by Andrea Drew
“You have a key?” whispered Ian. Connor had slid the gun out of its holster. The safety was off.
Connor reached up to slide the key into the lock. He levered the door open without a sound. The air was musty and stale, the silence thick. They crept across the concrete floor by the light filtering in through dirty old windows. They had their weapons up as they approached the center of the empty, cavernous room. Nothing. Connor recognized a threadbare old chair, rickety brown filing cabinets. As they quietly stepped through a large doorway ahead, their footsteps echoed, the only sound in the seemingly abandoned factory.
Ian nudged a door open with his forearm and it swung before bouncing back an inch.
Connor felt a surge of adrenaline. The room, an old storage room, was gloomy, and smelled dank and stale. His eyes registered the form beneath a stained woolen blanket, slumped on an old mattress. Ian kneeled beside the lifeless figure and peeled back the blanket to reveal a slim, lifeless frame turned on its side. Her blood spattered face was half covered by blonde gluey hair. The woman’s hands were tied with electrical wire. Connor held his breath as Ian pushed two fingers into her neck. She murmured softly.
Ian looked up at Connor, his mouth open. “She’s alive.”
*****
7
I’d managed to shut the bathroom door behind me and stumble back to bed, and as I eased back onto the mattress, I heard another broadcast playing in the background.
“In breaking news, Joanne Seyers has been found alive at an abandoned factory in Western Melbourne. She has been rushed to the hospital, where she is in a serious but stable condition. A statewide manhunt is underway for the perpetrator. We’ll update you as this breaking story unfolds…”
I punched my fist in the air. I told you we’d get him, and we got him. I felt a rush, a load off my mind and knew that her brother and parents were beyond relief. Thank God for your persistence, Renee. Thank you, Connor. Take that, faceless bastard. We’re coming for you next.
Cheering, I threw a Post-it note into the air. I needed to tell someone, to share my happiness and rejoice. I grabbed my dressing gown from the bottom of the bed and slid it over my shoulders, making a grab for my walking frame where I hiked my slippers onto my feet. I didn’t care what I looked like, granny frame or not. I needed to get to the nurse's station for some human contact.
It was a flurry of activity. Staff in uniform squashed into the nurse’s station. The fluorescent light cast a glow over their bowed heads as they gazed at charts, conferring in hushed voices. One was on the phone, another was murmuring to an important looking, tall, middle-aged man in a grey three-piece suit.
“They found her! She’s alive!” My heart drummed in my chest as I threw my arm wide.
As I reached the desk, a red -haired woman on the phone gestured with one finger that she wouldn’t be long.
“Sorry?” said a dark haired nurse who had just arrived and decided to give me her attention.
“Joanne! Joanne Seyers! The abducted woman, you know, missing, presumed dead. She’s alive! They found her!” The nurse managed a thin smile.
“Er…that’s good, yes, great news. Now, let’s get you back to bed. That’s enough for one day.” She shoved a pen behind her left ear and ushered me with a scooping motion. Great, they were still humoring me. Why weren’t they cheering, waving their hands in the air and flashing their pearly whites? How could they just go on with their daily business, not understanding what had just happened and what this meant for Joanne, her family, her friends?
As the nurse started to lead the way to my room, I was mystified at how my voice was falling across the chasm.
“She could have been killed!” I said into the empty air. “But she wasn’t. They found her, what were the odds they would find her? Seriously, it’s a miracle!” There might as well have been tumbleweeds drifting down the thinly carpeted corridor for all the attention I was getting.
“Come on now, that’s enough excitement for one day.” The nurse’s calm voice obviously intended to soothe and encourage me back to bed.
“Okay, okay I’ll get back into bed.” I shuffled into the room and to the bed, where I felt the rock-hard mattress give just a little. I couldn’t wait to get home to the toasty soft familiarity of my own sweet bed, where I could burrow down into its nooks and crannies. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be longer than a week until I was discharged. If the patronizing manner of the staff continued for much longer though, I might be tempted to bop someone over the head myself.
