by J. M. Peace
Tears had been just one undisciplined moment away since Sammi had rolled out of the back of his ute. A small cry of terror escaped from her throat, shocking her with its uncontrollable desperation. Fear immediately rushed up over the despair, and stopped the tears before they reached her eyes.
How far had that cry travelled? Had he heard it over the drone of the motorbike? She took a gulp of air and knew she really did want to live. She put the knuckle of her index finger in her mouth and bit down. The sharp pain brought her back into the moment. That’s when the motorbike stopped.
Sammi could see him through her little peepholes. The barman swung his leg over the back of the bike and kicked out the stand. He was about twenty metres away. The rifle was slung over his shoulder. The dog jumped off the small tray at the back. It immediately started to sniff around, till the barman called it back with an inaudible command. Sammi could make out the perverse smile on his face.
‘Saaaa-man-tha,’ he sang out, ‘come out, come out wherever you are. It’s time to die now.’
He took two steps in her direction. ‘It’s been fun, you’ve done a good job. Even the loose wire on the bike. That only held me up for a minute or two, but very inventive. You’ve set the bar high for the next girl. I might have to take two next time, just to keep it interesting. Much better than the last girl. But it’s time for you to join her now.’ He kicked a rock and it skittered towards her hiding place.
‘Aren’t you scared? Oh, I see now. You’re shaking so much that whole log’s starting to wobble.’ He turned to the dog, bent down and pulled an item out of his pocket. Sammi recognised it as her underpants. He spoke to the dog in a low voice, holding her underwear in front of its muzzle.
Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and swung the rifle into his hands. He aimed it towards the rotting log. Sammi instinctively flattened herself against the ground. He fired a single shot into the air about a metre above her head. Sammi was so terrified she wet herself, but hardly noticed the pool of warm liquid soaking her shorts. She could no longer think rationally and acted on instinct alone. Her throat constricted as if evil hands were squeezing it tight, making it almost impossible to breathe. He was yelling something now, and he said it three times before Sammi could focus on the words themselves.
‘I’m having too much fun,’ he called out, laughing between sentences. ‘You’ve earned yourself another quarter of an hour.’
He took aim again, sizing up the patch of air above the log through his scope. ‘Go on. Run!’ he called. ‘See you in fifteen minutes.’
The message got through from Sammi’s brains to her legs. She tried to stay low and she ran. She didn’t know what direction. She just ran away from him. She heard his deliberate laugh as she zigzagged away and into the scrub. She didn’t know how much time had passed before she thought to check her watch again.
Saturday 12:40 pm
The magistrate had been called in on the weekend to hear this search warrant application. It was up to him to decide whether to grant police the legal power to invade someone’s home and privacy. Janine had hesitated to contact him. The last thing she wanted was for him to be cranky about the call-out but there was no other way. She hoped fervently that he would agree with her. She gave him her most apologetic smile as she passed him the application, while getting ready to argue her case if necessary.
Bill was with her for moral support as well as the extra arguing power that came with being a senior sergeant. Jake had been happy to stay back at the Op Echo office and leave the sweet-talking to Janine.
The magistrate took his time reading the grounds of the application. He then regarded Janine over the top of his half-glasses.
‘So you’ve got nothing solid to link this police officer to the owner of the house you want to search?’ he queried.
‘I’ve listed several strong indicators there that she is with him and we hold grave fears for her safety, Your Honour,’ Janine said.
‘Well, I’m asking myself if there are reasonable grounds to suspect an offence has been committed. Let’s say that, yes, this woman is with your subject person. How do we know that she has not gone with him of her own free will?’ he asked.
Janine was ready for the question and spoke with conviction. ‘There is absolutely nothing to support that Constable Willis knows Mr Black. Quite the opposite. It appears they met briefly by chance. We have footage of him appearing to introduce himself to her at the pub where they only spoke briefly. We have a witness who saw a woman matching her description getting into his car. Then we can show her mobile phone was turned off in the vicinity of his home. The big concern is she has failed to turn up to work. As she disappeared somewhere between the pub and her friend’s house a matter of kilometres away, and there is reasonable suspicion that she has ended up at Mr Black’s house, it is imperative we start our investigations there as soon as possible,’ Janine said, keeping her voice calm and even.
‘Are you expecting special treatment because this missing person is a police officer?’ the magistrate asked, pulling his glasses away from his face, as if to better gauge her reaction.
‘Definitely not, Your Honour. I would treat any other case with the same attention and urgency,’ Janine replied. ‘Though there are many, many police officers willing to vouch for Constable Willis’s reliability and dependability.’
The magistrate returned his glasses to their perch on his nose. He read the grounds of the warrant once more, touching the start of each line with his pen.
‘Has this got anything to do with that other missing girl?’ he asked.
‘Yes, we believe they may be linked.’
‘A sad case that. I’ve got a daughter about the same age. It would just break your heart. All that waiting, not knowing . . .’
He trailed off as he started signing and stamping the warrant.
Bill shot Janine a triumphant grin as they walked out of the magistrate’s chambers. Janine felt a rush of adrenaline that made her fingers tingle.
