by Tara Moss
With a final moment of focus she grabbed the chopsticks from her pocket and jabbed them into Ed’s neck.
His body jerked from the impact and the sticks snapped in half, the sharp ends left jutting straight up above his collarbone. He clawed at them, trying to get them out, his eyes wild with pain and confusion. He made a terrible noise, and there was a great exhalation of air from his mouth, then blood, blood covering the shoulder of her top and down her front. Mak lunged forward and kicked at his kneecap again, which buckled this time. ‘You fucker!’ she screamed at him, and was ready to swing again…but he was not fighting back now, he was flat on the ground and she could see him grip his stomach. He had blood all over him. But not just from the broken chopsticks that protruded at a disturbing angle from his neck. There was blood and vomit, he was choking on it, coughing. He held a rag in one leather-gloved hand, clenched tight. What’s happening? She stumbled backwards and hit the chain-link fence; she turned and climbed. ‘Call the police! Someone call the police!’ she yelled towards the windows above. She pulled herself up to the top and threw a leg over, panting. Behind her Ed was on the ground surrounded by a growing pool of darkness. She watched him heave, once, twice, and give out a spray of dark vomit. His body convulsed, his head falling back to hit the concrete. He vomited again. She paused, perched on top of the fence, mesmerised, watching in frozen awe as Ed Brown suffered and writhed in the filthy back alley.
‘Why me, Ed? Why, you fucker?’ she yelled at him.
He did not respond.
CHAPTER 69
Makedde sat in her underwear on the edge of an examination table in Kwong Wah Hospital, feeling both exhausted and pumped with uneasy adrenaline. She had been thoroughly checked for injuries. The blood on her clothes had not been hers. She couldn’t control her shakes now. Her body tensed and released, tensed again. It wouldn’t stop.
‘Thank you. You can get dressed now,’ Dr Luk said, and pulled the white curtain across for Makedde’s privacy. She had a flawless English accent, and was probably one of the few overseas-trained medical doctors to stay in Hong Kong after the handover in 1997.
Mak hopped off the table and reached for a small pile of clean clothing she had been provided with: drawstring pants and a loose top. They reminded her of surgical scrubs. She got dressed and came out from behind the curtain. The doctor was at her desk.
‘The shakes are just a bit of shock, all quite normal under the circumstances. They should disappear in the next few hours or so. Try to stay warm and drink plenty of liquid. And rest as much as possible,’ she said. ‘You don’t appear to have any physical injuries apart from those scratches, though you might have a bit of bruising around the neck tomorrow. I have cleaned and bandaged the small abrasions. They should be fine. We would know by now if you had been affected by any of the poison, but just to be sure if you notice any blistering in the next twenty-four hours alert a doctor immediately.’
Mak had been admitted to Emergency covered in blood. Her clothing had been stained heavily with it and would need to be examined. With Ed critically ill, not from the chopstick stab wounds, but from an as yet unidentified poison, they had to be certain that none of it had entered Makedde’s system orally, or through any broken skin. As Mak had not fully lost consciousness during the struggle, Dr Luk did not believe that the chloroform Ed had used would have any lasting effects.
Dr Luk got up from her desk and gave Makedde a reassuring look. ‘You will be fine. I will let them know we are finished. Good luck.’
‘Dor jeh,’ Mak whispered. ‘Thank you.’
Shortly after, there was a knock on the door and a tall Caucasian man stepped inside. ‘Miss Vanderwall?’ The officer was square-faced and grave. He sat down opposite Makedde and took a deep breath. Mak felt on edge. She wished he would speak.
‘Edward Brown passed away a few minutes ago,’ he said.
The tiny hairs on the back of Makedde’s neck bristled, and somehow her heart lifted. He had been such a part of her life for the past eighteen months, subtly invading every thought, tainting everything she did, and now it seemed he was truly, really gone.
‘Um…are you sure?’ Mak asked, knowing the question was strange, but needing to be certain.
‘Yes. He is dead. We thought you would want to know.’
Mak nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’m glad you told me.’
That was it. Catherine’s killer was dead. Ed Brown was really gone, forever.
‘The Australian authorities have requested that you return to Sydney to answer some routine questions.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Will you be okay to leave tomorrow?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. I was only planning on staying another few days anyway. I can um…pack up by then.’
She would see Andy again, in that case. And soon. It was probably a good thing that they meet again face-to-face. There was a lot to talk about. She had feelings for him that she needed to resolve. Their bond was not so easily broken, it seemed. Perhaps now, with Ed out of their lives, they would be able to get on with whatever relationship it was that they had—or didn’t have.
‘Are you feeling alright?’