The nurse patted the bed with an expectant smile before stepping out. The TV was back to its usual monotonous drone and I pointed the remote at it to switch it off, which took a few tries of waving the bloody thing up and down. Peace and quiet.
I tried to return to my novel, but I had no hope of concentrating on it. My mind was elsewhere, and the dog-eared pages did not contain my usual choice of reading material. It had been the last one on the ward trolley. Beggars shouldn’t be choosers.
Instead, I did what I always do when I can’t sleep. I turned on the home shopping channel and fired up the laptop hoping the Wi-Fi would work, so I could do some late night online shopping, but I feared I was being overly optimistic. On the screen above, I saw a perfectly made up woman extoling the benefits of a new whizz bang juicer.
I hoped Connor would be back soon so I could congratulate him. I needed to see his face again. I’d grown rather attached to it.
*****
Renee turned behind to see Leah bolt down the hospital corridor at breakneck speed, her manicured pinky pointed at her father Paul. Even though he was over a foot taller, she showed no sign of backing off, and little consideration for having not only to look, but also point up at him.
Renee hoped they wouldn’t fight again, but knew it was inevitable. She closed her eyes for a moment, praying silently that it wouldn’t happen. Since the night her father had moved out, Mum had taken swipes at her dad like a cobra, with fangs showing and the venom flowing.
Today is not the day for it, Mum, not today. Gypsy is getting better, so please not now, not ever.
Nevertheless, if her mother intercepted her thoughts, she didn’t care. She seemed oblivious and was ready to strike.
“What the hell was that about? Your timing was crap! Then, you never cared about anyone else, did you? We both know you couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to stay the course.” Leah’s hand shook and her nostrils were flaring.
Paul rubbed his red cheek quickly with a knuckled finger. “I thought you’d want to see me,” he said, the corners of his mouth pointed downward as he stuffed his left hand into jean pockets too small to contain it.
“Well, you thought wrong!” She stood in front of him with her feet planted firmly apart, one hand on her left hip. “What happened? Did Rita realize you’re all talk, no action, then? Or did her husband get a bit pissed off when he saw the dirty text messages?”
Paul looked down, jamming his right hand into the other pocket.
Why did they have to do this? Hadn’t there been enough pain already? Please, stop!
“I just thought we could talk, that’s all,” He scuffed a piece of fluff on the shabby hospital carpet with the toe of his size twelve shoe.
“Well, it’s too late to apologize, Paul, too much bloody water under the bridge.” She turned away from him and resumed her march, striding ahead. Renee turned and continued walking almost to the end of the corridor, making her the leader of a march to the packed car park. She didn’t trust herself to speak, throat choking and blocked off, angry at the unfairness of it all.
“Okay, I get it. Next time I pick up Renee, though, could I at least put my head in and say hello?”
“Maybe,” said Leah, her voice low, “I’ll think about it. Let’s just leave it at that for now, shall we?”
With that, she was off to catch up with Renee, leaving Paul behind in her dust.
“Wait for me! Renee!”
Renee looked up at her.
&nb
sp; “Does everything have to be a fight? Can’t you two go to counselling or something? Gypsy was almost killed. Seriously, Mum...”
Leah looked down, folding a lock of hair behind her right ear.
“I’m sorry, hon, I know, it’s hard for all of us. That was a really bad time for him to show up.” Leah sighed, her eyebrows gathering, and she rubbed her chest as if pained. “What did Dad want? Is he moving back home?” Renee’s eyes gazed up at Leah hopefully.
“He might want to, but I need time,” said Leah as the automatic doors made way for them.
“Don’t think about it too hard, Mum. I miss him.” Renee brushed her fingers across the bottom of her cardigan. “Things could get back to normal one day. You know, with a bit of time.”
