“We need to see some identification,” Sergeant Snyder, the most senior of the officers, requested in an authoritative tone.
The other three policemen surrounded the man. The suspect eyed them warily as he slowly reached for his wallet and handed it to the officer in charge.
“Why?” he wanted to know as his ID was checked. “What’s the deal?”
“Is this your current address?” Snyder interrogated, examining the young man’s licence. When the man nodded, Snyder added, “Mr Nathan Woods, we’d like you to accompany us to the station to answer some questions.”
“About what?” Nathan suddenly became very feisty in both his attitude and body language. He tensed as if getting ready to make a run for it. “Am I under arrest?”
“We would just like to ask you some questions.”
“And what if I refuse? I haven’t done anything.”
“No one says you have, but we need to ask you some questions to assist us with our enquiries in a matter,” Snyder was patient. “If you don’t accompany us to the station willingly, then we do have the right to place you under arrest.”
“You can’t do that,” Woods said defiantly. “I know my rights.”
That last comment brought a wry smile to the sergeant’s face. “Had a bit of experience with the law, have we? Well then, you will know that we can arrest you if we have reason to suspect you have committed a crime. In this case, a serious crime.”
“Serious crime!” Woods spat. “Like what?”
“Is murder serious enough for you?”
“What? I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Woods stood there thinking over his options, his eyes darting about rather erratically. In the end his shoulders slumped and he resigned to accompanying the officers to the Surfers Paradise Police Station.
Detective Marks was waiting for him in the interview room, having been informed immediately about the tip off. He’d also just been told that the CCTV footage collected from around town for the night in question had drawn a blank. Surfers Paradise needed more cameras in streets that were just outside the main hub.
Snyder ushered Nathan Woods into the room, where the young man checked out Marks, then reluctantly sat down at the table.
“Am I under arrest?” he asked the detective.
“Not yet,” Marks said whilst massaging his goatee and sizing up the guy. In front of him on the table was a copy on the police artist’s rendition of the man suspected of murdering Amanda Simms. The photo of Amanda was also on the table. A video camera in the corner of the room was recording the interview.
“Do I need a lawyer?” Woods said, his voice taking on a slightly higher pitch as his nerves started to get the better of him.
Marks looked him squarely in the eyes. “I don’t know. Do you?” He pushed the picture of the suspect across the table so Woods could see it. “An uncanny likeness to you, don’t you think?”
Woods looked at it briefly, then shook his head vigorously. “That’s not me, man. That could be anybody. Plenty of guys look like that.”
“But not many have eyes that look like yours,” Marks said.
“What? Blue eyes!” Woods was incredulous. “Yeah, really uncommon that is.”
“It’s the shade of blue that’s uncommon. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of comments from adoring females about how unique your eyes are.”
Woods didn’t respond, but the look on his face told Marks that it was true. He now pushed across the photograph of Amanda.
“Recognize her?”
“Never seen her before. Why?”
“She was murdered by this man.” Marks tapped the artist’s rendition firmly with his index finger.
The young man shook his head in disbelief. “This is a joke, man. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“A search of your records is being conducted as we speak. In a few minutes an officer will come in here with your rap sheet. Anything you want to tell me about it before I see it?”
Woods shrugged. “So I’ve been done on possession a few times. So what? That’s not even close to murder.”
“Killers all have to start somewhere. So what drugs were you busted with?”
“A bit of speed once, some cocaine another time. The last time I had three pingers on me.”
“Ecstasy?”
“That’s what ‘pinger’ usually means on the streets, Detective.” Marks’s title was spoken with an edge of contempt, not respect.
“Where were you last Saturday night, say between the hours of ten PM and two AM on Sunday morning?”
Woods shrugged, sat back and folded his arms. “Out and about.”
“In Surfers?”
“I’m always in Surfers on a Saturday night.”
“Selling drugs?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
“Were you out with anyone? Can someone verify your whereabouts?”
Again the young man shrugged. “I don’t know. I was here, there and everywhere. I was drinking with a mate at The Avenue until about ten. After that I just went club hopping.”
“So, after ten o’clock you didn’t spend any time with anyone who could vouch for you?”
“I guess not.”
Nathan Woods didn’t look happy about having to admit that.
A constable came into the room and furnished the detective with the rap sheet for Nathan Woods. Marks quickly scanned it and smiled. He nodded, satisfied.
“So you were telling the truth about your convictions. The outstanding traffic offences is an interesting addition. We can arrest you for those unpaid fines.”
Woods slumped in his chair with a sigh while Marks left the room. He found Sergeant Snyder in the tea room making coffee for himself and a few others.
“Would you care for a brew, Detective?” Snyder asked.
Marks shook his head. “If I have any more coffee today I’ll have an aneurysm. Listen, I want to get a line up organized as quickly as possible. I need Rebecca Winston brought in and a waitress from Night Beats Night Club named Sharon, if you can locate her. If not, Rebecca Winston will do. Also, I’d like this guy DNA swabbed.”
