THE SIX: A Dark, Dazzling Serial Killer Story

by Anni Taylor

  “I hope so.” Swallowing a mouthful of coffee that burned my throat, I glanced away at the markets and busy foot traffic of the unfamiliar street.

  Rosemary finished her cake. It’d looked so sugary it made me feel ill. A jetlagged, upset-stomach kind of ill.

  “Are you all right? You look a little peaky,” she said.

  “No, I’m okay. Is there anything you’d like me to do today? I’m under your direction.”

  There. I’d made sure I’d established our relationship. We weren’t a team. There was no we. I was contracting her to carry out a job. And I expected her to do it.

  “I’m afraid you look like you’re about to drop,” she said. “When you’ve rested, we’ll talk again and determine which direction we’re going to take. For now, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.” A wrinkle formed in her forehead. “Wilson Carlisle didn’t accompany Kara here. He’s still in Australia. I’ve done some more digging on the historical society that he’s a member of. I’m not saying it has anything to do with Kara or where she is, but it is intriguing. So intriguing that I can’t believe it’s been under my nose for all these years that I’ve been working as an investigator. I’ve asked a couple of history professors that I know of for some information—they’re a husband and wife who live in Athens. It appears the society has a connection with an ancient order. Well, either it’s connected or the society is the order but doesn’t want it known. I don’t know which.”

  “What kind of ancient order?”

  “I’m uncertain. The name I’ve sourced is Yeqon’s Saviours.”

  “Yeqon? Sounds Arabic?” I said politely, wondering where she was going with this.

  “It’s from the Bible. As the Bible tells it, a number of angels were sent down from heaven to watch over humans. They were called watchers or Grigori. A ringleader named Yeqon led them into temptation, and they became fallen angels. This order appears to be using Yeqon’s name. Which is a somewhat unusual choice.”

  My eyes darted about the café. This wasn’t the usual cake-and-coffee conversation. No one could hear us, but still, it made me uncomfortable. This wasn’t what we were supposed to be talking about. Was Rosemary slightly crazy? Or did she purposely invent wild stories for every client instead of actually working on the case, just to use up more hours and make more money?

  “That’s all interesting,” I said. “But if it’s unlikely to involve Kara, then do we need to pursue this?”

  “I pursue every avenue in a case, Constance. Turn over every stone. It’s why I’ve been successful. I used to take on infidelity cases. Cheating husbands and wives. There was only one case in which the person was mistaken about their spouse. In all the hundreds of other cases, I confirmed the person’s fears and found out all the awful details. And the way I did it was to look into all the things that you mightn’t think important. Things that other investigators had overlooked.” She sighed. “At times, I think my client wanted affirmation that their wife or husband wasn’t cheating. But then I had to tell them that their initial suspicions were right. I decided I no longer wanted to take on those cases.”

  “I couldn’t even imagine giving someone that kind of news.” I thought of James and how I’d never once suspected he was doing anything like that. “If it’s okay, I’d rather just concentrate on where Kara might have gone. Sorry if I’m being blunt. This ancient order thing sounds very off-beat. I’m sorry if I sound anxious. I just—I am anxious.”

  “Of course you’re anxious. Okay then. I’ve been running my usual skip-tracing process on Kara, but I will let you know that it’s not the easiest thing to trace someone who’s travelling through countries.”

  “Skip tracing?”

  “That’s just what investigators call the tracing of a missing person that’s done over the internet and telephone. People very often leave a digital footprint that you can follow if you know where to look.” Her forehead dented into a deep, triangular frown. “It does make it difficult if the person doesn’t wish to be found. Kara doesn’t appear to have used her social media accounts in many weeks. I’ve checked a number of escort websites, but I can’t find Kara on any of them. Perhaps escort work is not among her reasons for coming here. Is there anything else at all that I can go on? What about Kara’s university roommate—Paige?”