‘Well, yes, actually. Not bad, considering,’ Mak responded. Her body was still buzzing, and she was still shaking from time to time, but she was also relieved and it felt good. It felt good to be able to slowly start adjusting to life without Ed Brown. She was finally free of his obsession, and it was wonderful.
‘Your friends are here,’ the man said. ‘Are you okay to see them? They can take you home.’
‘Friends?’
Jen had been found through her mobile phone, still in the markets. She had been in the hospital waiting room while Mak was examined. But what was this about friends, plural?
The officer walked Mak back to the waiting room where she found that he was right. She had not one, but two friends waiting for her.
‘Oh my God! Macayly!’ Gabby cried. Her mascara had run. She looked distressed, her usual look of posed disdain had evidently vanished. ‘I couldn’t believe what happened when I heard.’
This wasn’t something Mak had expected to see.
Gabby engulfed her in a bony hug. ‘You poor darling! Are you okay?’
‘Um. I think so. I’m fine.’
A sign of humanity from Gabby the model? Life kept getting stranger.
‘I had no idea what you had been through! Oh my God!’
‘Oh, Makedde!’ Jen exclaimed.
‘It’s over now. It’s finally over,’ Mak whispered, more to herself than anyone else. ‘It’s done.’
EPILOGUE
‘Welcome to Sydney. We hope you’ve enjoyed your flight. Thank you for choosing to fly with us…’
Mak yawned and stretched.
I didn’t think I would ever see this place again.
‘Please stay seated until the aeroplane has come to a complete stop and the pilot has switched off the fasten seatbelt sign.’
By the time the plane docked in the gate, half of the passengers were up. It felt good to stand in the aisle after so much sitting down. Maddeningly, the first available flight out of Hong Kong had been via Melbourne, so she had needed to wait out a two-hour layover and transfer to Melbourne domestic airport. As if the nine hours from Hong Kong weren’t enough. Mak reached for the overhead compartment to get her carry-on. She would be happy to be on solid ground for a few days.
‘Miss Vanderwall?’
‘Yes?’
It was one of the stewards. ‘The police have requested that you stay seated until all of the other passengers have exited.’
Mak sat back down and folded her arms. Perhaps it was standard procedure. She watched impatiently as the plane slowly emptied, passengers pushing past her seat, stretching, chatting. She saw a couple holding hands as they waited. What would she do about Andy? What should she say when she saw him?
Mak wriggled into her trench coat, and something crinkled in the pocket. She fished around and removed a wr
inkled and folded envelope. It simply said Cat. It was the envelope from the birthday card she had left at Catherine’s grave. Tears welled in her eyes and she tried to blink them back.
Oh, Catherine, he’s gone. He’s finally gone.
She found it ironic that just when she had given up on executing justice for Catherine herself, she had been forced to face the killer again. His death did not lie on her shoulders, though. The police had told her that cantharidin poison had killed Ed, though they did not yet know how he had come to consume it. There was a search on for his travelling companion, the prison guard Suzie Harpin. Ed had been found wearing her brother’s wedding ring, with the inscription ‘with love forever, Lisa’. The mystery remained: was she a hostage or an accomplice? Or, like Patty Hearst, was she a bit of both?
The plane was almost empty now, only a few stragglers left: a mother juggling three children, an elderly man with a cane. They made their way off with painstaking slowness. Mak was soon the only passenger remaining. She wanted to move her legs a bit. She felt cramped.
Finally the steward returned. ‘Thank you for waiting. They’re ready for you now.’
‘Um, thanks.’ She followed the woman up the aisle towards the exit. Two tall men in uniform were waiting for her at the door. Police escorts. She had grown accustomed to such company in recent weeks.
‘Miss Vanderwall, we are with the New South Wales police. Please come with us.’
‘Um, hi,’ Mak said. She began to feel nervous. Had something else happened? Had the media been tipped off? Was there some new threat to her life that she hadn’t been told about?
‘Before we go any further, we need you to put this on,’ one of the men said. He presented a piece of black cloth.
‘You need me to what?’ Mak was stunned.
The straight face faltered for a moment, a trace of a smile running across his lips. He took the cloth and put it over her eyes, blindfolding her.
‘Um…’ She laughed nervously.
‘Please, ma’am, this is serious,’ he said.
‘Okay.’ She went along with it.
‘I’ll take care of your bag.’ She felt one of them relieve her of her hand luggage.
The officers walked her forward. She could hear the noises of the terminal, people’s chatter, departure announcements. The blindfold was slipped off and Makedde found herself standing before a small welcoming committee. Loulou was grinning madly, taking pictures with a tiny silver digital camera. At her side was the young man from the Arthouse dance floor. He was holding her purse for her while she took photos.
No way…
Between flashes Loulou gave Mak the thumbs up.
