‘No, I’m happily married. I was just curious. Sorry, it’s a nasty habit of mine to ask lots of questions.’
‘That’s OK.’
He heard the relief in her voice. Saying you were married always put people at ease, as if being scary was limited to single people.
‘I run a small art gallery and coffee shop on the main street in Willunga. It’s called Divinity. It’s in an old church.’
‘Good business?’
‘Great — my sister’s holding the fort today. All the tourists will be out for a drive now the rain’s broken. Here’s your coffee.’
He smiled to himself as he walked back to his stall. We’re going to get to know each other much, much better, Lucy. He almost danced on the spot with delight.
The rest of the day dragged by. He saw a procession of clients, but struggled to maintain his focus. His eyes kept being drawn to Lucy. She was doing a booming trade and luckily she was so busy she was oblivious to his scrutiny.
He found only two other clients with green eyes, real green that is, not hazel or green flecked. He carefully recorded their details. There was nothing like planning ahead. He might not find anyone better at the next few expos.
Finally things started to wind down. It was getting cold and only a few diehards were left. A lot of the stallholders had already gone. The dreary band playing the last session on the centre stage finally finished. It sounded like a dirge. How appropriate. He chuckled to himself.
He got his van and pulled it up behind his stall. It was important to get his things packed up before Lucy finished. The line at her stand was still going. He had no intention of coming back the next day and he wanted to be ready to follow her as soon as she left.
He took a deep breath, trying to ease the knot of tension in his stomach. He didn’t have time to plan carefully like he normally did. There’d be no opportunity to monitor her habits and work out the best way. It was risky but he was feeling lucky. She’d been sent to him. He was meant to have her.
Finally she put up a closed sign and started the tedious process of cleaning the machine and jugs, bagging up rubbish and sorting things out ready for the next day. After what felt like forever she pulled down the shutter on her van, locked it and came out of the back door. It was starting to get dark, the sun had slipped behind the hills and there was a cold mistiness to the air. It would be a frosty night.
He walked quickly around to the driver’s side of his van and jumped in. He watched Lucy walk towards the car park about five hundred metres away. He let her get a good head start and then he drove slowly towards her. She was striding along, anxious to get out of the cold. He pulled up next to her. He looked in his rear-view mirror. There were no cars behind him, no other people walking in front or behind. The few remaining stallholders were busy packing up. No one was paying any attention. He smiled and wound down his window.
‘Can I give you a lift to your car?’
She stopped and looked at him. ‘It’s not very far.’
‘Oh come on, don’t be silly. It’s freezing out there. You’ll be an icicle by the time you get there.’
She stood by his car, undecided. He didn’t push her, not while her instincts were telling her she shouldn’t. It was always a mistake to seem too eager. She looked towards the car park.
‘Suit yourself, I just didn’t want you to catch cold.’ He started to wind up the window. Pretending you didn’t care always worked well.
‘No, wait — you’re right, thanks.’
She jogged around to the passenger side of the van and climbed in. He started to feel the humming and throbbing of his own pulse as adrenaline pumped through him. He looked in the rear-view mirror again; no one was close to them. That was perfect. Fate was smiling on him. He continued his slow drive across the boggy grass.
‘You had a busy day today.’
‘Flat out. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.’
‘Really? I might be able to help you with that.’ He chuckled, enjoying his private joke.
Lucy frowned, not understanding. ‘I need sleep. Just as well I don’t have any plans. What about you? Are you and your wife doing anything tonight?’
‘Yeah, big plans.’ He sniggered.
The van hit the car park and he sped up slightly.
‘That’s my car over there.’
He drove over to the car and stopped.
‘Just before you get out, Lucy, would you mind passing me the small blue box in the glove box? It’s got my diabetes meds in it. I forgot to take my insulin earlier and I’d better not risk driving home without it.’
‘Sure thing.’ She opened the glove box and handed it to him. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ She tried to open the door. She jiggled the handle a few times then turned to him in frustration. ‘I can’t seem to get the door open. Can you give me a hand, please?’
‘Sorry, Lucy, I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘What?’ She looked at him in incomprehension. ‘I need you to open the door.’ She shook the handle harder.
He smiled at her, holding up the syringe. ‘Just relax, Lucy.’ He plunged the needle into her thigh. She screamed and lashed out at him, then turned back to the door, frantically scrabbling at it.
He put his foot on the accelerator, driving away from Lucy’s hatchback.
‘Brian! Stop, please! Let me out!’
He ignored her. They reached the end of the car park and he turned onto the main road, gaining speed. Lucy’s movements slowed down. She stopped pounding on the door and splayed her hands on the glass in silent supplication. Her head nodded and thumped against the window. He stopped on the side of the road and reached over to pull her into an upright position, fastened her seatbelt and folded her hands in her lap.
‘There we go. That’s much better. We can’t have you drawing attention to us, can we? Don’t worry, we’ll be home soon. I’m so glad you didn’t have any plans for tonight. My wife and I have a real surprise in store for you.’
