by Tara Moss
CHAPTER 14
Feeling rough.
At nine forty-five on Friday morning, Andy Flynn reported to Detective Inspector Roderick Kelley’s office, as requested. He felt like a train wreck. He gingerly carried a styrofoam cup of watery drip coffee, and dragged himself through Central Homicide. His head was agony, though his heart was a great improvement from the day before. When he stopped at Kelley’s door, he straightened his collar with one gravel-rash afflicted hand.
Ouch.
Andy had woken to find his palms and knees roughed up from the sharp bed of rocks that he and Makedde had enlisted as a makeshift mattress on the Bondi cliffs. Not that he had felt any discomfort at the time. He had been far too busy focusing on more pleasant sensations.
He found Inspector Kelley staring pensively out of the large window of his office with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. Andy did not want to disturb him—in fact he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into Makedde’s warm and inviting hotel bed whence he had come. But that was not an option just yet. Andy rapped on the open door. ‘Sir,’ he said simply.
‘Flynn. Take a seat.’ The words were spoken without Kelley even turning his head. Andy took his cue, settling into the chair with a rigid attentiveness that he hoped would compensate for his bleary-eyed morning face.
Andy waited for Kelley to continue.
And waited.
The minutes ticked by painfully as Kelley pondered something at the window. He always did this when he had an important matter to discuss. It perturbed Andy somewhat, though he could not think of anything that he had to fear on this occasion. The outcome of the trial had been surprisingly good, but being called to Kelley’s office was still a nerve-racking experience. Andy had been in the hot seat more than a few times in this office—what was it now?
Andy found his mind ticking nervously over the possibilities of what might have occurred to necessitate one of these meetings.
Jimmy in trouble? Problems with the media?
After what seemed an eternity, Kelley left his spot at the window to take a seat. The leather chair creaked under his weight. He leaned forward across his broad desk, resting on his elbows and clasping his hands together thoughtfully. Andy noticed that the cuticles of his fingers were raw.
‘You must be happy today,’ Kelley finally began, observing Andy with sharp, slate-grey eyes that took in every detail. The crow’s-feet in the corners of his eyes turned up and he pressed his mouth tight in a stern, but not unfriendly expression.
Does he know about Makedde, or is he talking about the Ed Brown verdict?
‘Very happy to have Ed Brown behind bars permanently, sir. Very happy,’ Andy replied. That was, of course, quite an understatement.
‘Yes. That guilty confession…Quite a courtroom drama, I hear.’
‘Yes sir, a guilty confession and a courtroom full of witnesses to hear it. You can’t argue with that.’ He found himself tapping one foot against the leg of Kelley’s desk. He stopped.
Kelley seemed in no hurry to move things along. He was evidently contemplating something, and Andy knew that his silences were not an invitation to fill the air with talk.
Tick.
Tock.
Kelley flexed his jaw and flipped through a couple of papers on his desk. Andy watched him silently. He was still lean and fit well into his fifties, a man with a lot of arrests under his belt and a lot of his life spent on the beat before he worked his way up to the rank of detective inspector. Kelley was no paper-pushing political mouthpiece, like some of the others. He knew about the work. He’d been there. Like many of the detectives, Andy respected Kelley enormously, and despite being somewhat in favour thanks to the ultimate success of the high-profile Stiletto Murders case, he still feared him a little too. He supposed all mentors were like that—feared by those who revered them.
‘The profiling unit, Andy. How is that coming along?’ Kelley asked.
‘Well, as you know, a green light on the unit doesn’t mean a thing if there’s a red light on some of the funding,’ Andy said with some regret. It was an area of great frustration among many in the police force. ‘It’s stop, go, stop…’
‘Politicians.’
‘Yup.’
Andy gritted his teeth. The Commissioner, Rex Gibbons, was being attacked from all sides for his strategy on police reform and his allocation of taxpayers’ funds. The NSW Profiling Unit, which could have been set for full operation later in the year, was meant to be a high-tech national centre for criminal profiling with special focus on instances of serial rape and murder. Instead it was little more than a dream caught in a political and funding limbo. The delay had introduced Andy to a whole new level of frustration.
