The Devil Inside

by D. L. Hicks

  CHAPTER 4

  Charlotte sat in the driver’s seat of the station’s recently acquired Ford Territory – gunmetal grey with pitch-dark windows. The car’s attempts to be covert only made it stand out more as an unmarked police vehicle. The door was open and her feet rested on the ground outside as she watched the undertaker unceremoniously load the stretchered body bag into the rear of the van.

  ‘Just like that, the scene is clear,’ she said. ‘Wish our work was done that easily.’

  ‘Yep,’ Wally said from the passenger seat beside her. His jaw worked away at his chewing gum as he spoke. ‘That’s the last box ticked – statements taken, scene photographed, scene examined, body removed. That weirdo McBride’s still hanging around though, lurking like the freak she is. Now we just gotta figure out who done it. Hope you haven’t got too much other work on the go.’

  Charlotte had only worked with Wally a handful of times, and each time the reputation that preceded him was proven correct. He was the kind of person whose physical appearance mirrored his attitude. Overweight and shaped like a quince, Wally’s look did nothing to inspire confidence whatsoever. Even his pasty facial features looked like they were melting off his dial, as if even they were bored being there. Not a day went by that Charlotte didn’t thank the stars for her usual pairing with J.D. – theirs was a partnership built on mutual respect and trust, as it should be. She just had to get through today and equilibrium would be restored.

  ‘I presume the job’s mine then?’ Charlotte said. ‘Thought as much. Thanks for your help.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Wally said, missing the sarcasm.

  Charlotte leant back in her seat and spread her daybook across her lap. The timeline on the open page recounted every moment of the investigation so far, from when she had received Tom’s phone call to the removal of the body.

  ‘You spoke to the witnesses,’ she directed at Wally. ‘Anything to add?’

  Reaching up to his mouth, Wally spat his chewing gum into its wrapper then squished it into a ball, which he tossed out the window.

  Who calls their kid Wally anyway? Charlotte wondered.

  He slipped a fresh piece of gum into his waiting gob. ‘Not a great deal, to be honest,’ he mumbled. ‘But the uniforms have taken detailed statements – pretty good ones, surprisingly.’

  ‘Not really,’ Charlotte said shortly. She fully appreciated the quality – and importance – of the van crews. ‘Did the witnesses see anyone hanging around? Anything at all that caught their eye?’

  ‘Oh yeah, they did actually,’ Wally said, and Charlotte took a fortifying breath. ‘I meant to tell you; I’m not sure how relevant it is, but there was someone they described as a “homeless guy” who was packing up his stuff into a roll bag when they got here. After they found the handbag, they spoke to him, but he just grunted back apparently, then wandered off in the direction of town. Scruffy-looking bloke, wearing an overcoat and a beanie.’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘Norman?’

  ‘By the sounds of it,’ Wally said. ‘He’s the only hobo in town at the moment, as far as I know.’

  ‘Right. Looks like we need to pay old Norman a visit then.’

  Charlotte switched on the ignition, slammed her door shut and eased the transmission into reverse. After swinging the car around, she planted her foot down and took off across the leafy car park.

  As she turned onto the road, she glanced in the rear-view mirror to catch Katelyn McBride watching them leave, her pen scribbling furiously.

  Charlotte pulled the Territory into the rear corner of the public library’s car park. The grilled exterior light above the library’s alcove-style entrance still glowed despite the mid-morning sunshine. The chalky-white statue of a general on a rearing horse cast a thin shadow across the ground, a pigeon perched on his outstretched sword, cleaning its beak.

  She stepped out of the vehicle. Behind her, Wally flung his door wide open but remained seated, his focus solely on the iPhone clutched in his hand.

  At least he opened the door, Charlotte thought. It never ceased to amaze her what she was willing to put up with on a daily basis.

  Standing at the alcove, she checked the concrete wall for spiders before leaning gingerly against it, her skin absorbing the cool surface temperature. Extending her right foot, she gave the bundle of blankets on the ground before her a soft nudge.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  The voice surprised her; it came from the opposite end of the clustered mass. The sentiment, however, did not.