Lucy’s breath came in short, desperate puffs. She blinked frantically. Her eyes were stretched wide and her pupils were so dilated that the irises were almost invisible. Inside her head she was screaming.
CHAPTER
25
I woke up on Sunday morning feeling disoriented. Something wasn’t quite right. There was hardly any light filtering in around the curtains, which told me it was still early. I looked over at the clock. It was just before seven, much earlier than I normally struggled out of bed.
Every so often when Gran decides to have a sleep in, Shadow will pester me until I get up and feed him. His stomach alarm usually goes off at around 6 AM. His waking-up-the-help routine involves standing on my chest and purring loudly into my face until I open my eyes. I stagger downstairs to feed him and then head back to bed. He joins me ten minutes or so later for his post-breakfast nap.
But this morning I couldn’t blame Shadow for my awake state. He was missing in action, which was strange in itself. I laid there for a while trying to work out what had woken me. Then I heard it again, voices on the veranda followed by a knock on the door. I wondered who the hell would be visiting us at such an ungodly hour. I heard the front door opening followed by voices. The first was Gran’s, then there was what sounded like a barrage of other voices, all talking fast and loud.
I jumped out of bed and went over to the window. As I lifted the curtain I heard the front door slam. Intrigued, I peered down. At the front of the house were six or seven cars. In the front yard the drivers were milling around. One of them looked up and saw me looking out of the window. There was a flurry of excitement and before I knew what was happening flashes started going off and they were snapping my photo. I dropped the curtain like it was on fire and stepped back from the window. I sat down on the bed and tried to think. Why on earth would a gaggle of media be camped out on our front lawn?
Wh
ile I was trying to kick my brain into gear there was a knock on the door and Gran came in.
‘I thought the noise would probably have woken you up.’
‘What’s going on, Gran?’
Gran sighed and sat down next to me. She took my hand in hers and stroked it. ‘They want you, dear.’
‘Me? What have I done?’
Gran pulled a folded paper out from under her arm and handed it to me. I looked at the front page. FLEURIEU SERIAL KILLER? the headline screamed. It was followed by the strapline, PSYCHIC PROVIDES VITAL CLUE, and there, for all the world to see, was my picture.
I scanned the article. It described police suspicions about a serial killer abducting women in the region, then came the bit about me. There was a potted history of my life, the fact that I lived in Jewel Bay with my mother and grandmother and, for the grand finale, a paragraph about assisting police with my psychic abilities. I looked at Gran.
‘Who would have done this?’ I asked.
‘There must be a leak at the police station.’
‘I can’t believe someone would talk to the press! It’s completely irresponsible. Not only is it a complete violation of my privacy, it’s plain stupid. The killer will know the police are investigating now. They might never find him.’
‘It says here that police brought someone in for questioning yesterday.’
‘The guy that Ed took me to see yesterday isn’t the killer. They’ve got the wrong person.’
When Ed had dropped me home I’d walked into the house fuming about his pigheadedness. I stomped into the kitchen and banged around making myself a cup of coffee and cutting a huge piece of the chocolate cake that Gran had left on the table. Mum came in a few minutes later to find me drowning my sorrows in a sea of chocolate ganache. She’d laid a hand on my shoulder.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I can’t, Mum. I’m so mad at him that it makes me want to scream.’
‘Gran and I are going for a walk before dinner. Do you want to come?’
My first instinct was to say no. I wanted to retreat to my room and stew. I was feeling sorry for myself. I’d expected to be treated like some kind of hero; the person who’d provided the vital clue, who could identify the killer and help them tie the case up in a nice neat bow. The killer should have been caught and Ed should have been eternally grateful to me for solving the mystery of his wife’s disappearance. Instead everything had gone pear-shaped the minute I saw the man in custody.
It was Mum’s worried frown that made me change my mind. I decided it would do me good to get out and not think about killers and missing women for a while. I parted company with the chocolate cake and spent a much healthier afternoon striding along the paths that snaked along the coastline. Every twist and turn was familiar — I’ve been walking them for as long as I can remember.
The freezing wind whipped off the sea, clawing at our faces and making our noses and cheeks glow red. We walked fast to keep warm and soon I was puffing and sweating under all my layers. Gran and Mum were both very fit and we set a cracking pace, pausing only when we got to the top of a particularly steep climb. The waves were lashing the rocks below and white foam soared into the sky every time a big one hit.
We stood at the top, trying to catch our breath. The vigorous exercise had lightened my mood. I felt better than I had in days.
‘Do you want to talk about what happened now?’ Mum asked.
‘You know, I actually don’t, but it’s not because I’m angry any more. It’s the opposite. I feel so good that I don’t want to spoil it by thinking about all of that stuff again. What I really want is to spend the rest of the day just doing normal things, as if none of it had happened.’
‘An excellent idea,’ Gran said, putting her arm around me and giving me a squeeze. ‘What do you fancy for dinner? How about something special?’
‘You know I love everything you cook, Gran. I don’t care what it is.’ I smiled. It was true. The only time I could ever remember Gran cooking something I didn’t like was when she decided that we all needed to detox about five years ago. What followed was a week-long parade of raw vegetables and vegetable juices that had Mum and me sneaking off to our bedrooms to devour secret stashes of chocolate.
