by J. M. Peace
Janine leant in a fraction and she nodded to encourage the woman.
Michelle continued. ‘So he wanted me to cover for him. We were finishing at five anyway. I figured that was OK, we weren’t busy. He had probably just seen some chick who was drunk enough to take him home. So I said, yeah, but that I needed to have a pee first, and he’d have to wait till I got back from the loo. So I duck out to the toilets. While I’m out there, I hear his truck start up. The carpark’s just behind the toilets. Don drives this old ute, with a big canopy on the back that looks like he built it himself. It’s diesel and really loud, like a truck. I thought, surely he wouldn’t be going without waiting for me to come back. I couldn’t believe he’d just walk out and leave the bar unattended. That his fake family emergency couldn’t wait two minutes till I’d finished peeing. So if you stand up on the toilet seat, there’s a little window you can see out, straight down the street. Sure enough, it was Don’s ute driving out of the carpark and I see him stop next to some chick on the street. She talked to him through the window for a moment. Then she got in the car and they drove off.’
Michelle paused for a moment and rubbed her eyes.
‘It was a fair way away, but I think it might have been a blonde girl.’
Janine’s heart sank. There was definitely a case building.
Saturday 10:09 am
It was such an everyday item. A camera. To capture memories, freeze moments. To help remember special events. But the barman’s idea of special events made Sammi’s stomach churn. First he made her stand up and took photos of her. Three of them – a full-length shot, one from the side and finally, a close-up of her face.
She tried to stand tall as he moved towards her with the camera.
‘Here, check this out,’ he said, a look of ghoulish glee on his face.
She could have simply closed her eyes and dipped her head. But she didn’t. It was like driving past a car crash – something in human nature compelled people to slow down and take interest.
He held the camera in front of her so she could watch as he clicked back through the pictures. The photos showed three different women against the backdrop of the bush she was in now. She recognised Tahlia Corbett’s face immediately. She had seen a smiling Tahlia staring out from news bulletins for months, with her parents begging for public assistance. From the police response, Sammi guessed they had no suspects. The young woman had gone out for a night on the town, just like Sammi. And Sammi had now disappeared just like Tahlia had. Was there anything to link Tahlia to Sammi and ultimately the barman? Or would Sammi also become an unsolved missing persons case?
Three women in three shots, just like he’d taken of her. And after each trio were multiple photos of each girl’s lifeless corpse in various stages of dismemberment. Then there was a single photo of a fourth woman taken at night, clearly the first of the series. Don gave a graphic and brutal commentary about each woman, seeming to revel in the details. It was like he was giving Sammi a preview of her own death.
Sammi had seen a lot in her years as a police officer. She had attended a suicide by train, where the clean-up had to be done with a bucket rather than a body bag. She had been first on the scene where a grandpa had accidentally reversed his car over his two-year-old granddaughter.
So it wasn’t the pictures that made the blood rush to Sammi’s head and had her battling to stay upright. It was the reality that it was now her turn to produce the shots after the first three. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising panic. She knew the barman was scrutinising her reaction as she looked at his photos. He made a harsh guttural sound that may have been a laugh, and walked back to his car. That had been his aim. To inspire terror.
The barman was once again out of view in the cab of his ute. Sammi had no idea what he was doing, but guessed it was part of his MO. None of the other women had successfully come up with a way of avoiding him, of escaping from his murderous plans. It was like he was baiting her, turning his back on her and seeing what she might try. There was no way she could escape from him right now. There was nowhere to go. She couldn’t outrun the dog and he would have her in his rifle sights before she could disappear out of view. Escape was futile.
Sammi concentrated on the things around her. The back tray of the ute was still open and a bag was sitting on the ground. It was possible he could make a mistake and leave a weapon in the open. She tried to look without making it obvious. But when she shifted her weight to lift onto her knees, he was out of the cab. He stood with his legs apart, the rifle resting in his hands. She pretended she was trying to make herself more comfortable, but didn’t fool either of them.
He slung the rifle across his shoulder and reached into his pocket to retrieve a packet of cigarettes. Without taking his eyes from Sammi, he tapped a smoke from the pack and lit it. He continued to stare at her as he took a long slow drag on the cigarette, making the tip burn red hot. Sammi kept her head dipped, watching him out of her peripheral vision, unwilling to lock eyes with him.
He reached back into the front seat. Something red and something white were in his hands as he walked across to her.
‘Take your pants off,’ he said coldly.
She stared at him. Of course it had occurred to her that he might want to rape her, but his threats and photos had pushed these thoughts aside. But why else could he want her to remove her pants?
He threw the red item to the ground in front of her. Sammi saw it was a pair of elastic-waisted shorts. A pair of running shoes joined the shorts on the ground.
‘I want this to be a challenge,’ he said. ‘You won’t get so far in long pants and heels.’
Sammi shook her head dumbly. She was not accepting any favours from this psychopath.
‘I’m not going to rape you,’ he said. ‘At least not now. I’ll wait till you’re dead. Won’t have to put up with crying and twitching. I’m going to do it straightaway while you’re still warm.’