‘Ed’s representation, Phillip Granger, is at the bargaining table for his client,’ Kelley said out of the blue.
‘What?’ Andy’s heart skipped.
‘He is offering two additional confessions, apparently. That would be two of our missing persons cases solved for us, and burial sites for the bodies, too. It would mean a lot to the families to have that kind of closure.’
‘Of course it would mean a lot to the families,’ Andy responded, trying unsuccessfully to remain calm. ‘But what does he want, sir?’
‘A reduced sentence, of course.’
No fucking way.
Andy stood up and practically screamed the words in the office. ‘That’s not even a consideration, is it? Tell me that’s not a consideration.’
Kelley was grim-faced. ‘Sit.’
Andy did.
‘I know what you’re feeling here. But he’ll still be behind bars for a long time. The public outcry would be deafening if they let him out in even twenty or thirty years. They know that.’
‘Damn right. There’s got to be a better way. What else have we got to bargain with to get those bodies?’
It made Andy’s skin crawl to bargain with killers, especially this one, but every experienced cop knew that it was the way of the system. Snitching rapists got special privileges, drug traffickers got early release for helping to nail worse drug traffickers, and killers got reduced sentences by cooperating and providing information about their innocent, decomposing, brutalised victims.
‘Granger’s pushing for possible parole after some years of rehabilitation.’
‘Rehabilitation? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!’
‘Flynn.’ Kelley gave him a hard look, and Andy checked himself.
Jesus, what the fuck is the world coming to? This can’t be happening.
Andy felt his blood pressure peak violently. He had to try to stay under control, especially in the presence of his superior, but he wanted to hit something so damn badly that he dug his fingertips into his palms with white-knuckle force. His nails bit into the already tender flesh, but he didn’t care. He could think of nothing but what he would do to Ed Brown if he got hold of him. A rage of violent thoughts flooded through him until it turned back on itself and he felt a sting of renewed shame at having missed his only chance to put an end to Ed Brown’s life. Right then and there as he’d caught Ed red-handed assaulting Makedde, Andy could have ended it. He’d been given the chance, and he didn’t do it.
Fucking Ed Brown. Fucking motherfucking slippery Ed Brown…
‘Sir,’ he managed, ‘we’re all aware that those with a homicidal urge like Ed Brown do not become serial killers overnight. This has been an evolution, clearly. He is at an advanced stage of sadistic behaviour—stalking, torture, mutilation. People like that do not change. There is no rehabilitation for people like Ed. How can we even banter the word “rehabilitation” around? That’s just bullshit.’
‘Try to relax, Andy. This is out of our hands now. It’s in the hands of the courts. You know that.’
Andy tried to relax. It was impossible.
‘The Crown will only bargain so much with someone like Ed,’ Kelley continued, ‘and there is good news. He has agreed to lead us to one of the bodies today. He delivers a body, and
they go to the negotiation table. That’s the deal so far. Nothing else has been guaranteed.’
Andy perked up. The fact that Ed had been talked into giving up one of the bodies before any deal was made was encouraging, and very wise considering how little Ed could be trusted.
‘Where do I have to be, and when?’ Andy asked.
‘You don’t have to be anywhere. I’m sending Senior Sergeant Lewis, and Hoosier—’
‘What!’ Andy tried to hold his tongue, but found his restraint lacking.
‘And Cassimatis. Plus a small team from forensics.’
Jimmy. Thank goodness Jimmy will be there.
‘We have to keep this quiet. The last thing we want is the press getting hold of the fact that our guilty serial murderer is cruising around town pointing out dead bodies. I don’t want to see this on the news.’
‘I should be there.’
‘No, Andy, you shouldn’t. He killed your wife and he attacked your girlfriend. You are way too close to this.’
That stung.
But I’m the one who brought him in, Andy thought bitterly. I was under bloody suspicion for my own wife’s murder and I brought the killer in. And despite all that I am still being excluded.
