‘No, no, no!’
CHAPTER
35
Curled up in the bag, bloodied and sightlessly staring was the tiny and helpless form of Elliot. I re-zipped the bag with shaking hands. It took me forever to open my door. Eventually I managed it and carried the bag into my flat. I stood there in the middle of my lounge room, holding it at arm’s length, crying.
I didn’t know what to do with him. I couldn’t face Emily. What would I say to her? How could I explain it? She might think I’d run him over and was too cowardly to admit it. My brain was too befuddled to cope.
In the end I placed the bag in my courtyard next to the back door and went back inside. Tears were streaming down my face and I’d been crying so hard my breathing was coming in ragged hiccups.
I sat on the couch with the phone in my hand. My first instinct was to call Ed but then I thought about the last conversation I’d had with him and the fact that I’d gone running to him with every problem I’d had since moving to Adelaide. I was sick of looking like a needy, pathetic woman and I was still smarting from the tongue lashing he’d given me the day before.
I didn’t want him to think that he was the only person I knew who could help me out of a sticky situation. If I called him he’d want to come over. He’d probably insist on my staying at his place again. I didn’t think my frayed nerves could deal with another dose of Detective Dyson.
I rang Claire.
She sounded groggy. Not surprising given it was well past midnight and she’d had six Baileys to my two.
‘I’m sorry for calling,’ I said.
‘You’ve been crying, what’s wrong?’
My throat constricted again, preventing me from talking. I took a couple of ragged breaths.
‘Cass? Talk to me!’
‘Sorry, it’s Elliot.’ I cried some more.
‘Elliot? The cat?’
‘Yes, someone’s killed him and left him in this green sports bag on my doorstep.’
‘Oh God.’ She sucked in a breath. I listened to her rapid breathing on the other end of the line.
‘I don’t know what to do.’
She didn’t respond.
‘Claire?’
‘Cass, can you do something for me?’ Her voice sounded strange, like it was stretched thin.
‘Um, I guess so.’
‘Can you go and tell me what sort of sports bag it is.’
‘What? What do you mean what sort? It’s green. Why?’
‘Please, I need to know what brand it is. Just look, please?’
I couldn’t understand why it mattered. I padded back through the laundry and outside. I had to force myself to look at the bag. It was almost entirely plain except for a small logo on one side. I raised the phone to my face again.
‘Reebok.’
‘Shit!’ I could hear the panic in her voice. ‘Cass, go inside and check all your doors and windows. Did you lock the security door when you went inside?’
‘Claire, you’re scaring me.’
‘Did you lock everything?’ She practically shouted the words at me. I could hear from her voice that she was moving, running almost.
‘Claire, what’s going on?’
She didn’t answer me.
‘Claire?’
‘Cass, I’m so sorry. It’s Michael.’
‘Michael?’
‘Your stalker, it’s Michael and I’ve checked, he’s not in his room. His bed hasn’t been slept in.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense. Why would Michael stalk me? He hadn’t even met me until tonight.’
‘He knows about you. I told him all about what you can do that first night we had dinner when I rang to tell him I’d be late. I was excited about meeting you. It was stupid of me, I should have known how he’d react. He hates anything paranormal. He thinks it’s all the devil’s work. You saw how he reacted to you tonight. It’s him, Cass, I’m sure of it and if he’s off his meds then he could be dangerous.’
‘I thought you said he was back on them?’
‘Now I’m not so sure. He could have been pretending, to pacify me and satisfy his shrink.’
‘Shit Claire, what do I do?’
‘Check all your doors and windows and don’t go anywhere or open the door for anyone. I’m going to call the police as soon as we hang up. Just sit tight until they get there.’
‘But he’s your brother.’
‘And you’re my friend, and I couldn’t live with myself if he hurt you. Please, Cass, do as I say? I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve called the police.’
I hung up. My tears had dried. I could hear the clock on the wall ticking the apartment was so quiet. I locked the back door and went and checked the front screen door then locked the wooden door. I checked the windows in the living area, kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom, pulling all the blinds as I went. Last of all I went into my bedroom.
I deliberately left the light off as I walked in. The curtains were open and if anyone was outside watching I didn’t want them to see what I was doing. Fear almost paralysed me but I forced myself to walk across to the window. I pulled the net curtains back to check the latch on the window. I looked out into the darkness. A jolt of adrenaline made my heart leap and I screamed, shattering the silence.
There, not more than half a metre from my nose, was Michael. He was looking right at me and he was smiling.
CHAPTER
36
I almost passed out. The smile on his face wasn’t a nice one.
I dropped the curtains like they were writhing with snakes and ran out of the bedroom. Fear does different things to different people but I’m one of the lucky ones; it makes me think more clearly. I grabbed a dining chair and dashed into the bathroom. I locked the door and wedged the chair under the handle and crouched on the floor, in the dark, with my back against the cold tiles, waiting.
I listened desperately for any noises to tell me what he was doing. At first I couldn’t hear anything except for my own breathing and the pounding of my heart. After a while, I started to hear rattling; faint at first and then louder. I realised he was trying to get in through the front door. I said a silent prayer of thanks to Ed who’d arranged the new heavy-duty screen door.