A twisted smile contorted his face. ‘But right now, put on these shorts and shoes, so you can run faster.’
Sammi still shook her head, no words coming out.
The barman took another slow drag on his smoke, tipped his head back and blew out a cloud above his head. He looked down at her and their eyes met briefly before Sammi dropped her head.
‘For every minute you waste here, I’ll take ten minutes off your head start.’
Sammi hesitated.
‘I have other ways of punishing disobedience,’ he said softly.
She had no choice.
Sammi stood up and peeled off her black pants. He watched intently as they slid down her legs and into the dirt. She reached for the red shorts.
‘Better give me your undies,’ he said, as she grabbed the shorts. ‘The dog will need them to sniff you out.’
Sammi kept her eyes to the ground. She slipped down her underpants and kicked them towards the barman. Then she quickly stepped into the shorts and pulled them up.
‘You’ll need the shoes too,’ he instructed. She was barefoot, her heels still in the back of the ute. She jerkily put the runners on, trying to tie the laces with shaky hands and numb fingers. They were old and dirty, the shoelaces grey and frayed between her fingers. There were splashes of dark brown on the top of the left shoe. With a sharp intake of breath, Sammi realised they were blood stains. These shoes had been used by the other women.
The barman picked up her underwear and surveyed them with a smug smile. She had been wearing beige briefs, sensible nanna undies. The intimacy of him looking at them disturbed Sammi more than it should. She kept her head dipped, watching him furtively. She could feel the sweat dripping down her back, though her skin felt cold and clammy. She gripped her forearms and pulled them against her body. She could still smell her vomit, sick and sour.
She focused on every small detail – the way his boots were laced up, the tread
pattern of the 4WD tyres on the ute. Minor unimportant things that kept her mind occupied and helped support the black block of doom suspended above her. If she was going to have any chance of getting out of this alive, it was imperative that she remained calm. If she let the hot red blanket of panic settle over her, blocking out sense and reason, all would be lost.
He was crouched next to his dog, talking to it in a low voice. Her underpants were balled up in his fist, close to the dog’s muzzle. He stood up suddenly and swung the rifle off his shoulder and into his hands. He strode toward Sammi in such a decisive manner that she instinctively threw her weight backwards and slid a half-metre on the dirt away from him. He stopped in front of her, looming over her menacingly.
‘The fun begins now,’ he said. He was breathing harder than normal and Sammi could sense the pleasure he was deriving from this.
‘You will run and try and get away from me. I will hunt you down and kill you. I will grant you one hour’s head start.’
He checked his watch. ‘It’s 10:20 am.’
Sammi pushed herself away from him so she could get up with a bit of space between them.
‘That’s it. Clock’s ticking. Go!’ he said.
Sammi clambered to her feet and took a couple of wobbly steps backwards. She shook her head slightly in disbelief. A small part of her still hoped this was part of a bad joke.
‘Go!’ he shouted again.
She turned and broke into a jerky jog away from him, her body only just obeying her brain. She felt compelled to keep watching him over her shoulder. He stood there impassively, the dog next to him, rifle in his hands, watching. Watching her stumble. Watching her fear. Watching her run.
Saturday 10:15 am
Tom was still sitting with Gavin, talking about nothing. One of the other boys, Aiden, had come out from the barracks to join them. Aiden’s bowl of Rice Bubbles contrasted sharply with Gavin’s beer. Beer was drunk at all times of the day at the station. It seemed perfectly normal to have a quiet sherbet after a long shift, even if it’s 6 am and everyone else is just getting out of bed. Even bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, Aiden seemed to sense the tension but knew better than to ask questions. Some information cannot be requested, it can only be freely given at the right time. He had the sense not to ask, no one explained and so the three of them chatted about things that didn’t matter.
Gavin tensed when Tom’s phone rang. The incongruity of his ringtone playing The Rolling Stones’ ‘Satisfaction’ annoyed Gavin though he couldn’t say why.
Tom checked the screen, got up and started walking away from Gavin as he answered it. Gavin heard him say, ‘G’day Jake,’ before he walked into the back carpark and out of earshot. The phone call they were waiting for. Gavin wanted to follow him, but he also understood why Tom had walked away. Police were trained in communication; breaking bad news was part of the job and Tom would want to control how he conveyed the information.
It was a few minutes before Tom reappeared. Gavin realised that Tom had circled the station and entered through the front door, probably so he could speak with Bob before talking to Gavin. The look on Tom’s face said it all.
He swallowed hard. ‘Come on, mate. We’ll go talk to the sergeant and get the missing person report on.’
There were no excuses this time.
Saturday 10:19 am
Don laughed as he watched Sammi move out of the clearing, stumbling over a dead branch on the ground.
‘Stupid bitch,’ he muttered, but watched her intently until the trees obscured her passage. He turned back to the dog and gave it a scratch between the ears. It lifted its head, pressed its muzzle under his hand and gave his palm a quick lick.
