by Tara Moss
“Squad car, eh?” she asked, picking up the flashlight and examining it.
“Don’t ask,” he said seriously. “You can put that in the back if you want.”
“I like that this is a squad car,” she assured him. “Put the siren on. It’ll get us through the traffic a lot quicker.”
“Yeah, right.”
She gave him a mischievous look. “Come on,” she dared.
A teenager in a car ahead of them was in the midst of attempting an illegal U-turn when Andy switched the siren on for a split second. The kid’s tyres squealed as he took off down the road. It served as a good ice breaker, and distracted them for a couple of minutes.
Victoria Street was buzzing and after circling the block a few times they finally found a parking spot not too far away. A line of takeaway customers spilled out the front door of Fu Manchu, and they were relieved when they looked through the large window to see that there were a couple of empty tables inside. They grabbed one and sat in uncomfrotable silence as the exotic aromas of Asian dishes drifted by them on the way to waiting mouths. The soft sound of Chinese music was barely audible above the hum of the chatty patrons who filled every incense-scented inch of the place.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
“It’s great. How did you find out about it?”
“I like food,” she said with a grin.
“That’s unusual for a model.”
“You bet. Would you like me to order for us?” she offered, gesturing to the menu penned on the wall.
Andy looked momentarily surprised by her suggestion, and perhaps a bit relieved. “Sure.”
A waitress approached with a shaved head and Birkenstock sandals, showcasing a butterfly tattoo on the top of her foot.
“We’d like to start with the sang choi bao, then the duck wraps with lots of hoi sin. Salt and pepper cuttlefish and steamed eggplant, too, please.” She turned to Andy. “That all right with you?”
He nodded.
“Am I allowed to ask how the case is going?” she said tentatively once the waitress had left.
“Of course. I’m just not allowed to tell you.”
She smiled.
“Believe me, it’s in good hands and I’ll let you know anything that’s important.”
“I hope so.” She’d try him again later, perhaps after a few drinks. Makedde was relieved when the first dish arrived quickly. She thanked their waitress and commented on how great the food looked.
“Uh, yes,” Andy replied, eyeing the collage of lettuce and ground meat nervously. “What’s it called again?”
“Sang choi bao.”
With uncertainty he reached for his water, casually watching her next move.
“I adore this place. Don’t you just love Asian food?” she asked, slowly assembling her first mouthful. He followed her lead, placing the mix in the centre of a leaf of lettuce and wrapping it up.
“Yeah. Stir-fry. That sort of thing. Takeaway mostly,” he replied, blushing as bits of food slid out of his iceberg lettuce and onto the stainless-steel table.
First date and I’ve got him embarrassed.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. It’s very tasty…when I can get it in my mouth.”
“Yeah, they only use the best dog meat and monkey brain mix here. Much better than down the street.”
Andy started to choke.
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” she quickly back-pedalled. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight. It’s made with ground pork, spices and onions, I swear.”
“Uh huh.”
“Actually, this is the only pork dish I ever eat. The vego version just isn’t as good. Generally I have a lot of fruits and vegetables and a bit of fish and chicken,” she rambled on. “Some call it semi-vegetarian. I can understand the full vegetarian perspective though; vegetables don’t scream as loud when you chop them up.”
“Yeah, well,” he said vaguely and there was a pregnant pause. “So, what did you do today?” he finally asked.
That was another lively line of conversation. Makedde pictured herself clawing at Stanley’s eyes and delivering devastating blows to his private parts. “You really don’t want to know,” she replied.
Andy looked at her, curious and a little concerned. “What if I really do want to know?”
“I played squash with invisible balls,” she said under her breath. Now her dinner companion looked confused as well as curious and concerned.
“I just started a self-defence class at the Bondi Community Centre on Friday afternoons. I promise I won’t use any of the moves on you, unless it is absolutely necessary.”
“Oh…good. You can never be too careful. So, have you had a chance to see much of Sydney?”
“Well, it’s my second trip here, but I don’t get out much at night. As you guessed, I don’t know a lot of people.”
“I don’t get out much either. Work can be a bit all-consuming.”
Makedde remembered the argument she’d overheard in his office, and the words slipped out before she could stop them. “Who was that woman in your office the other day? She was beautiful.”
She thought she saw a brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he laughed and said, “Oh, Cassandra. She’s my ex-wife. Well, almost ex-wife. We’re divorcing.”
Makedde felt terrible. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”
“That’s all right, we’ve been separated for over a year. The day you saw her she had just come in with more divorce settlement papers. It’s no big deal; no kids or anything. Just some property and a car.”
“A car?”
“Never mind. Bit of a long story.”
The duck wraps arrived and Andy looked relieved that there was something else to talk about aside from Cassandra. Then he looked at the food laid out in front of them—slices of duck fanned out on a large plate, slivers of cucumber and chilli, a dark mushroom-coloured sauce, a mysterious, steaming bamboo basket—and his expression went momentarily blank. Feeling guilty, Mak leant forward and offered him a hand in assembling the meal.
“Here,” she said, “let me get it for you.”