“I don’t know about that. We’ll see. He’s got some work to do. It’s between me, him, and a marriage counsellor now.” Leah rummaged through her bag for the keys, pushed on the remote too hard, and ripped the car door open with more force than necessary.
“Get in!” As she shoved the key into the lock, the car doors slammed and with a loud rev of the engine and squeal of tires, they were gone.
*****
8
Most crime scenes gave him some sort of a rush. Connor wasn’t sure whether it was a rush of hope for families, or a chance to track down the lowlife that committed the crime, but he usually felt something, even just a glimmer.
Today, he felt nothing. Numb, cut off, and completely adrift.
Of course, he figured Aaron was the key. He’d loved him, cared for him, done the best he could, but right now, it meant nothing. He could feel the swelling around his eyes, although he’d checked the mirror this morning; no sign he’d sat on the bottom of the shower last night, elbows on his knees as he wept. In some strange way, he’d thought the water pounding down from the spray would wash it away, but it hadn’t.
Now, here he was today at a crime scene based at his father’s old factory. Aaron had taken Jo Seyers there and set up his base. His nephew’s mind was gnarled and contorted, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, other than keep trying to find him.
Why would he do something like this without an earlier word, a signal?
He knew why, he just couldn’t admit it to himself. As he so often explained to families, people could keep their true motivations secret, especially if they thought someone or something would get in their way. When it happened to his nephew, his own flesh and blood, everything seemed foreign, out of place.
The shock was catching up with him. He staggered back into the present, shaking his head lightly, to continue the motions of collecting evidence and comparing notes with Ian Robson.
“Our buddies from the news station got here in record time,” said Ian, as he bent over with trembling hands to seal the last in a series of tightly arranged packets. They were in the storeroom where they’d found Joanna Seyers, and they were sifting through for evidence.
“Yeah.” Connor ran his fingers through his hair, sweat tickling his spine.
“Time to get out of here, I think. I’d rather not be around if the chief turns up.” Ian’s face was encased in a glistening sheen of sweat.
“Maybe. Just give me a few minutes. I need to make a call.” Connor walked out of the room, stepping over cameras and tape as he headed to the open space of the front yard. He headed over to a corner between clusters of old bushes, out of sight of the media pack. He massaged his temples and gazed at the tinted windows of the factory next door. After a couple of seconds, he stopped pacing and pulled out his phone.
It answered on the third ring.
“Nathan.” Connor paused for a beat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, Connor. Listen, I need a favor—witness in the hospital, St Vincent’s. I need a uniform outside her room. Can you organize it?” He stepped back, placing a hand over his other ear. “Yeah, thanks mate, it’s intense right now and the last thing we need is another casualty. Text me when it’s sorted, okay?”
As he peered into the street, the squat square van with the rooftop satellite dish pointing to the clouds, announced that the journalists had set up camp. The van door was open and a blond presenter stood in front, microphone at the ready. He leaned over to murmur to a cameraman struggling with the weight on his shoulder. At the front of the old factory, he’d passed a junior constable with hands clasped around a clipboard standing guard behind the blue and white tape, securing entry to the scene. The factory itself was humming with activity. Two technicians in white hooded jumpsuits had been dusting surfaces in the storage room, the blue bristles of their brushes fanning in systematic sweeping movements.
He heard a car pull into the factory driveway. The cameras and reporters bolted for it. A tall man emerged from the passenger seat, unfolding his six foot four frame from the car, his spine a rod of iron. Connor noticed that police chief, Jack Reynolds, was in full uniform and had ditched the usual un-ironed shirt and glasses perched on top of his head. His grey-black hair was seamlessly set, a cap perched on top, authority shining from silver pips on the shoulders of his immaculately prepared uniform.
The media pack shoved microphones underneath the chief’s chin, jostling for position. He hooked his hands in front of him, clearing his throat loudly before speaking with a raspy, resonant timbre.