  “The police tracked down Paige. Paige says she doesn’t know anything about where Kara went. There’s just one other person. A woman named Evie Harlow. It was Evie’s husband who found Kara on that companions website. Evie knew Kara.” I explained in detail about Gray and Evie.

  “Would I be able to contact Gray myself?”

  “I’m not sure. It was pretty awful last time I spoke with him. He was in the hospital with his very sick little girl.”

  “That’s not good about his daughter. But the best chance we have of finding Kara is to move quickly. Would you mind trying him again? To see if he’s heard from his wife yet?”

  “It’s probably the middle of the night over there—”

  “It’s about eight at night in Sydney right now,” she cut in. “A perfect time to catch people. If it’s not a good time, you can just apologise and hang up.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.” The coffee soured in my throat as I brought up Gray’s number and called him. So far, my intrusions into his life had happened at the worst possible times for him.

  This time, he answered in a tired, lost kind of tone. “Constance?”

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m so sorry to bother you, Gray. How’s your little girl doing?”

  “I’ve brought her home. The news wasn’t good for her ongoing health, but we’re coping.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry.” Rosemary nodded at me, urging me to ask the question. “I hate to ask, but have you heard from Evie?”

  “No.” A flat, decisive no.

  “Oh . . . okay. Well, I hope you do very soon.”

  “The cops found Evie’s car.”

  “Her car?”

  “Yeah. All burned out. And some of her things, too, buried in the ground.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “God.”

  The calm expression in Rosemary’s eyes switched. She made a revolving gesture, telling me to stay on the line and keep him talking. I understood. My instinct was to end the call and leave him in peace, but Rosemary wanted as much information as possible.

  “Oh, Gray, that doesn’t sound good,” I managed to say.

  “No, it’s not good. I don’t know what the hell is going on. The police won’t let me go out there and look myself. They won’t even tell me where. Some bushland area, apparently.”

  “And someone went to the trouble of burying Evie’s things?”

  “Yep. Her wallet and phone and shoes. All of them burned, too.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “You’ve got that right. How about Kara? Anything?”

  “No. No trace. But I found out that she flew to England. The Darling Harbour police told me. I’m here now, in London, and I’ve hired a P.I.”

  Too late I noticed that Rosemary was shaking her head.

  “Wish I had the money for one of those,” he answered.

  Gray was in such a bad place that I could sense the weight and strain in every word he spoke. But I needed to finish the call quickly now. I’d said the wrong thing and I didn’t know how to fix it. I said goodbye and told him I’d call him if I heard from Kara.

  I raised guilty eyes to Rosemary. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “It’s all right. I should have told you. It’s just a habit of mine to keep everything as private as possible. Please don’t tell anyone else about me.”

  “I won’t. I haven’t even told my husband. But that’s because he’ll fuss about me going ahead with anything. He worries about my . . . state of mind. I’ve been on antidepressants for a long time. Many years.”

  “We all have our crosses to bear. I’m glad you have someone who takes care of you.”

  For a moment—and only a moment—I glimp
sed a piece of the person Rosemary must be. I guessed she lived alone and didn’t have anyone taking care of her.

  She sighed. “Sounds like things aren’t going in a good direction for Gray’s wife. I heard you say her things were found buried?”

  “Yes.” I recounted what Gray had said to Rosemary.

  “Oh dear. Do the police have any idea who might have done that? Was it an expensive car? An insurance job perhaps?”

  “No, I can’t imagine it would be an insurance job. These people are dirt poor. From the look of Gray’s car, it can’t be worth more than ten thousand dollars, and I’d imagine Evie’s isn’t worth much more.”

  “Really? Hmmm, I wonder if the police checked if Evie left the country.”

  “I’m thinking she couldn’t have if her wallet and phone were found? I’m assuming Evie would now be a missing person in the eyes of the police, so they’d check all that, wouldn’t they? They did for Kara.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re quite right. They would.” Her eyes clouded. “Well, let’s hope Gray didn’t have something to do with his wife’s disappearance.”