A couple of people were holding a cheesy banner that read ‘Welcome Back’ in primary colours. It was Karen Mahoney and a few of the detectives. No media this time, just friends welcoming her back, or perhaps congratulating her on the new life ahead of her, without Ed Brown. It had been quite a journey for all of them, she supposed.
Detective Andy Flynn was loitering behind Loulou. She caught his eye and went straight to him, as if it were inevitable.
She thought of her father again. He was recovering okay. But what about this? If the ulcer doesn’t kill him, getting back with Andy might, she thought.
They embraced.
There were cheers. A complete stranger took a photo. Loulou’s camera flashed.
‘Jimmy couldn’t make it…not yet, but he sends his best,’ Andy told her. Mak saw that Angie Cassimatis was nearby, smiling bravely. They will be okay, she thought. They’re going to be okay.
Andy revealed a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, and Mak laughed with surprise. Their soft petals were clumsily wrapped in plastic—a gift from the airport florist.
She smiled and hugged him again.
‘Flowers, Andy,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I’m impressed.’
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the course of writing this novel I have been fortunate to have the support of some wonderful people. Firstly, I want to thank my ‘Super Author Agent’ Selwa Anthony, a never-ending source of inspiration. I would also like to thank everyone at HarperCollins for their support and for believing in me from the start. You’ve made my lifelong dream of being a published writer come true. Thank you.
My research for this novel would not have been possible without the help of forensic polygraph expert Steven Van Aperen of Australian Polygraph Services—you were a hit launching Split; the queen of poisons Dr Gail Bell; psychopath expert Dr Robert Hare; medical consultant Dr Kathryn Fox; Sergeant Glenn ‘Standing By’ Hayward; Donald Deakin-Bell; Barristers at Law Damien Sheales, Jason Pennell and Sarah Fregon, and Philip Dunn QC, for their generosity in letting me into their chambers and cases. I also want to thank crime readers everywhere, and the supportive media for keeping books alive every time they write about local authors.
A big thanks to Bolinda Audio Books, Saxton Speakers Bureau, Chadwick Management, Di Rolle, and the incredible Xen. And thanks to Justin Moran for saving my scoliosis-ridden back. I promise I’ll start watching my posture at the computer.
To the Royal Institute for Deaf and Blind Children and the Bone Marrow Donor Institute—you give hope, smiles and tears. Thanks for all you do for so many.
My friends Amelia, Gloria, Linda (forever Miss J), Misty, Nafisa, Xanthe and ‘the gang’ Irving, Deb and Hugh, and Pete and Anne, each deserve a Nobel Prize for their patience with my hermit-writing-mode. And Bo. Thank you also to the wonderful Moss, Bosch, Reimer, T’Hooft and Carlson clans.
To my ice-climbing genius sister Jackie Moss—you are my best friend and so much more cool than Theresa Vanderwall. Lou—thank you for making my Dad so happy. And Dad—despite being a retired appliance salesman you handle the mystique of being mistaken for the formidable ex-detective Inspector Les Vanderwall so very well. Walking around in that FBI shirt doesn’t help.
I love you, Mom. I never forget you.
Hit
Tara Moss
DEDICATION
to Mum
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Meaghan Wallace pushed a damp lock of pale blonde hair off her face and squinted in the half-light.
What happened to my shoes?
It was just past four on Thursday morning, at the messy end of a private party in a mansion in Sydney’s eastern suburbs owned by some high flier Meaghan’s boss worked with, and whom she had never met.
Meaghan needed another hit.
At this hour she found herself mysteriously barefoot and unsatisfactorily straight, and she knew that her boss and escort for the evening, Mr Robert Groobelaar, would be of no help in rectifying either problem—he was slumped over a settee in a corner of one of the vast living rooms, sweaty and snoring, head tilted back at an unattractive angle. An eyeful of repulsive white stomach, speckled with grey hair, protruded from under his untucked dress shirt. Groobelaar was oblivious to the other guests, some of whom danced only a foot away. On the opposite end of the very same settee, a couple ran hands over each other’s bodies, their mouths locked in drug-fuelled sexual ecstasy, clothes askew to reveal body parts usually exposed only in private. They seemed not to mind their lack of privacy, or Groobelaar’s bearlike snores, which were just audible over the din of throbbing dance music.
Grateful to be free of him, Meaghan left her snoring employer and tiptoed as seductively as she could across the carpet towards the open doors of a splendid balcony, making the most of the sway of her sexy black slip dress and purposefully catching the eye of an attractive businessman leaning against a doorframe. She smiled flirtatiously at him, but only briefly, as the movement swiftly reminded her of how much she had indulged. Her head spun and she froze, eyes shut tight, willing the sensation to pass. She licked her dry lips, tasting stale champagne, and felt the numb ache of cocaine that had already lost its edge.