The rattling stopped and I went back to straining my ears and holding my breath. I needed to pee but I didn’t dare move in case he heard me and worked out where I was hiding.
What would he do next? What if he broke the bathroom window? Would he be able to fit through the small opening? I didn’t think so. He was a big guy. It was the main reason I’d picked the bathroom. The other rooms all had big windows. The windows had keyed locks that were pretty strong, but no lock would stop him from putting a fist or foot through the glass and climbing in.
I was beginning to relax ever so slightly and think that maybe he’d gone away when I heard another noise. This time it was coming from the back of the house; banging on the corrugated-iron fence that ran around my small courtyard. What was he doing?
The banging stopped and then another rattling noise started. He was shaking the handle on the back door. He’d climbed over my fence. My throat constricted. He’d managed to scale a six-foot-high fence. That told me how badly he wanted to get in. I did some more mindless praying. The back door didn’t have a screen on it. It was a wooden door with a deadlock. Would it keep him out? I didn’t know. I cursed myself for not getting a screen put on that one as well.
He pounded on the door.
‘Can you hear me, Cassandra?’ he yelled.
His voice sent a fresh chill of terror slithering over me. My skin puckered into goosebumps and I started to shiver uncontrollably.
‘I know you can, you freak. You’re an abomination! You’re unholy. What you have isn’t a gift, it’s a sign of the devil. You and your kind need to be wiped from this earth. Do you know what the Bible says about your kind? It says, “A woman that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones: their blood shall be upon t
hem.” God himself wants you dead. As one of God’s soldiers it’s my duty to enact his divine will. You have to die, just like your familiar. The earth must be cleansed.’
I covered my ears to block out his ranting. I didn’t answer him. He wouldn’t see reason. There was nothing rational about anything he’d said. If I spoke I’d let him know where to find me.
‘There’s no point in resisting. If you come to God’s hands willingly he might forgive your sins.’
I pressed my hands over my ears even tighter.
A loud thud made me jump. He did it again. He was kicking the back door.
Where were the police? How long had it been? I thought of Mum and Gran. How would they feel if some nutcase killed me because of my gift? The guilt would be terrible. I had to survive.
I crawled over to the medicine cabinet and opened it with shaking hands. Being as quiet as I could, I started to go through my cosmetic bags. I knew what I was looking for: there was a pedicure kit somewhere in one of them.
I was so frightened I could hardly control my fingers. The bathroom was virtually pitch-black with only a faint glimmer coming from the window high up above the toilet. I began to think I wasn’t going to find the kit when my fingers hit the smooth leather of the case. I pulled it out and unzipped it. There! I tugged the metal nailfile from one side and a small scalpel used for trimming away dead skin from the other. They weren’t much but they were better than nothing. The nailfile could do some damage used in the right spot and the scalpel might slow him down.
I crouched back down, holding a tiny weapon in each hand, staring into the darkness.
That was how the police found me when they broke into the apartment five minutes later. I must have slipped into some kind of trance because I don’t remember what happened between finding the pedicure kit and them arriving. They used a battering ram to get through the front door and bathroom door when I didn’t respond to their yelling. I didn’t even hear them. The next thing I knew the bathroom light was turned on and I was on my feet waving the nailfile at a pair of uniformed officers who were waving guns back at me.
They immediately lowered their guns. The female officer raised a hand.
‘Miss Lehman? Cassandra? You can put those down now. You’re safe.’
I blinked at her a few times trying to comprehend what she was saying. My brain had temporarily forgotten how to drive my mouth and it took me a moment to get control of my voice.
‘Michael?’ I croaked.
‘He’s been arrested. He can’t hurt you.’
I dropped my hands to my sides and let go of the scalpel and file. The female officer put a gentle hand under my elbow and walked me slowly out of the bathroom, stepping me around the shattered chair.
‘Come and sit down. Shall I make you a cup of tea? Is there someone I can call?’
‘Please, tea would be good,’ I managed.
She went off to the kitchen and I sat on the couch, trying to get my wits back. I was aware of activity outside. Another officer stuck his head through the front door. I realised that they’d destroyed the new screen door; clearly it wasn’t designed to withstand a battering ram.
‘Miss Lehman? One of your neighbours, Emily Richter, wants to come in and see how you’re doing. Can she come in? She’s quite determined.’
I swallowed hard, remembering Elliot. How was I going to tell her?
She bustled into the room. For an old lady she was pretty sprightly. Her eyes were bright with concern and she came straight over to me and wrapped me in a motherly hug.
‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. Are you all right? I heard all that yelling and called the police straightaway.’
I started to cry, the sympathy and the thought of Elliot undid me. ‘I’m sorry, Emily.’
‘Sorry? What on earth for?’
‘It’s Elliot. He killed him.’
‘Oh no!’ Her gnarled hand flew to her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. ‘My poor baby. Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. I heard him say something about familiars. I think he thought I was a witch and Elliot was mine. I’m so sorry.’
