission for an interview, I’d like to write a book about you, I think we could both be very famous. I love your outfit too, by the way, you look incredible.”

  ****

  Colin and Tyler arrived at headquarters within moments of each other. Both parked not in the car parking bays but at the rear entrance, effectively blocking the driveway for anyone else who might want to do some late-night work in the squad room.

  “We need to find an address for a witness named Paul Rankin, Tyler, and quickly.”

  Tyler knew better than to ask why.

  As he led the way through the passages to the Major Crime squad room Colin explained what had happened. “We cannot send in the TRG in case we spook him, but either way we could be in trouble. If we don’t do something, I’m worried what will happen, either we will have some dead hostages on our hands, or a dead suspect.”

  “I get you, sir, I’ve known Rick a long time; if this Rankin has his daughter, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. And, if Amy has been hurt, he has no hope at all.”

  They raced through the building, flicking light switches on as they went, until they arrived at the office Rick and Pat had used. There on the floor surrounding the large desk were the evidence boxes that somewhere contained the address that would lead them to the killer.

  “Fuck, this could take all night,” Tyler exclaimed, dismayed at the number of witness statements in the boxes.

  “No, it won’t, the name is from the Carly Biddle murder inquiry. Pat was looking for confirmation from Gordon Bridges’ clients.” He grabbed the box, reached in, and pulled several manila folders out which contained different aspects of the investigation. Handing Tyler a handful of witness statements they both sat down and started flicking through sheets of paper looking for the name.

  “Got it!” Tyler yelled, a few minutes later. “Fucking hell, why didn’t we think of it before, he’s a fucking butcher, not a medical student. No wonder the dissections were so neat. It’s Mundaring, sir, I just hope we get there in time.”

  Chapter 22: The Gathering

  They were in an untidy, dusty, sitting room, with horrendously outdated furniture. The two women sat beside each other, on a chocolate brown fake leather couch while the killer held court standing at the doorway so neither could get past him.

  “What are you doing here, Pat? He told me he would let Amy go, I didn’t need you here.” Juliet nodded her head in Rankin’s direction.

  Pat noticed she was barely holding onto her temper, she seemed on the verge of hysteria. “Don’t worry, Juliet, I’m here to help, everything will be all right.” She held her hands out to calm her.

  “As lovely as this get together is, I told you, and Rick what would happen if you told anyone, all bets are off. You both need to shut up now and let me think.” PPP alternated between waving the knife from one woman to the other. He looked to Pat like he could snap at any moment. She had to take charge, and quickly, but Juliet had her own ideas.

  “You promised me you would free Amy, now you won’t even let me see her?” Juliet screamed.

  “Oh Julie, stop your whining. Why do you women always, always, whine? I gave you my word, and I will keep it, but don’t test my patience. Your husband’s lover turning up has taken precedence, and we need to have a little chat. I would have thought you would have wanted to hear about Rick’s adulterous shenanigans with the shrink.”

  “Now, you just wait one minute, Paul,” Pat said. “I came here of my own free will to meet you and talk to you. I could have just told the cops where you were, but I didn’t. I have not, and never would, have any sort of ‘adulterous shenanigans’ as you call it with Rick. So, don’t tar me with that brush, thank you. Yes, the man showed his feelings, and made no secret that he wanted sex with me. I’m sorry to tell you that, Juliet, but I am very, can I repeat very, happily married to my husband of twenty-six years. For goodness sake, my husband is a surgeon, not a bloody cop. I mean, please.”

  The silence hung in the air, and Pat imagined what Juliet must be thinking by the look on her face: The bastard, the bloody bastard. If I ever get out of this mess I will murder him. The lying cheating bastard, how could I have believed in him?

  Pat watched her
take a long, slow deep breath. “I’m not whining; I just want to see my daughter.”

  “Right, that’s it. You, shrink, stay here, and you Julie, come with me and I will put you in the cool room with Amy. You can give her the food, and once I finish here I will come and get you. You are a huge disappointment to me, Julie, and an unnecessary distraction. I need to talk to the good doctor here about far more important things than your daughter.”

  She stood and followed him down the long passageway. He didn’t put any lights on and he unlocked the adjoining door between the house and the shop, then led her to the cool room, behind the counter, with the sharpening steel hanging through the handle.

  He swung the heavy door open, and the light spilled out from inside. Juliet heard her daughter cry out.

  “Oh, baby, mummy’s here.” She ran past him and into the prison and picked up Amy, hugging her, crying tears of joy. “You’re safe now, baby.”

  But the door swung shut behind her with a muffled clunk sound. She was reunited with her daughter, but, they were locked in, and Juliet realized they were far from safe.

  ****

  Pat’s mind raced, she knew she had one chance to survive, and to do so she would need to call on all her training, cunning, and guile. She knew she had to convince PPP that she was on his side, and that would be no mean feat. One slip, one thing said wrong, and she knew he would kill her, and not lose one moment’s sleep over it.

  She sat, with one leg crossed over the other, her fingers laced over her knees, so that she would appear to be polite and respectful. Her body language would be as important as the words she used. She heard his footsteps coming back down the passage, and took a very deep, calming, breath.

  Paul Rankin, with knife in his right hand, sat across the arm of an old-fashioned chair, near the door, and looked back at her. “I’m not an idiot, you know, so don’t treat me like one,” he began.