She gingerly opened the bamboo basket and removed what looked like a flat pancake. She placed the duck, a piece of chilli coated cucumber and a dab of hoi sin sauce inside it, and wrapped it up. She slid the plate over to Andy, accidentally brushing his hand as she did so. Mak felt like she’d been zapped by an electric current. She looked up and found Andy staring with the same intensity straight back at her.
Makedde broke from his gaze, blushing. “You…ah, don’t need to use your chop sticks,” she managed. “It’s better with your hands.”
Your hands.
Oh God, she thought, this is trouble.
Across the street, hidden in the shadows beneath a broken streetlight, a solitary figure, flushed with violent jealousy and uncontrollable rage, intently watched their intimate dinner.
CHAPTER 26
Andy breezed into the office late Saturday morning, coffee in hand, to find Jimmy waiting at his desk with his arms crossed over his protruding belly. With a smirk on his lips he looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. He waited until Andy was within close range before he declared, with considerable satisfaction, “So, you’re rootin’ the pin-up.”
Andy spat out a mouthful of coffee. “What?”
“I’m talking to Robertson in the Cross, checking to see if they know this malaka, Rick Filles, and if anything’s goin’ down, and guess what he says to me?” Jimmy paused, raising an eyebrow. “He says there’s not much, except Flynn puttin’ the moves on some babe in Victoria Street. And there you are, right in the bloody window with the Vanderwall chick, starin’ into each other’s eyes like a couple of lovesick teenagers.”
“You saw us?”
“Skata, anyone could have seen you. Did you ever stop to notice that the place is a friggin’ fish bowl?”
“Shit.”
“Was she any good?”
/>
“Hey, I was a perfect gentleman—”
“I bet.” Jimmy grinned.
“I dropped her off at home. It’s none of your business, anyway.”
“You can’t let me down, Andy. As of last night, you’re a legend. Some of the guys want you to get her autograph. They’re bringing in their copies of Sports Illustrated.”
“You’re kidding. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“I didn’t have to tell anyone! They were watching you! It’s risky, but hey, I can’t blame you. Hell, I’d jump at the chance. Just don’t fuck up this case, Andy. This is a big one for both of us.”
Andy shook his head. “Enough said. Now, what have you found out?”
“Well, we’re checking through the personals, and there are surprisingly few ads for models. The ones in the employment section are legit, but then there’s this one in the section between ‘Mistress Chantal’, and ‘bold, busty, blonde Barbie’. Great little ad. Subtle but effective. Ya know, some of the shit in there is really quite entertaining. I wonder if it’s even physically possible to do half the things they claim in those ads—”
Andy cut him off before he got too carried away. “What’d the ad say?”
“I’ll show you.” Jimmy handed him a folded piece of newspaper. An ad was circled in the same red felt pen that had so tastefully been used to doodle on Makedde’s photo. The print read:
MODELS—Photographer requires attractive female models, 16—25 yrs. Good rates.
The reader was urged to call “Rick”.
Andy looked up. “You can’t be serious. Are we talking the same Rick here?”
Jimmy nodded as he flipped through his notebook and said, “The bills go to a Post Office box in the Cross for a Mr Rick Filles.”
“Bingo. This is the perfect way in. I’ll run it by Kelley and you get Mahoney to call Filles up and arrange a photo session.”
“Good idea. Though I don’t know if she’d agree.”
“She can handle it.”
Less than two hours later, Constable Karen Mahoney reported to Andy’s desk wearing her well-pressed uniform, hair in a bun and no make-up.
“ We have an assignment for you, Constable.”
“Great!” she said eagerly, standing with her hands clasped in front of her.
Kelley had given clearance on surprisingly short notice, mostly because it was a small operation that wouldn’t require a UC. The only conditions were to keep Mahoney under watch at all times and “not screw it up” as he put it.
Jimmy handed her the newspaper cut-out.
“This Rick Filles character may be luring the women using this article. We want you to check him out and, if necessary, help bring him in.”
Her face lit up with excitement but after reading the ad her expression changed.
“Uh…you want me to pose as a model for this guy?”
“You’ll be wired, and we’ll have people watching you at all times.”
“Watching—”
“ To ensure your safety,” Andy said. “We have to see if this guy is our man, and if he is, you’ll be the one to save all the women out there who are in danger right now.”
This statement seemed to have the desired impact.
“Yes, sir.”
“Jimmy will fill you in. I want you on this right away.”
“I won’t have to get…nude or anything, will I?”
“You can’t afford to make this guy suspicious; we don’t want him tipped off. But your safety is our number one priority. Use your own judgment.”
She seemed to ponder it for a while. “What about Tony Thomas?”
“Hunt, Reed and Sampson will take care of that,” Jimmy said. “This is more important. We need you.” Andy saw him put an arm around her as they disappeared down the hall.
At last, Andy had time to think. For one blissful moment the office was empty. It was a slow Saturday, and even Inspector Kelley had gone home. He pulled his phone over and dialled Makedde’s number. It rang a few times before she answered with a cautious-sounding, “Hello?”