‘How about roast chicken and vegies followed by baked rice custard with stewed rhubarb?’
I could feel myself salivating. Gran’s roast chicken was a culinary masterpiece and rice custard was one of my childhood favourites.
Mum laughed. ‘We’ll have to do this walk again tomorrow just to make up for all of that!’
‘I expect we will. C’mon then, let’s get back. If we’re going to eat at a reasonable hour I’d better get started.’
After that, every time my treacherous mind wandered to thoughts of Ed or the case I forced myself to think of something else.
By nine o’clock I was full up to the eyeballs and starting to fall asleep. We’d retreated to the lounge room and Mum was watching some forgettable movie on TV. I dragged myself upstairs and crawled under the covers, falling into a sound sleep almost immediately. Killers and ghosts stayed away and I was just me, well fed and in my own bed.
Now that feeling of wellbeing was in tatters. My private world had been invaded. What was I going to do? I was hostage in my own home.
And the killer knew who I was.
A wave of panic swept over me. All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. I struggled to draw breath, my chest heaving. I could hear a weird noise; Gran was talking but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I realised the noise was me trying to breathe. The room started to recede and go black. Next thing I knew I was lying on the bed with Gran and Mum standing over me having a debate about whether or not to call an ambulance. I looked at them through half-closed eyes. I couldn’t muster the effort to open them properly.
‘She’s breathing normally now,’ said Gran, who was holding my hand.
‘I don’t know. She’s never done that before,’ Mum said. She was hovering and every few seconds she tugged on her ear, a sure sign that she was anxious.
‘It’s OK, Anita. I’ve managed to calm her down. Her pulse is normal. She just had a panic attack. Nothing unusual about that when you wake up to find a bunch of paparazzi camped on your doorstep.’
I tried to speak. My voice came out as a rusty whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘I’m OK.’
‘I think you need to be checked over, Cass, you fainted,’ Mum said.
‘I just panicked, like Gran said,’ I whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ Mum said.
‘Could I have a cup of tea please, Mum?’ I sounded a bit more normal.
‘Anita, why don’t you make a pot?’
Mum flapped out of the room and Gran pulled a chair over next to my bed. I propped a couple of pillows behind me. She stroked my hand for a while, saying nothing. I knew what she was up to. She was channelling all her energy into easing my stress. I could feel it seeping away, a warm fuzzy blanket of contentment replacing it. I gently took my hand away. As good as it felt, I knew how much it took out of Gran to do this and with each year that passed it took her longer and longer to recover. I was young and fit and, as crappy as I might be feeling, I was well able to recover without her help.
‘You don’t need to do that, Gran, I’m feeling better.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ I looked towards the window. I could still hear voices from the front yard.
‘You don’t have to speak to them. They’ll get sick of waiting and go away eventually,’ she said.
‘I hate feeling like I’m being dissected by everyone who’s sitting down to breakfast with their morning paper.’
Gran nodded. There wasn’t really anything she could say to make it any better. We sat there saying nothing. Shadow poked his head around the corner
of the door and dashed across the room and onto the bed. His tail was up like a bottlebrush and he made a bee-line for the comfort of my lap.
‘I think he feels a bit put out by the invasion as well.’ Gran chuckled.
I stroked the large black head that was nudging my hand and demanding attention. Mum came back at that point, juggling a tray laden with tea and associated paraphernalia. She smiled as she took in the scene before her.
‘You look much better,’ she said.
She pushed a few books to one side and plonked the tray on my desk. She was busy pouring when the phone on my night table jangled into life, making us all jump. I reached for it but Gran gently pushed my hand aside.
‘It could be the press. I’ll get it.’
She answered and listened.
‘Hold on.’ She put her hand over the phone. ‘It’s Ed. Do you want to speak to him?’
I thought back to how pissed off I’d been the day before; how bloody-minded he’d been. The man was an emotional Neanderthal. He was the last person I wanted to talk to. ‘Not really, but I will.’ I grabbed the phone from her. ‘Hello?’
‘Cass, I’m sorry.’
The apology took me by surprise.
‘Sorry for acting like a moron yesterday, or sorry for the fact that I’m splashed all over the morning news?’ I snapped.
He sucked in a sharp breath at my surliness. ‘Sorry you’re in the papers. We don’t know how it happened. Sorenson is out for blood. She’s announced an internal inquiry to find out who’s responsible.’
‘None of that helps my situation. I can’t even get out of the front door at the moment.’
‘Media?’
‘What do you think?’ I knew I was sounding petulant and childish but I just couldn’t help myself.
‘Do you want me to send someone to move them on?’
Send someone? He couldn’t even be bothered coming himself. That pissed me off even more. ‘Don’t bother. You and your lot have done enough damage already. I have to go now, goodbye.’ I threw the phone down. Mum passed me a cup of tea and we sat there lost in our own thoughts. To me everything felt the same but subtly different. Our small, protected world had been knocked off its axis, spinning out of control in a universe full of unknown threats.
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