“Right on it, Sir,” Snyder was agreeable.
Marks was about to walk out, but paused in the doorway. “Sergeant? If we don’t have enough time to hold him before we get this line up organized, charge him over his unpaid traffic fines.”
* * *
“You were right,” Emma said to Chelsea. They were sitting in Charlie’s Cafe, drinking thick shakes and nibbling on potato wedges with sour cream. “Your brother is a loser.”
Chelsea had finished work half an hour ago and had called Emma to see if she wanted to catch up.
“Why the change of heart?” she asked. “A few days ago you sounded like you wanted to jump into bed with him.”
Emma shrugged and looked away. Chelsea saw her friend blush slightly. It was a bit of a giveaway on her pale skin. She smiled in disbelief, shaking her head ever so slightly at the same time.
“You didn’t!”
“Didn’t what?” Emma still refused to make eye contact.
“I told you not to go there, Emma. You said you wouldn’t. That’s so gross.”
Emma finally made eye contact. “Nothing happened. He turned me down.”
“When was this?”
“Tuesday. After school. I dropped in to see you, but you weren’t there.”
“So you decided it was a good opportunity to hit on Ryan.” Chelsea shook her head again.
“I’m sorry. I feel really stupid now.”
“Good. Don’t do it again. Promise me, Emma.” Chelsea glared at her friend until Emma nodded, then she relaxed a bit. “Okay. I forgive you...Just.”
“He wanted me to try and talk you into staying at school,” Emma said, changing the subject.
“You can’t. I’ve already made up my mind on that.”
“Well, I’m finishing.”
“
That’s your choice, Emma.”
“I still think you’re crazy, girlfriend.”
“That’s your choice, too.”
“But there’s only about three weeks left now.”
“Old news. I don’t want to talk about that any more. Instead, tell me about all the hot guys who are going to be at your party tomorrow night.”
* * *
The line up took place several hours later. Snyder and his team had been unable to locate the waitress named Sharon as she was not at work and not contactable on the phone number the club manager had given them. However, they had managed to bring in Amanda’s friend, Rebecca Winston.
The procedure was to be recorded on video. Rebecca was brought into the viewing room, where she would be able to see the suspects anonymously through a one way mirror. A police officer not involved in the case was present to conduct proceedings. Marks was waiting outside the viewing room and watching proceedings on a monitor. He was now drinking that coffee that was offered to him hours earlier.
Six men of similar appearance, build and height were ushered into the line up area, where they all stood facing forward with their hands clasped together in front of them.
“Take your time,” the officer in charge said to Rebecca.
Rebecca carefully studied each man in turn, then slowly shook her head.
The officer said, “Go over them one more time, just to be sure.”
Rebecca did as she was asked, then said, “It’s none of them.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
“I’m one hundred percent positive. He’s not there.”
“Okay. You’ve done really well, Rebecca. Thank you for coming in.”
Rebecca was ushered out through another door where she wouldn’t come into contact with Detective Marks. On the opposite side of the viewing room, Marks was spewing.
“Damn it!” he spat and paced the floor in frustration. He lashed out and kicked the end of a wooden desk and heard something splinter. “Fuck!” He looked at Snyder. “I want an undercover operative stationed in Night Beats all weekend, in case this guy shows up there again.”
Snyder nodded and asked calmly, “What do you want us to do with Nathan Woods, Sir?”
Marks waved a hand irritably. “Let him go.”
Sixteen
It was lunch time Friday. Marks was sitting at his desk about to bite into a ham and cheese sandwich when he got a call from Scott Richards of the CSU.
“We have some results back from Wednesday’s autopsy on Amanda Simms,” Richards reported.
“Great,” Marks said with enthusiasm. “What have we got?”
“That’s just it, we’ve got nothing. The toxicology report was clean, just traces of alcohol. No drugs or poisons or medicines. Nothing untoward or out of the ordinary. All of the organs were normal, too.”
“So the coroner’s final conclusion?”
Richards said simply, “She bled to death.”
“Back to where we started.”
“Yep.”
“So,” Marks began, then bit into his sandwich and continued on with his mouth half full, “somehow the perpetrator sucked all the blood from her system through those two wounds on her throat.”
“It sure looks that way, David. As strange as that is.”
“Any idea how?” Marks wondered and took another bite.
“Well, there are plenty of gadgets out there, modern and otherwise, that can be used to extract and collect blood. But its more the exit points that are a mystery. Dr Shultz seems pretty convinced they were made by teeth of some sort.”
“The mystery deepens,” Marks groaned.
Richards chuckled. “I know how you Homicide Detectives hate mysteries.”
“I just like solving them quickly.”
“Good luck with that. Listen, I’ve gotta run. Word is you should be receiving some results today from the SOCO work at the crime scene. QHSS will most likely fax or email them through to you sometime this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Scott.”
Marks hung up and finished off his sandwich. QHSS was the Queensland Health Scientific Services, which usually handled biological exhibits delivered by the SOCOs. He just hoped something useful came of that.