He was alarmed by her tone. “It’s Andy. Everything all right?”
There was a pause. “Yeah. Just some strange calls.”
“What kind of strange calls?” he asked, suppressing a strong urge to jump in the squad car and drive round to the flat.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Hang ups. I think so many models have stayed here that people are calling and expecting someone else to answer.”
Andy hoped that was the reason. It sounded plausible, but it still made him uneasy. “Tony been bothering you?”
“No, actually.” She paused. “Thanks for dinner last night, by the way. It was nice to get out.”
“My pleasure. But, maybe next time I’ll choose the restaurant.” He hoped there would be a next time.
“I’m sorry about the food, I know it was a bit tricky—”
“No, I loved the food. It’s just that the place is…” He stopped himself, deciding it was pointless to let her know the entire police force had watched them dine.
“I understand. It’s not your style. What kind of food do you like?”
He wanted to see her again. He wanted to watch over her, make sure she was all right. She was so different from Cassandra. “I’ll show you tonight…if you’ll let me,” he said.
“Uh…sure,” she replied.
Maybe he had sounded too eager. “Or not,” he added.
“No, I’d love to.”
“Same time?”
“See you then.”
He hung up the phone and realised he was no longer alone.
“Uh huh,” Jimmy said with his eyebrows raised.
“Not a word,” Andy warned him. “Not a word—”
“Anyway, as I was saying, this is a real important case and it would be a real shame if one of us fucked it up somehow, like by getting personally involved or—”
“Jimmy!”
He fell silent.
“Thank you,” Andy said emphatically. “Has Kelley spoken to you about the added help?” They needed more research assistants to cover all the similar sex case histories in their records.
“No. He hasn’t said a word to me about anything.”
That didn’t surprise him. It was common knowledge that Andy was Inspector Kelley’s favourite. When Inspector Kelley had arranged to have Andy flown to Quantico to study with the FBI’s Behavioural Science Unit, Jimmy was not given a chance to go along. Nor did the new unit in Canberra invite him down. Andy suspected his partner preferred it that way. It took the pressure off him, so that Andy was the one expected to perform miracles.
The Inspector’s favouritism had allowed Andy a rare opportunity to study investigative profiling with the FBI’s elite serial crime unit. They were recognised as the best in the world. Andy knew this case was his opportunity to prove that the confidence in him was well founded, and it was a burden he felt privileged to bear.
“If we can’t get more manpower, we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got. As usual.”
And that meant longer hours for everyone.
CHAPTER 27
Mak was curled up against the arm of the lounge in a foetal position when the intercom buzzed.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. Andy.”
“Hi. Come on up.”
In a second he was at the door, and when he walked up to her and smiled, she felt some of the tension dissipate.
It’s all in my head.
“Hello,” he said, carefully watching her eyes. “Are you all right? Any more calls?”
Mak looked away. “A couple,” she admitted. It was more than a couple. The furniture was freaking her out, too. Things seemed to be changing position on a daily basis.
“How many calls?”
She tried to think. “Eight, maybe ten today.”
He frowned. Two deep creases formed between his eyebrows and his lower lip stuck out a little. “I don’t like the sound of that. That’s not ju
st wrong numbers.”
She sat down on the couch, and he followed her lead, sitting at the opposite end, just far enough away to avoid invading her space. She thought him polite, but wished he would hold her instead.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to—”
“No, I want to. But can we just sit for a moment first?”
“Of course. Anything you want. Have you been able to talk to anyone about this? A counsellor? A person in your position might need—”
“I don’t need to see a psychologist,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ve got nothing against seeing one, obviously. After all, I want to be one eventually. But really, I don’t need to. Not now.” She knew she wasn’t being logical. All the warning signs were there.
“I wasn’t inferring that you needed one, only that it might be—”
“No,” she insisted, a little too loudly.
Andy was looking at her, his deep green eyes revealing his concern. She hadn’t seen anyone look at her with such caring for a long time.
“Tell me about Catherine. Were you very close?”
“She was a good friend…” She trailed off, uncertain that she could handle that particular conversation.
“It’s OK if you need to talk about it,” he prompted her.
She knew that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. Finally she decided that she didn’t care. “She’d lived near my family since she was little. Both her parents died when she was very young, and these awful foster parents took her in. She used to come over to our house a lot. I guess I kind of mothered her because she was a lot younger. Or maybe I was more like a big sister. Over time we grew apart, but when she started modelling a few years ago we became best buddies again. We both started quite young; fourteen, fifteen years old. I knew what it was like to be thrown into it like that, so I showed her the ropes. But it wasn’t always me helping her out. She was there for me when I needed her.”
Makedde recalled the attack by Stanley, and remembered the gruelling police investigation, and how Catherine had turned down an overseas assignment to stay with her and support her. But Stanley was in jail now and it was pointless to dwell on the past. It was none of anyone’s business, and she certainly wasn’t about to burden this kind man with it, who was nearly a stranger after all, and who was politely allowing her to ramble on. “Anyway, Catherine was really supportive,” she said vaguely, “and I really miss her.”