A Time to Run

by J. M. Peace

  ‘You were a long way away from Captain’s Creek. Were you headed for the border?’

  Black shot her a startled look when she mentioned Captain’s Creek, but it passed so quickly that Janine might have missed it completely if she hadn’t been watching so intently.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, drawing his lip up in a sneer.

  ‘Were you making a run for the border?’ she asked, the words sharp and staccato.

  He stared, his eyes crinkling as he screwed up his face, trying to work out how to counter this unexpected attack.

  ‘We’ve got a search started at Captain’s Creek,’ Janine said.

  Strictly speaking, that was true. She watched the corner of Black’s mouth twitch. She was on the right track. ‘We’re going to find her,’ she said softly.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Black answered, his words tumbling out in a rush. He snapped his mouth shut, as if he were trying to catch the sentence again.

  It was only a small error. But it was one nevertheless.

  ‘You left her at Captain’s Creek.’

  Black’s eyes darted left and right, unable to meet Janine’s.

  ‘I’m tired of this,’ he said quickly. ‘You’ve got to give me some lunch, since I’m under arrest. I’m hungry and thirsty. I demand to be fed,’ Black said.

  ‘How long since you left Captain’s Creek?’ Janine asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not answering any more questions. You told me that was my right.’

  His twitchy body language did not match his words.

  ‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Janine answered.

  Janine and Sean exchanged a glance. Although they hardly knew each other and had never worked together, Sean knew it was his turn to play good cop to Janine’s bad cop.

  ‘Mate, this is your opportunity to tell your side of the story,’ Sean said, leaning forward a little and attempting to make eye contact with Black.

  ‘I’m not your mate,’ Black said sharply.

  ‘Sorry, Don. But don’t waste your chance,’ Sean said, nodding slightly.

  ‘I don’t fucken know anything about it. You’re wasting your time,’ Black replied.

  ‘No, you’re wasting your time. I’m getting paid for this. You do know something about it, we’ve established that much. So now’s your chance to explain it to us. Come on, you don’t want to go through all this shit again,’ Sean said, coaxingly.

  ‘I dropped her off on the street. You can’t hold me responsible for anything that happened to her after that. Silly bitch probably ended up in an orgy with her slut friend and those men they were with. Why don’t you go talk to them?’ he asked.

  ‘So you were watching her at the pub?’ Sean said.

  ‘’Course I watched. People act like that in public, they want to be watched. You’re trying to twist everything. I’m done! That’s it. I need a piss and something to eat. I know my rights. I’m not saying anything else,’ Black said.

  ‘That’s OK. You can stop for a bit of lunch if that’s what you want. And then we’ll start from the beginning again after you’re finished,’ Sean said.

  Janine knew it was pointless now. Black knew he had said too much. He had tried to play them, and had scored an own goal.

  Janine gave it one more try. ‘Is there anything else you wish to say in relation to this matter?’

  ‘Nup,’ Black said, looking at the wall.

  ‘Has any threat, promise or inducement been held out to you, to get you to take part in the interview?’

  Again, the blank stare at a spot on the wall behind Janine’s head.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Were you told of your right to remain silent at the start of the interview?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I’m doing now. Being silent. I have nothing further to say.’

  Janine left a long enough pause to confirm Black meant it.

  ‘OK, the time is 2:14 pm. I now terminate this interview,’ Janine said.

  She hit the stop button and the DVD recorder clicked off. Sean stood up next to her. He turned so he could loom over Black who was still sitting.

  ‘You do know she’s a cop, don’t you?’ he said softly to Black.

  Black’s expression was blank, not giving anything away.

  ‘We’re going to nail you to the wall, cunt,’ Sean said, his voice harsh and guttural. He stepped forward abruptly and wrenched open the door to the interview room. Two officers came in, handcuffed Black and returned him to the watchhouse.

  Janine and Sean stayed in the interview room.

  ‘So he reckons we won’t be able to find her at Captain’s Creek,’ Janine said. ‘He didn’t say she’s not there, he just said we wouldn’t find her. Is that how you read it too?’ she asked.

  ‘The look on his face when you mentioned Captain’s Creek – that said it all to me,’ Sean answered. ‘I don’t even know where you’re talking about, but that was the winning shot.’

  ‘We’ve got it narrowed down to two parcels of state forest where we think he might have taken her. I reckon it’s Captain’s Creek,’ Janine explained.

  ‘Judging by his reaction, I reckon you’re right,’ Sean answered.

  ‘He’d been watching Sammi and her friend. He targeted her because he knew she was leaving alone,’ Janine said.

  ‘No doubt in my mind he’s a predator,’ Sean answered.