“I’m proud that the combined power of Victoria Police, including the swift efforts of investigators, has led to the successful location of Joanne Seyers, who is in a serious but stable condition. Obviously, the focus for her family is full recovery while we identify the perpetrator. I’m confident that given our progress to date, this case will be fully resolved as a matter of extreme priority. Thank you.” His palms came up, signaling the end of his statement. As he stepped away, the questions came rapid-fire, gaining in intensity.
“What about the perpetrator? Could he strike again?”
“How was the victim found? What was the process used to find her?”
“Who were the investigators? What’s the next step?”
The chief turned, raising his voice in a tone of clipped annoyance. “Ladies and gentlemen, that is our current statement. As more information comes to light, we will update you. We will advise on developments in due course. A press conference is scheduled for later this evening. Thank you for your cooperation.” His long legs carried him away from the pack. As he reached the tape, the constable nodded at him, a solemn expression on his young face.
The chief ducked through the doorway, scanning the knot of personnel, looking for the largest group. He found Ian sealing a cardboard box with tape. Connor watched from the front yard as Jack Reynolds’s back disappeared through the door and reluctantly headed inside after him. Better to face a small volcano now than wait until the anger had peaked into a size ten earthquake style face rip.
Ian felt a presence behind him and turned around, tape poised mid-air. “Sir.” His gaze shifted as Connor entered the room.
“Robson, I hear you were a key player. Nice work.” The chief pulled in a deep breath, shoulders back and chest out.
Ian preened. “The main mover and shaker was Reardon. He got us here.”
Connor shuffled across to stand next to the chief, and watched as his head turned to look down at him.
“Ah, Connor.” He extended a hand, his grip firm and cold. “The reports?”
“No sign. We’re following up leads on the perp.”
The chief frowned and lowered his hand. “Witnesses? The owners of the property have been interviewed?” His green eyes were lasers, his smile forced.
“Deceased. The property’s been vacant for some time.” Connor’s finger twitched and he bit down on his bottom lip.
“I see. Interview the landlord. We need this guy’s movements and fast.”
“Well, you see−” Connor could feel the familiar heat rising in his chest, and he scraped at it through his shirt. His damn hives were playing up again, not the time to show his unease. He could feel the raised lumps and red dots forming ac
ross his chest and Connor pulled his hand away. “You’re looking at him.”
Chief Reynolds look shifted to Connor’s chest. “What the hell are you talking about, Reardon?” A frown threatened his narrow set eyes and he crossed his arms. “Who am I looking at?”
Connor pulled on his earlobe. “This is our factory. My parents left it to me and my sister”
“Jesus Christ, Reardon, you’re not serious?”
“Well…” Connor wondered how long it would take for the storm to pass.
“Do you have any idea what this means? Once the media gets their grubby hands on this…” Jack rubbed his face with an open hand, as if rubbing thoughts of scandal as far away as possible. “I’ve scheduled a press conference for tonight. Be there.”
“But sir−”
The chief took a step forward, pointing a hairy finger at Connor. “St Kilda Headquarters. Eight pm. We’ll meet in my office an hour before.” He looked across at Robson. “What’s your knowledge of this?”
Ian paled, tucking his shirt back in to his trousers. “Er…well, it all happened pretty fast.”
“It could get messy. If you thought you were under pressure before, you were kidding yourselves. Miss the conference and kiss your careers goodbye.” He stormed out, ducking slightly to get through the doorway.
Ian gave Connor a sideways look. “Fucking hell, Connor, I’m out of here.” Ian grabbed the box from the top of a filing cabinet and tucked it under his left arm.
“There’s someone I need to check on. See you at the press conference.”
“Yeah, I’ll get a lift with Tom the techie.” Mouth set, Ian clomped out, his hair flopping over his ears with each heavy step.
Connor left the factory, walking quickly around the media scrum, who was thankfully distracted by Ian. Head down, he brushed sweaty hair away from his vision. There was something, or rather someone he wanted to take care of.