‘Sir, may I suggest that it is important that someone be there who has dealt with Ed before—’
‘Cassimatis was at the arrest.’
Kelley was right, of course.
‘Do I have any say in this?’ Andy asked, knowing the answer.
‘I’m not letting you near this guy, and you know perfectly well why.’
Andy was defeated. He did not push the issue further. The fact that Kelley was probably making the right decision only made it worse. Andy had been in a fair bit of trouble before. He had a history of anger problems. One incident in particular had nearly cost him his job. He had to admit that he had probably taken his interrogation of one suspected paedophile a little too far. The creep had been hospitalised. Andy knew perfectly well that no one would trust him to be able to restrain himself around Ed. He didn’t even know if he could trust himself.
‘Cassimatis will go in. That’s the best I can do. You sit tight.’
Sit tight. Yeah, right.
‘Fucking bullshit…’ Andy was well out of Kelley’s earshot when he let fly. ‘Fucking sit tight! How can I sit tight?’
‘Calm down, Andy,’ Jimmy urged. ‘It don’t matter. It’ll be over in a day or two. It’s nothing. He’s convicted, Andy. It’s done. Come on, mate, you can take this off your plate now.’
‘No, I can not.’
He killed Cassandra. He brutally attacked Makedde. I can never take that off my damn plate.
‘Kelley, he always prepares us for the worst,’ Jimmy continued. ‘It’s the fucking Crown. They gotta do this shit to get the bodies, man. It ain’t like he’s gonna walk.’
Andy slammed a fist into Jimmy’s desk. It screeched back an inch across the floor. Jimmy had never been good at placating him. ‘It ain’t like he’s gonna walk’ was never going to work. Just thinking about it put Andy over the edge. He and Jimmy had seen more than enough bullshit calls to know that almost anything could happen when the bargaining table was open for business.
‘He won’t have a fucking holiday on my watch, don’t you worry about that,’ Jimmy insisted. ‘No matter what happens, I’m keeping him on a short leash. One wrong look and he’s getting a clip in the head.’
Jimmy looked at his watch and tossed his rumpled jacket over one shoulder. Senior Sergeant Lewis would be rounding up the guys soon.
Before he could respond, Andy’s mobile phone rang and he reached for it automatically, hoping it was Makedde waking up in her hotel room, missing him. Mak was probably one of the few forces in his world that could lift his mood at that moment. Perhaps he could drop in and see her, now that he had been shut out of the action.
‘Hello Andy.’ It was a woman’s voice, but it was not Makedde.
‘Oh, hi,’ Andy replied, trying to be as ambiguous as possible in the presence of his partner. ‘Hang on a sec.’ He turned to Jimmy. ‘You got a minute?’
‘Just,’ Jimmy replied.
Andy put two fingers in the air to denote the seconds it would take him to handle the call. He took it out into the hallway, feeling Jimmy’s eyes on his back.
‘Carol, how are you?’ he said into the phone. He swallowed hard.
‘I’m good. But I haven’t heard from you in ages! I just wanted to see how you are?’
‘Oh, I’m fine.’
‘I was thinking it might be nice to catch up soon, Andy. It’s been so long…’
‘Catch up? Oh, um…Carol…’ Oh shit. I’m gonna have to tell her. ‘Yeah, let’s do that. How are you placed in the next few hours? A quick coffee perhaps?’
‘Sure! That’d be great.’ She sounded unreasonably happy about meeting with him. That was not a good thing.
Jimmy predictably raised his eyebrows as Andy returned from the hallway.
‘Mmmm, top-secret rendezvous, huh?’ He put one hand to his mouth and stuck his tongue into his cheek, crudely mimicking a blowjob, one of his favourites in his endless repertoire of rude gestures.
‘I hate to break it to you, but you ain’t gonna get Angie preggers again by getting her to do that to you,’ Andy said by way of retort.