  ‘Norman, wake up.’ Charlotte knelt down and shook the mass more vigorously this time. ‘It’s the police; we need to have a chat.’

  Grumbling, Norman rolled over and propped himself up, his beanie hanging precariously off the side of his head, a patch of dribble smeared on the right corner of his stubbled chin. Charlotte grimaced as he burped forcefully, the remnants of that morning’s – or last night’s – meal still stuck to the corners of his mouth. Forcing a swallow, Charlotte felt bile burn the back of her throat as a wave of nausea rocked her for the second time that morning.

  Shuffling himself back against the wall, Norman scratched at his head and looked around. Spotting what he was searching for, he reached for the brown paper bag concealed in the darkest corner of the alcove. He peeled back the top until a green bottleneck materialised, then took a deep swig. Charlotte heard the liquid glug.

  ‘Ahh …’ He swiped at his mouth with the back of one filthy hand. ‘What the fuck do you want then, hey?’

  ‘Just a chat, nothing more,’ Charlotte said. Norman was unpredictable at the best of times – mental illness mixed with a copious amount of alcohol usually had that affect. ‘I think you might be able to help us out with a job. You happy to do that?’

  Norman scowled. ‘I help no one but meself, so you can piss off and leave me alone.’

  As he took another swig, Charlotte reached into her pocket and slid out a ten-dollar note. She placed it on the blanket nearest her; a mousetrap waiting to snap. Norman’s bloodshot eyes followed the cash, his hand already snaking towards it.

  ‘Uh-uh.’ Charlotte snatched the money back before he could get anywhere near it. ‘I’m not that stupid. You know me, Norman – we’ve played this game before. You answer, the money’s yours. You don’t, I’m off for another cappuccino, and maybe a vanilla slice. Clear?’

  Norman crossed his arms defiantly, but nodded.

  Satisfied, Charlotte took out her notebook. ‘Let’s start off with the easy ones – and no bullshitting me, all right? This morning, you were down at the beach … Correct?’ Norman nodded slowly, his misty eyes masking a vigilance Charlotte knew was hiding there. ‘What were you doing down there?’

  ‘Slept there. I do that sometimes, just for a change.’

  ‘And you bumped into an elderly couple out for an early walk, is that right?’

  ‘Yep. Big deal.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. They spoke to you about a handbag they’d found sitting on the wall – remember that?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What can you tell me about that bag?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing. Really?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Did you touch that bag?’

  ‘Nup.’

  ‘Not at all? Are you sure?’

  ‘I didn’t touch it. Why would I? Who cares anyway?’ Norman started fidgeting as Charlotte fired questions at him. He picked at the blackened cuticles on his right index finger, his bottle still parked upright between his legs.

  ‘I care.’ Charlotte cleared her throat. ‘And you might too. You see we’re getting that handbag and its contents printed, and if it has your dabs on it, then … Well, we’ll have to have a bit more of a formal chat down at the station.’

  ‘Over a theft?’ Norman yelled, his mood escalating rapidly. ‘You’re fucking kidding me! I didn’t take it, all right? I found it. Here – have it, it’s bloody useless anyway.’

  Charlotte drew back as Nor
man reached under his blankets, scrambling for something. Hand on her holster, she felt the cold steel of her firearm, taking comfort in the fact that it was there and she was not afraid to use it. Keeping her eyes trained on Norman, she straightened up to create some distance between them.

  ‘There – it’s yours.’ Norman tossed an old-school Nokia mobile phone in Charlotte’s direction. It clattered across the bare concrete before coming to a stop at her feet. She bent down and picked it up.

  ‘Give it back to the blonde bitch,’ Norman said. ‘And keep your fucking ten bucks.’

  Charlotte stared down at the prone figure before her. ‘That bitch, as you call her, is dead, Norman. Murdered. And before I go, how about you answer one more question: how did you know she was blonde?’