She took a wobbly breath. ‘He was my best friend, you know.’
‘I know.’ We sat there in shared misery, crying for the little animal that had done nothing but bring us both comfort and pleasure.
Emily was the first to get herself under control. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes and nose. ‘It’s not your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself. You’re not responsible for the actions of a crazy person.’ She took my hand in hers and patted it. ‘I’ll stay with you until the police are finished and then you must come and stay at my place.’
‘I couldn’t!’
‘You can, and you will. I have a spare bed already made up and you certainly can’t stay here with the doors all hanging off their hinges.’
She was all of five-foot and walked with a stoop that made her look even tinier, but she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I’d have to introduce her to my gran sometime; I had a feeling they’d have a lot in common.
CHAPTER
37
Ed and Dave spent the two days after Cass’s stunt at Hampstead in frustrated anticipation. Knowing that Strauss had recognised the man who tried to kill him strengthened their case against Smythe, although Ed still wasn’t as convinced as Dave. Ed had phoned Cass no fewer than half a dozen times since their argument to try and find out exactly what she’d seen when she touched Strauss, but she was refusing to answer his calls. He couldn’t really blame her after the roasting he’d given her, but it only added to the feeling they were stuck in suspended animation.
Cass wasn’t the biggest blocker to progress, though. Since Cass and Claire’s botched attempt to help, Crackers had developed a bad case of nerves. The threat of media attention seemed more and more likely and now he was worrying that Rod Strauss’s family would start complaining if they got wind of what had happened. It didn’t matter that Cass was acting of her own volition. The fact that she was loosely affiliated with their team would be grounds enough for an internal investigation.
Crackers suddenly getting cold feet put a temporary hold on their plans for the search of Smythe’s place. Before he authorised it, he’d decided to make sure they had reasonable cause. Unfortunately, getting legal advice took time.
While they were waiting Ed and Dave filled their time by running through a full briefing with the whole search team and writing up their case notes. It was tedious and the hours dragged by. The one shining light in an otherwise shitty couple of days was the news that the autopsy on Ben Taylor was conclusive. He’d died of asphyxia. His nails were broken and bloodied from trying to free himself from a confined space. The results supported what Cass had said about him being buried alive. His body had been frozen post-mortem. They now knew for sure that they had at least one murder.
By four o’clock on Thursday Ed was over it. He pushed his chair back from his desk and sighed. Dave looked up from his computer screen.
‘I still don’t understand why the killer kept him on ice for so long,’ Dave said. ‘Burying someone alive’s a horrible way to kill, and then to dig him up and keep the body in a freezer? What kind of freak does that? Why wouldn’t he leave him buried?’
‘Maybe because a frozen body doesn’t smell. Maybe he wasn’t actually buried. We know he didn’t suffocate in dirt because there was none in his airways or under his fingernails, so maybe the killer doesn’t like digging. Who knows? Maybe he thought it was safer to keep the body than try and dump it,’ Ed said.
‘Maybe, and when we started asking questions he got nervous and didn’t want it around anymore in case we did a search?’
‘It seems likely, although there’s something a bit too staged about putting the body in a grave. It’s like something out of a bad movie. It almost feels like the killer’s playing with us to see if we’re smart enough to work it out.’
‘It all points to Smythe. He’s the one we
’ve been pestering the most,’ Dave said.
‘I’m not sure. Smythe lives in the hills on a massive property. Why the hell would he transport a body all the way to a cemetery in the city to bury it? It doesn’t make sense. I can’t see Smythe as the mastermind behind it all. He doesn’t seem that creative,’ Ed said.
‘The guy’s a sicko, why should anything he does make sense?’ Dave said.
‘I don’t like our chances of ever tying the MacDonald death to him. If there was no evidence at the scene then the chances of there being any elsewhere is pretty slim,’ Ed said, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up at crazy angles.
‘But you never know. Maybe he’s into keeping a diary or souvenirs,’ Dave said with a shrug.
‘Does that sound like the Smythe we met to you?’
‘Not really, but stranger things have happened. All we can do is hope. Even if we only find enough to tie him to Taylor, we might get lucky and get a confession out of him. I’m going to get a coffee. You want one?’
‘Yeah, please.’
He stared absently at Dave’s retreating back. Their best hope was to actually find a body or DNA. If Smythe was their guy, would he have been stupid enough to conceal a body on his own property? If he’d disposed of Ben Taylor’s body when he got spooked, he’d probably tried to get rid of any other evidence as well. The cadaver dog might get a hit if a body had been stored and was decomposing, but Taylor had been frozen. It was a long shot.
He hoped the dog would be worth the effort, assuming they could actually get one. Trying to organise it had been a total pain in the arse. The dogs were based interstate and getting them at short notice was near impossible.
He’d been on the phone to no fewer than seven different people and he still hadn’t had confirmation that a dog and handler were coming. It’d almost driven him crazy. He closed his eyes. His head was pounding. He couldn’t work out whether it was from caffeine withdrawal or the hours of dealing with red tape – maybe it was both.
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