  “I didn’t think of that. Oh God, I hope not.”

  “In my previous career, I was a detective. It was terrible how many times the culprit was the husband. Too many times.”

  “I first met Gray on the day his wife went away. He seemed genuinely distressed.”

  “Angry, too?”

  “Yes, angry. He’d only just found the note she’d left him.”

  “I might do some investigating myself, seeing as Evie had some connection to Kara.”

  “I’m glad that Kara did leave Australia. After what happened with Evie’s car. I mean, I just feel better that she’s a long way from there.”

  “Understandable.”

  “So, you used to be a detective?”

  “Yes, don’t look so surprised.”

  “I just—”

  “Because I’m not a big, burly man? I was with the police for fourteen years all up, eleven as a detective. I left a little over ten years ago, just after the accident. You see, my husband and daughter were in a boating accident.”

  “Oh no . . .”

  “My husband drowned. My daughter, she was revived . . . but she never regained consciousness. I left the police force on compassionate leave. I never went back. My daughter hung on for years in a coma. Seven years. Then she died. She was twenty-one.”

  “I’m so sorry. That’s tragic.”

  She nodded in reply. “I didn’t know what to do with myself after she was gone.”

  “Is that when you became a P.I.?”

  “Not long after, yes. I was offered a short stint as a private investigator by a former colleague—he also used to be a detective. It filled in the hours. Gave me some kind of purpose. I have a lot of contacts from my former profession. And I know what to say and who to talk to in order to find things out. I always did enjoy that aspect of police work. Putting all the pieces together and finding the answers. And so I decided to reinvent myself, giving myself a new name and going full-time into the P.I. business.”

  “Rosemary Oort isn’t your real name? I thought your family might be Dutch or something.”

  She gave a brief, sad laugh. “No. I grow rosemary in the little memorial garden I made for my husband and daughter. And as for the last name, it’s after the Oort cloud on the edge of our solar system.”

  “That’s sweet, about the garden. And I didn’t know there were clouds hanging out there in space.”

  “It’s not so much a cloud. After the sun and planets were formed, there was leftover rubble. The rubble assembled itself into a spherical shape and remained there. That’s what they call the cloud. I felt that way at the time—that my husband and daughter had gone on to form celestial bodies, and I was the rubble that was left behind.”

  “Yours is certainly a name I’ll never forget.”

  “I don’t normally tell clients any of what I just told you. But I look at you, and I can see hurt and sadness in your past, too. I thought you might understand.”

  I wanted to cry. But this wasn’t the place to cry.

  She was wrong about me though. Apart from losing track of Kara, my life had not been terrible. I’d lost Otto, but he’d been on a self-destructive track ever since I met him. No, my life was pretty wonderful. It was, right? Apart from my silly, middle-aged depression, I had a charmed life. A life I’d be returning to soon.

  I felt a bit of a phony, because here was Rosemary, and she was the real deal.

  My former reservations about her slipped away. She was exactly the person I needed in order to find Kara. Of all the things I’d gotten wrong so far, she was the one thing I’d gotten right.

  34. EVIE

  RUTH STORMED FROM THE THIRD CHALLENGE room. The challenge had been tough on everyone but especially on Ruth.

  Out in the garden, the mentors stood abreast. The cool, damp air hung over us oppressively as we went to shake their hands.

  I wanted the night done and the morning sun spilling in again.

  “How did you all go?” asked Sister Dawn.

  “You know how we went,” said Ruth flatly.

  “The mirrors are not an easy challenge for anyone except for those with the unmarked mind of a child.” Brother Vito cast a look of sympathy at Ruth.

  “You’re damned lucky I didn’t smash those mirrors.” Ruth walked away and into the monastery.

  “It was a cheap challenge.” Harrington eyed the mentors with a haughty expression. “What is making people feel bad about themselves supposed to achieve?”