  CHAPTER 5

  The act of killing wasn’t that difficult. Sure, the decision to go down this path was one he hadn’t taken lightly, but the act itself had been surprisingly simple once the decision was made.

  The afternoon after the body had been found, the buzz on the street was unavoidable. Everywhere he went, it seemed like people were standing on corners or clustered together in shops talking about ‘that poor girl’ and what had happened to her in ‘their town’. On the radio, too, people were ringing in to talkback shows, sickened and outraged by what had occurred.

  Even though he felt as if he should care, he really didn’t. Taking that young woman’s life, and the flow-on effects, were an unfortunate necessity. He was taking control of his life for the first time, and if that meant others were going to get hurt, so be it.

  Besides, this was only the beginning. If the people in this town were terrified now, imagine what they’d be like in a few weeks?

  He could live with it because he knew it wasn’t his fault – well, not really anyway; he was just a product of the cards life had dealt him.

  He slipped into the coffee shop, not exactly unnoticed as he was there most days.

  ‘Morning. The usual?’ the girl behind the counter asked, smiling.

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ He flashed a wide grin back at her as he handed over a few coins. ‘I’ll just grab a seat by the window. Oh, I’ll have one of those fat-free banana muffins too, thanks.’

  ‘No worries, be there shortly.’

  She was so chirpy, it was sickening, but on a day like today he was prepared to let it go.

  He sat down in one of the lounge chairs, sinking into the same cushioned spot hundreds had sat before him. This particular seat was his favourite, not just because it was cosy, but because it provided an excellent vantage point to watch the parade of humanity as it stumbled by. He loved watching people go about their daily lives, completely oblivious to their surroundings, so focused on their own little tasks, and usually in such a rush. Rush here, rush there; always on the move. No one ever took the time to stop and look around them.

  He had fallen for that trick before. Now though, he took the time to appreciate things. Satisfaction was the key word in his life these days – and he was prepared to source that from anywhere, at any time.

  ‘There you go.’ The waitress placed a steaming mug down on the round wooden table. ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘Thank you, I certainly will,’ he said, winking at her.

  ‘… managed to get to that burglary yet? All other units are tied up …’

  The static of a police radio startled him, as did the presence of two uniformed officers standing no more than five metres away ordering their coffees. He hadn’t seen them come in, and hoped they too had missed his reaction to them – he’d almost jumped out of his chair. He cursed himself silently after all his talk about being vigilant.

  Turning back to stare out the window, he coached himself to relax, stay calm, not attract any attention. He watched their reflections in the window, saw them laughing and joking with the girls behind the counter, and heard the chatter become serious when one of the girls asked about the incident that morning.

  ‘It’s terrible,’ she said, straining her voice to be heard over the frothing milk. ‘Do you have any idea what happened?’

  ‘Can’t say too much,’ one of the officers said, trotting out a familiar line. ‘I don’t think they’re hot on the trail of any suspects yet, if that’s what you’re getting at. These type of things – murders like that – they’re usually done by someone the victim knows, so don’t panic just yet.’

  ‘That’s horrible,’ another waitress said, joining in. ‘I think that poor girl went to my gym too. To think there’s someone out there, walking among us right now, who could do that to someone. It makes me sick, y’know? It could be anyone – that bloke walking past, that guy sitting over there, your neighbour. You just never know.’

  His heart thumped a little harder in his chest. If only she knew.

  ‘Don’t worry, they usually pick them up pretty quickly,’ the cop said. ‘I reckon they’ll have someone by the end of the week, you mark my words.’

  They all nodded and murmured, more in hope than certainty. The police officers picked up their coffees and strolled towards the door, calling out ‘Thank you’ over their shoulders as they went. Passing him, the younger of the two nodded. ‘G’day, mate.’

  ‘Officer,’ he answered, smiling pleasantly as they continued on their way.

  He hoped they hadn’t noticed the dark pit stains that had formed on his shirt. His breathing began to return to normal as he watched them walk off, his heart rate slowing and his body cooling with relief.