Saturday 12:41 pm
Sammi continued to move, but not with the same sense of purpose she had started out with. The encounter with the barman had shaken her, and an absolute feeling of helplessness crowded in on her. He was toying with her, psychologically torturing before he physically caught her and wreaked the unspeakable evil she had seen in his photos. What chance had she against a man with a dog and a gun?
She slowed considerably as the dark thoughts swelled. It wasn’t so much the dying that disturbed her, but what she would endure first. Torture would make death seem like a sweet blessing.
If she could not get away from him, she resolved to take from him the pleasure he would get from killing her. She’d do it herself. She looked for a tall tree to climb. She could throw herself off head first, swan dive onto the ground below. Or she could hide in the tree, and if he found her, then she could throw herself off. Possibly landing on top of him and killing him. That was the best scenario she could come up with. The worst scenario would be if she survived her suicide attempt and was left injured and completely at his mercy. Because he had no mercy.
It was then that she thought she heard something – a distant calming gurgle. She stopped for a minute and listened.
Yes. Water. There was a creek or a river close by. Her train of thought took a new direction now. She could drown herself. It struck her as an almost pleasant option. Plunge head first into cool water, drink her fill, then inhale deeply and fill her lungs. Wrap rocks in her shirt and stay face down. She would give in to the water before she ever gave in to him. She had always been a bit scared of drowning but not now, faced with an unthinkable alternative. Back to the womb where she had floated in fluid.
She wanted to live. But if she was going to die, it could now be on her terms.
Saturday 12:43 pm
Gavin stared at the phone for what seemed like a long time. He could not bring himself to pick i
t up. The silence in the room, in the house, pressed on him like a physical presence. He got up and went to the back door and called for Jess. She came bounding in, all enthusiasm. Gavin envied her ignorance. The dog sat and looked up at him expectantly, her tail wagging. He procrastinated for a little longer, walking into the backyard, changing the dog’s water and tossing her the ball. He could only put it off for so long.
Maybe Sammi’s parents had heard from her. If she had decided to leave him then they would be the ones to know. He was at the point now where he didn’t care so much if Sammi had left him. He just wanted to know she was safe.
He walked back inside with Jess. The phone was a dead weight in his hand.
Gavin was the sort of guy who jumped in feet first, who ripped bandaids off in one go. This procrastination was not natural for him. Sammi’s parents’ number was programmed into the fast dial on the phone. Gavin took a deep breath as the phone started to ring through.
Sammi’s parents, Juleen and Patrick, had always been friendly to him. He hoped Patrick answered the phone. They had more common ground and got on better.
But no such luck.
‘Hello,’ Juleen answered in a light and breezy tone. Gavin was sorry he would wreck that.
‘Hi Juleen, it’s Gavin,’ he said.
His tone of voice would have given him away. There was no small talk and the lightness left her voice.
‘Oh, hi Gavin. Is everything alright?’ she answered.
‘I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Sammi today. Or yesterday,’ he added.
‘No . . . what’s happened?’ Juleen asked. ‘Have you two had a fight?’
‘Um, yeah,’ Gavin answered. ‘So I’m not sure if Sammi’s giving me the silent treatment or whether something’s . . .’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
‘We haven’t heard from her.’ Juleen’s tone was dead as she processed this sudden information.
‘She hasn’t turned up for work,’ Gavin said.
‘That’s not like her,’ Juleen said. ‘I’ll try to give her a call.’
‘Her phone’s switched off,’ Gavin replied.
Silence as Juleen considered this.
‘The battery might have gone flat,’ Gavin added, not even believing it himself as he said it. More silence. He didn’t dare mention that the police had already been involved. ‘I’m hoping . . .’ Gavin started, just to fill the silence.
‘Just how bad was this fight between you two?’ Juleen cut in, a flinty note in her voice.
‘No, it wasn’t like that, Juleen. We just . . .’ Gavin said, but didn’t get to finish.
‘You know she talks to me. She tells me about your fights,’ Juleen said, and it was the growl of a mother tiger protecting her young. ‘Do you really think that’s the right way to treat a lady? She’s better than that, Gavin.’
‘There was nothing . . .’ Gavin made another attempt and was again cut off.
‘I need to find Sammi.’ Juleen hung up.
Gavin listened to the dial tone for a moment and hung up. He sometimes got the sense that Juleen didn’t think he was good enough for her daughter, that she could do better than a country mechanic. Her reaction was to be expected. But it did nothing to lift the dead weight on his chest.
Saturday 12:47 pm
The creek was very picturesque, with smooth rocks lining its banks as it meandered through the bush. The first thing Sammi did was kneel at the water’s edge and put her face in the water. She drank deeply, savouring the pristine water. It tasted sweet in her parched mouth, and she felt her body start to tingle as the cool water flowed into her stomach. She knelt back. Where there was life, there was hope. She could last a little longer.
Suicide by drowning was her Plan B. She hadn’t even heard the motorbike start up again. Anything was still possible. She watched the creek for a moment, the water constantly flowing. If she ran through the creek, could he still track her? It seemed like a sound option. On impulse, she decided to take the shoes off. Not only would she keep the shoes dry but it would be easier going in bare feet than running in waterlogged shoes.