He was still feeling pissed off that Nathan Woods had proven to be innocent. Marks really wanted to get this guy in custody. For all he knew the suspect could be a serial killer and may be planning to kill again. For all intents and purposes he was not known to Amanda Simms before that fateful night, which means it was highly unlikely that it was a crime of passion, or revenge, or any such thing like that. It seemed like it was totally random and Amanda was the unfortunate victim. Above all, though, he wanted answers; and it seemed like the only way he was truly going to get the answers he desired was to apprehend this guy.
Marks got his phone out and scrolled through his Contacts list. He thought about calling his wife. They had barely seen each other for days. By the time Marks got home at nights she was already in bed asleep, and he was gone before she got up in the mornings. They’d become so distant and it was only likely to get worse. He was ‘married to the job’, as many coppers’ spouses attested to. More often than not it was true. Part and parcel of the trade.
He fingered his goatee and eyed the cold cup of coffee sitting on his desk amid the rubble of paperwork.
Maybe police were better off being eternally single? It was extremely difficult to hold down a steady relationship when the hours were often long and anything but steady. Much of the time it could be a 24/7 occupation. The only real likely alternative was to date a fellow police officer. At least they would be more understanding and tolerant of how the job goes and what it entails.
Marks was just about to get up and make himself a fresh coffee when his landline phone rang. He snatched it up, thinking it might be a lead.
But the news wasn’t what he’d been hoping to hear.
* * *
Marks had to walk a fair way into the forest before he arrived at the crime scene. Once again it was cordoned off with the black and yellow tape looped around trees, only this time it was a much larger area. The SOCOs were hard at work processing the scene and gathering evidence.
A uniformed police officer approached him and Marks clicked on his voice recorder.
“We already have an ID on the victim,” the constable said to Marks. “He’s a sixty-two year old male named Toby Matthews. Lived alone in nearby Canungra.”
“Anything else?” Marks raised an eyebrow.
“Not yet, Sir.”
“Who found him?”
“A park ranger, Sir.”
While he waited for the SOCOs to finish, Marks briefly interviewed the ranger. The man had been doing some routine observation work when he stumbled across an illegal campsite and discovered the body. The interesting thing Marks did find out was that the victim had been brutally decapitated.
The forensics team completed their work and Marks was allowed to enter the crime scene, where he met up with Chris Saunders.
“Talk to me, Chris,” Marks said briskly.
“Bit tougher this one, Detective,” Chris said, running a hand through his hair. “This guy’s been here for three or four days at least. That storm the other night unfortunately washed away a lot of the evidence.” He glanced down and kicked at a stone. “No doubt we would have gotten some great footprints in this loose soil if not for the rain.”
Marks scoped the area, where he saw a small tent, the remnants of a campfire and the body of the deceased.
“Cause of death?” he quizzed.
“Most likely decapitation. It’s quite macabre, really. Looks like his head either rolled into the fire when it came off, or was placed in the fire. It’s been roasted beyond all recognition.” He nodded to his right. “Come check out the body.”
A body bag and a stretcher were lying on the ground nearby, waiting to transport the victim to the waiting van and then on to the morgue. Flies buzzed about the bloated corpse, esp
ecially around the fleshy neck area. Toby Matthews was fully clothed, wearing Ruggers shorts and a button up khaki safari shirt.
Chris Saunders knelt beside the body and looked up at Marks. “I don’t know who did this, Detective, but the head looks like its been twisted so violently that it’s literally been torn away from the neck. It certainly hasn’t been cut with anything.”
“Where is the head?”
“It’s already been bagged and tagged.” He signalled Marks to squat down for a closer look at something. Chris pointed at the mushy stump of a neck. “This is interesting. There’s only one this time, but there may have been one on the throat section still attached to his head. We’ll never know now because it got fried.”
When Marks looked closely he saw the same lesion that had been on the throat of Amanda Simms.
“Can you tell if there was much bleeding from the victim when decapitation occurred?” He was wondering if this victim was also unnaturally devoid of blood before he’d lost his head.
“Once again, difficult to say because of the recent rain. We did run some tests on the soil and blanket near the stump. They showed no signs of blood, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t any before the storm hit. It’s just too difficult to draw any firm conclusions.”
Marks stood up. “I understand. You may as well bag him up.” He looked around, taking in the array of plain clothes and uniformed police officers, as well as the SOCOs and a few probing members of the media. “Has anyone informed his next of kin yet?”
The officer who had approached Marks when he first arrived on the scene said, “So far we haven’t been able to locate anyone, Sir.”
Marks nodded. “Keep trying.”
* * *
When Marks arrived back at his Southport office, a fax was waiting for him from QHSS. He sat down at his desk and read it with interest.
Tests had been run an various items taken from both the crime scene in the forest, and in Amanda’s bedroom. No useable fingerprints had been found, nor any hairs or fibres. It would still be some time before a DNA profile was established.
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