‘My Angie! Hey, you never mind my Angie.’ Jimmy crossed himself. ‘She gotta kiss the kids goodnight with that mouth. I’m thinkin’ of your Makedde…mmm the one you are banging again. Ain’t ya? You lucky dog…’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Andy countered.
‘Oh, come on. This is Jimmy here.’ He poked a fat finger into Andy’s chest. ‘You think I couldn’t see the way you two were mooning over each other last night?’ He pretended to hump the desk. ‘Oohhhhh, Andy! Your jokes are so funny! Tell me another story!’ He wrapped his arms around his chubby body and rubbed his hands up and down his back. ‘Mmmmm, oh Andy, yes, yes, tell me another one, you big macho detective!’
Andy shook his head. He pressed his lips together to demonstrate that they were sealed.
Jimmy finally cut the crap. ‘I guess our mutual serial killer acquaintance has had his day in court, so it don’t matter much now. You two can fuck like rabbits till the cows come home.’
‘You are a true gentleman, Jimmy. No doubt about it.’
‘Anyway, I’m happy now. I just won fifty bucks off Hoosier.’
‘Fucking Hoosier,’ Andy muttered.
‘I gotta go.’ Jimmy strolled off towards the door.
‘I want updates. I’m serious,’ Andy called to him.
‘Gotcha.’
Ed Brown. Who would he introduce them to today? The remains of some once beautiful and innocent young girl who’d been on her way home from a bar, the park, from school—and talked to the wrong stranger. How young? And how long would she have been waiting to have a dignified burial?
Andy watched his partner leave without him, and his heart sank. At least Jimmy knew Ed from personal experience, while the rest of the crew really only knew him from his file. Jimmy could keep Andy in the loop. He could be his eyes and ears.
CHAPTER 15
Eighteen…
Ed’s shoulders shook.
Nineteen…
Blood rushed to his head. With a steady, slow effort, he pushed up again.
Twenty…
With a shudder, he performed one last push-up. A line of sweat ran down his temple.
Twenty-one.
Having finished his fifth set of twenty-one push-ups,
Ed let himself down from his position propped from the edge of his cell cot. He had to remain strong and focused. He would need every ounce of strength and speed that he could muster. Everything was going according to plan. Only a little while longer, and he would be free. Free to have Makedde to himself.
Makedde.
I’m coming for you.
CHAPTER 16
There was a knock on the door.
&n
bsp; Mak frowned. She thought she had put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door knob.
She shuffled across the room, clad only in an all-enveloping bath towel. ‘Hello?’ she asked through the door.
‘It’s me, Andy.’
She smiled and started to unlock the chain.
‘Hey, check it’s me first,’ he scolded, his voice muffled by the door. ‘Never open up without looking.’
Mak shook her head, but peered through the peephole anyway. ‘There. Is that better? I see you. Am I allowed to open the door now? No…wait…your nose looks really huge. You can’t be Andrew Flynn.’
Through the distorting glass she saw him roll his eyes. Relenting, Mak opened the door and drank in the welcome sight of him. He looked rumpled and unslept, yet obscenely inviting nonetheless. Something about him always seemed to arouse her. She had first noticed his effect on her in the interrogation room during the investigation into Catherine’s murder. Perhaps it was his watchful green eyes, or his dark, short-cropped hair that accentuated a masculine, squared jaw. Or maybe it was the indefinable sensuality of his mouth, his slightly crooked nose, the tiny scars on his face that seemed to hint at a fiery soul? Of course, there was the Australian accent and the intoxicating height. Whatever it was, Mak found him irresistible, maddeningly so at times.
He stepped inside and she clung to him, shutting the door with one foot. Her towel dropped to the floor.
‘I’m serious. Never open your door without checking first,’ Andy said. He sounded grumpy. ‘You never know who might have your room number.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Mak replied with mock seriousness. She kissed his neck. She kissed his rough cheek. ‘Sleepyhead here was just about to have a shower, and guess what she noticed, hmmm?’ His eyes followed her as she stepped back and displayed an angry rash on her chest and neck. ‘It seems that some wild animal with a stubble problem has attacked my tender flesh.’