‘We’re going to have some fun today. This one’s going to be fast,’ he said to the dog. ‘We’ll get her, though.’
The dog – Zeus – pressed his shoulder against Don’s knee. Zeus was his best friend, the only one he could trust with these adventures. He was sure Zeus enjoyed them nearly as much as he did. The dog understood the routine by now – he knew when it was his turn, when to break skin and taste blood. He also knew when to stop, to let his master have his turn. Don had done an excellent job of training him. He could sit a steak on the ground in front of Zeus and the dog would not touch it until Don gave him permission. He would also stop eating on command and leave the rest of his food untouched. Don had taken his time with Zeus’s training once he had started to form his hunting plans. He’d had Zeus since he was a pup, and had given him basic training as a watchdog. The stakes had been raised since then and now it was imperative that the dog was completely under his control. Zeus knew who was boss in their pack of two.
Don had learnt to hunt in his late teens. He’d always been drawn to guns and had followed the proper protocols and had obtained a weapons licence and a couple of rifles. He had started out with a couple of like-minded mates, hunting roos and drinking beers. He had learnt what he could from them, but preferred his own company. Around the same time that he outgrew his hunting buddies, he acquired Zeus. By then he felt comfortable out in the bush by himself.
The first notch on his gun, the hooker, had been almost an accident. She had been completely at his mercy after he picked her up. He never took hookers to his house and he didn’t like wasting money on a hotel room.
A fuck in the great outdoors had appealed to him, so on the spur of the moment, he decided to take her out into the bush, pitch the tent, maybe light a campfire. He usually had some basic gear in the back of the ute anyway.
He had driven out to a nearby state forest. He had kept the hooker quiet by saying he was going to pay her by the hour. But once they’d got there, she just wouldn’t stop whinging. It was too cold, a mosquito bit her, the camp mattress was too thin. She destroyed the peace of the forest, she took away the buzz he had been hoping for. He hated her for it.
He’d only had his hunting knife with him that time, no guns. He hadn’t planned this first one. He’d just snapped, lost his temper with her. He remembered so clearly going to the back of the ute and pulling out the knife – and the look on her face when he unsheathed it, the blade glistening in the light of the campfire.
‘Run,’ he’d told her. ‘If you can get away from me, you can live.’
She had blundered into the bush, shrieking and sobbing. She had seemed almost as scared of the dark scrubby terrain as she had been of the man with the knife. He had given her a few minutes’ head start but she never really had a chance. He could hear the leaves crunching under her footsteps, smell her panicky terror.
He had been astounded by how much pleasure the hunt was. He had moved in time with her footsteps so she wouldn’t hear his footfalls as he closed in on her. His heart had started to beat faster and the thrill of the chase had made everything sharper, clearer, more focused. The adrenaline had made him feel strong as he closed in on her and she didn’t even know it. He was a superhero, all-knowing and all-powerful. He grabbed her from behind and heard her sharp intake of breath. He had drawn the knife across her throat in one slash and let her fall to the ground to watch the look on her face as her blood spurted onto the dirt and leaves.
Once he’d done it, he was hooked. He had to do it again. Nothing compared to it. That moment, the split-second of death, had been more intense than anything in life. It had been better than sex. It was an all-powerful technicolour moment in an otherwise grey life. He knew he’d have to chase it again.
But he also knew he’d made mistakes. The location had been all wrong – too many people went through that park, and someone would find the corpse. He was still waiting to see it on the news: ‘Human remains located in state forest, police are appealing for public assistance’.
He had buried the body in a shallow grave. He hadn’t brought a shovel and it was too hard to dig a proper hole with his hands and a stick. There’d been just enough dirt to cover the corpse, but not enough to stop an
y wild animals from digging it up for a snack.
But even when someone found that pile of bones, they had nothing to link it to him. They had already tried to pin it on him once. Stupid pigs had expected him to confess and apologise. With every day that passed, it became less likely that she would be found and identified.
As he was digging this first grave, he was planning his second kill. He would have to be more careful, choose a safer location, and bring his gun.
The cops had taken his guns when he had the first domestic violence order taken out against him. But they could only take the guns they knew about. He had a stolen gun, which he had hidden exceptionally well in a false wall on the side of Zeus’s doghouse. When they were home, Zeus protected the yard. When they were out together, it was invariably because they were on a hunting trip and had the gun with him. Cops would never find it.
He had done his research and settled on Captain’s Creek as a more suitable location than Yonga. Not too far away, but remote and uninteresting to campers and hikers. It was 450 square kilometres of scrubby terrain, the only distinguishing feature being the creek splitting it in two. He had done a couple of camping trips with his dirt bike, sussing it all out, working out how far he could drive in on the one rough track. It suited his purposes.
He started being a little more judicious with his victims. He wanted girls with some spirit, who could keep the game going longer than some blown-out old whore. He was very pleased with today’s choice. Samantha Willis had not yet started crying and had shown a stubborn streak. He would enjoy it that much more when he broke her.
Saturday 10:21 am