  “I’m sorry you saw no value in it,” said Brother Vito. “Well, you should all go wait in the library so that the next group can start.”

  Harrington swung his lanky frame around and headed after Ruth. Duncan and Hop went next, Duncan hunching as though he were being hunted.

  I lingered. “Will there be any more challenges like that one?”

  “No. You’ll find that the challenges are all quite distinct,” Brother Sage replied.

  “I know that counselling services didn’t form part of the program,” I said, “but everyone’s feeling a bit raw. Maybe everyone needs a bit of . . . debriefing or something.”

  “Thank you for letting us know, Evie,” said Brother Sage. “We’ll offer something in the morning. But for now—”

  An echoing scream from inside the monastery broke through the conversation.

  A man’s scream.

  Stunned looks passed among the four mentors.

  “Stay in the garden!” Brother Sage instructed me before whirling around and running towards the cloister.

  Within seconds, I was completely alone in the dark garden.

  With the walls looming high all around and the sound of the scream still in my ears, the garden seemed like a dangerous trap.

  I’m not staying here.

  I rushed to the cloister, too.

  As I entered the interior, a second scream travelled through the hall.

  Ruth and Harrington and Duncan and Hop all seemed to come running from different directions.

  “Wait.” Hop panted a couple of sharp breaths. “Hear that? In the dining hall.”

  A bottle—or something—rolled along the floor on the other side of the wall.

  Without another word, the five of us ran along the hall to the refectory door.

  A gasp fled my lips. On the stone floor inside the doorway, a dark trail led to the kitchen, illuminated by the lamps in the hallway—blood? A waxy darkness shrouded the kitchen and the rest of the refectory.

  “Who’s there?” Ruth demanded.

  A man burst from the kitchen, his eyes wild, his monk’s robes rippling as he crashed past us.

  My mind spun. Whose scream had we heard? This monk or another man?

  Instinctively, I knew the answer.

  Ruth ran into the kitchen first.

  Tentatively, I stepped after her.

  A narrow sliver of light exposed a man slumped over a
chair, two knives wedged deep into his back. Foamy blood trickled from his mouth onto the floor.

  Saul.

  The man was Saul.

  We inched closer, like children who’d just discovered a terrible yet incomprehensible thing.

  Harrington pressed his fingers against the side of Saul’s neck. “No pulse.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible to survive that.” Hop gestured towards the knives, his voice stained with fear.

  The sound of gunfire rang out, the first bullet pinging from the stonework but the second bringing forth only a dull sound.

  I froze. Who—?

  Then, Brother Sage yelled out, “Vito!”

  The sound of feet running. Lots of feet.

  My heart slammed against my ribs. What was happening out there? Who had the gun?

  Everything turned quiet.

  A woman’s cry ended the silence—Poppy’s. Suddenly there were lots of voices at once.

  We headed out of the refectory and into the hall.

  The mentors and challenge participants were gathered in a semi-circle around a fallen man—the monk that we’d seen. The monk was lying face down, blood oozing from a dark bullet hole in his temple, the back of his robes bearing a strange symbol—a ladder inside a hexagon.

  Brother Sage had a gun in his fist.

  “Saul’s dead.” Harrington indicated back towards the refectory. “Stabbed.”

  “Saul? Oh, fuck . . .” Poppy held a hand to her mouth, shaking her head in horror. Her team would have been in the library when Saul screamed. The last team would have just been released from the dormitories, ready for the challenge. Poppy and I exchanged terror-stricken glances.

  “No . . . Oh no . . .” Brother Sage inhaled sharply, his eyes shocked as he gazed at the figure on the floor. “I hoped this man hadn’t gone so far as to hurt anyone. He came at us with a knife. He had blood on his hands, and we knew he’d done something terrible. I had no choice but to shoot him.”

  Brother Vito and Sister Dawn rushed away into the refectory.

  Richard pushed his way to the front of the group to get a better look at the dead monk. “Does anyone want to explain why Saul was even still here?”