  God help me if I ever get interviewed, he thought as he leant back in his chair.

  He washed down the last mouthful of muffin with the dregs of his sugary coffee, then rose quietly and left in the officer’s wake.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was well and truly dark by the time Charlotte drove her VW Golf into the garage and switched off the engine. She listened to the turbo whirr as it wound down. Easing out of the driver’s seat, she watched the automatic roller door lurch back into place, before silence prevailed. Peace at last. She was desperate for some privacy and seclusion, especially after the day she’d had.

  The heels of her boots clacked across the polished concrete floor as she made her way into the house, grateful to finally be home. It had been a long day, the first of what was bound to be a long week. She’d been around the block enough times to know that shit like this didn’t just disappear overnight – it remained steadfast and stinking until it was solved, whether that be in two days or two years. It was early days, but she was hopeful it would be the former. Long, drawn-out investigations were never good for anyone. At least they had a suspect of sorts.

  Norman’s arrest had been made on two clear grounds: his knowledge of the deceased’s appearance, and the fact that her mobile phone was in his possession. It was more than enough to take him into custody, and they had conducted an interview with him that afternoon, but ultimately had no choice but to release him. The evidence was all circumstantial at this point, and was absent a confession. He would remain a strong person of interest – and their only real lead – but they needed more before any charges could be laid.

  Not to say that wouldn’t happen, just not yet. Good police work was often a case of patience and persistence. Yes, the first forty-eight hours were crucial, but so too was conducting a thorough examination, as well as charging the right person, not just the first or most obvious one.

  Charlotte tossed her handbag down on the kitchen bench with a thud as something soft and warm sidled up against her leg.

  ‘Hey there, beautiful.’ She bent over and used the knuckles of her right hand to rub her Burmese between the ears. Oscar’s golden eyes looked up at her approvingly. ‘Are you hungry, mate? Yeah, I bet you are. Let’s get you something to eat, huh?’ She picked the cat up and hugged him before dropping him gently back down on the floor and heading for the fridge.

  The answering-machine light was flashing, illuminating the wall with a red flare every few seconds. As she passed, she pushed the playback button.

&
nbsp; ‘Hey babe, it’s Jack. Just ringing to see how your day was – tried your mobile but got no response so you must’ve had a busy one. Anyway, if you get a chance, give me a buzz, otherwise I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Miss you.’

  The message brought a smile to her face for the first time in a while. It amused her that – even at her age – guys could be so sweet and dorky in a new relationship, though she knew better than most how quickly that could change once the honeymoon period wore off. Still, Jack was pushing the right buttons for now. She hadn’t had the best record with relationships recently, so she’d take whatever she could get, especially in her current situation.

  She pressed the delete button, happy to keep Jack waiting until tomorrow and deciding instead to abide by her mum’s sage advice to ‘treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen’.

  Within ten minutes, the cat was fed and Charlotte found herself on the wooden bench seat just outside her back door, cigarette in one hand and wine glass in the other. She relaxed into the seat, the tension letting go of its grip on her shoulders, and raised the glass to her lips. It was a cheap Sav Blanc, but it did the job. She needed something to take the edge off, and knew her usual vices of nicotine and alcohol would do the trick.

  She inhaled sharply, smoke filling her lungs, before blowing skyward, small rings of white disappearing into the night.

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said as Oscar leapt up into her lap and stared at her, unblinking. ‘I shouldn’t be smoking, it’ll kill me … I’ve heard it all before – give me a break, will ya?’

  The cat merely stood still and glared, his brown coat glistening in the moonlight. He was a beautiful animal, impeccably groomed and with a lovely nature, and, if she were honest, probably her best friend – for the moment, anyway. ‘At least one of us is fighting fit,’ she said, scratching him under the chin and hearing his tender purrs in response.

  She sipped the wine in between drags of her cigarette, knowing she shouldn’t be doing either. But it wasn’t like it was going to make that much of a difference.