She pulled the left shoe off and let it fall to the ground next to her. The bloodstain caught her eye. She paused, her hands grasped around her right shoe, still on her foot. She’d had a niggling feeling in the back of her mind for a while now, the idea that something didn’t fit. It now filled her thoughts completely.
He had given her these shoes. Someone had died in these shoes, leaving the bloodstain. It had probably been Tahlia. The barman had taken her underwear, presumably for his dog to track her. That was no tracking dog though, but an attack dog. She had heard the drone of the motorbike relentlessly for about twenty minutes, with no pauses in-between. He didn’t stop to check her track – he knew where she was.
She had been well hidden, but he had known exactly where to stop and where to fire his rifle without having seen her. With sudden but complete clarity, she knew he wasn’t tracking her by following her trail.
The pieces slowly slipped into place. She undid the laces on the right sports shoe. She pulled out her foot and looked inside the sole of the shoe. She tugged on the rubber inner sole, wriggling her forefinger under to loosen it. A little pressure and it pulled free.
There it was. In a small clip-seal bag in the arch of the shoe where it was least likely to be felt, was a small black box. Without having ever seen one before, Sammi knew it was a tracking device. Her breath heaved in and out and her fingers felt like fat sausages as she removed the bag.
He was using this to track her every movement. That was how he could follow her on a motorbike, how he knew where she was regardless of what tricks she tried or how well she hid herself. She – and the other women – were doomed to fail.
But she now had a lifeline. The solution was in her hands. She must make it count.
Sammi took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to slow her pounding heart. She clasped her shaking hands around each other and over the little box. She drew another deep breath, and in that moment focused only on the rush of air past her lips.
It was so peaceful right now. The hum of the motorbike had not yet smashed the serenity. There was just the rustle of a light breeze through the leaves, an occasional distant bird call and the sound of water burbling over river stones.
Sammi’s eyes flicked open and she knew what to do.
First she needed a vessel. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the aches and pains, and started searching around in the undergrowth. It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for. A rigid piece of bark, curved slightly at the ends, light and perfectly buoyant. She placed the small bag in the centre, covered it with a little dirt and sprinkled over just enough water to turn it into mud to stop the device from sliding out. She found another smaller piece of bark from the same tree. It was slightly thinner and a little longer and could be squished in between the sides of the bigger piece to form a little roof. Now the little bark boat’s precious cargo could not be seen. It looked like a piece of rolled up bark. Or so she hoped.
Sammi ran to the edge of the river. Barefoot, she leapt in. The water came up just past her knees. She waded to the middle and placed the boat gingerly on the surface. It floated. Although not religious, Sammi murmured a little prayer as she let the little life raft go. She watched it for a moment as it slowly sailed away.
But the boat was only half the plan. She had to get moving now, but where?
In the distance a motorbike revved to life.
How far had she come? How long until he got here? A surge of panic welled up inside her. She took two leaps upstream, then changed her mind, and took three leaps downstream. She stopped and took a deep breath.
Think it through. His tracking device would now show she was moving downstream. He would assume she was maybe swimming, or staying in the water so the dog couldn’
t pick up her scent. But how long till the little boat snagged on a branch or rocks or overturned? How long till he discovered it and realised she was gone? What would he do? Where would he start looking?
Sammi considered trying to find his ute, and to find the road out of the bush. No: it was highly unlikely she would be able to find it again. She had been running for over two hours, had covered maybe ten or fifteen kilometres. If she couldn’t find the road out, she would be lost in the bush, and exhaustion and dehydration would probably finish her off.
Was this what he expected her to do? He would certainly head back to his car at some stage, possibly immediately once he realised he had lost her. But did he have any actual tracking skills? If he could track her by following signs in the bush, he would surely come back to the point where he had lost her and try to pick up her trail. He would come to this spot right here to start looking for her.
Sammi started running through the water. Upstream. He would expect her to move in the opposite direction from where her decoy was leading him. She kept going, wading when she ran out of energy. After about a hundred metres and a slight bend in the stream, she could no longer see her starting point. She climbed on to the riverbank, on the same side she had entered downstream, making no effort to disguise her prints – even leaving a half footprint in the soft dirt on the edge of the bank.
The motorbike sounded closer. It wasn’t moving quickly and the revs were low. Sammi realised this was part of his game, to terrorise her, panic her with the sound of his slow approach.
Sammi didn’t hesitate now, she ran through the bush, back the way she came, back towards the sound of the bike and presumably the road. She stopped at a fallen tree. She still had the sports shoes in her hand. Part of her wanted to keep them, but they were poisoned to her now. She couldn’t shake the sense of unease that he could still somehow use them to find her.
At the fallen tree, there was a burrow of some sort. She wedged the shoes, one at a time, down the dark hole as far as they could go. She kicked some dead leaves and dirt into the hole, trying to make it look like she had slipped while jumping over the tree. The shoes were gone, and Sammi hoped there would be no nasty surprises with the shorts or socks. She considered getting rid of them, but commonsense prevailed.