  ‘Did you see how he looked when I said she was seen in his car?’ Janine asked.

  ‘Yep, relief. He thought we had more than her climbing into his car and a ping off a phone tower,’ Sean said.

  ‘It was surprise and then relief, I think. He’s pulled out the same excuse he used with the prostitute. Then he shut up because he realised we knew a lot less than he thought we did. That means he’s left more evidence behind. We just have to find it,’ Janine said.

  Sunday 2:20 pm

  The senior sergeant from forensics waited for the ute to be brought in. Although mostly in an administrative role now, Bevan Rostrum decided to do this job himself. He had heard the story, knew what he’d find in the back and knew he would probably be up against it to find any DNA. He could do nothing more than his best, which meant being meticulous and exhaustive. If that officer had been in the back of that ute, he’d find something.

  He had one of the senior constables on hand with him. They decked themselves out in blue coveralls, with hoods that covered their hair. Gloves, plastic sleeves over their shoes, safety glasses and dust masks. It was imperative that their DNA didn’t contaminate the ute, which was considered a crime scene. Their results could be a key factor in charging the suspect.

  They worked methodically, mostly in silence. First they removed the canopy from the tray of the ute. Bevan photographed it, looking for scratches and smudges. Every mark was inspected, photographed and noted. He then took a soft brush and a jar of black fingerprint powder. Three swishes against the inside of the canopy and a full set of handprints appeared. The fingers were splayed outwards and pointing in different directions.

  ‘Well, that was bloody easy,’ he said.

  He stood up, grabbed a form with a set of fingerprints on it. They were Sammi’s, provided by her when she was accepted in to the police. He made a quick visual comparison with the prints in the ute, then moved away from the ute and fished his mobile phone out of his pocket.

  ‘Hi, Bevan from forensics . . . just to let you know, I can already confirm your missing copper was definitely in the back of that ute. It looks like her hands were bound and she deliberately left prints. I’ll get back to you once I’m finished . . . yep, bye.’

  Bevan returned his phone to his pocket and kept dusting.

  In the end, his report ran for six pages. He had located seven full or partial sets of fingerprints on the inside of the canopy
and sides of the tray. Most were both hands, base of the palms together and fingers pointing in opposite directions, indicating the person’s hand were bound. Bevan confirmed what everyone had feared – Sammi had been held captive in the rear of the ute.

  He also included photos of the suspect’s rifle. There were notches – four of them – hacked in a row into the wooden stock. It appeared to be a tally.

  Bevan took blood samples in the rear of the tray to be sent for analysis. Kangaroos had different blood types to humans but the volume of roo blood made it unlikely that anything else mixed in might be identified. He could confirm Sammi had been alive in the rear of the ute, but couldn’t say if she had died in the same place.

  Too many questions still needed answers. And they didn’t know if they were looking for a woman or a corpse.

  Sunday 2:37 pm

  The information was flooding into the Op Echo room from many different sources.

  Janine rang in to update Bill on the interview.

  ‘Did you break him?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Did you really think that was going to be possible?’ Janine countered. ‘We did catch him out in a few lies. Cagey bastard. He played dumb, waiting to see what we knew.’

  ‘So what did you get from him?’ Bill asked.

  ‘He got the sweats when I asked him about Captain’s Creek. When I said we were going to find her, he said “No, you won’t.” Like he had taken her there, but we weren’t going to be able to find her.’

  Bill made a noncommittal noise down the phone.

  ‘He denied he knew her, then said he’d given her a lift to the shops once he knew she’d been seen in his car,’ Janine said. ‘The thing is, he thought we knew more. There was a look of relief that crossed his face. He was waiting for us to say we found something, or we had some evidence. Once he realised we’d only got a couple of clues and some hunches, he clammed up, wouldn’t say anything else.’

  ‘What did he think we knew?’ Bill asked. ‘What’s your gut feeling on it?’

  ‘Sean and I discussed this before we rang,’ Janine said. ‘He’s definitely taken her, but he thought we had more evidence. We both agree, though, from his reaction to our questions, that he thought we had a direct link between him and Sammi. I think there’s a chance Sammi got away from him. We don’t know where she is, but perhaps neither does he.’

  Bill looked at a list on the desk in front of him. Missing Persons Bureau had provided a list of all the unsolved cases involving women in Queensland since Donald Black had moved to the state four years ago. It was broken down into the person’s details, when they went missing, last seen location and a précis of the investigation. It was a short list, with only five names on it. Bill had been comparing the details on the list with the details given to Crime Stoppers by Graham Tunney.

  ‘We’ve had an interesting call to Crime Stoppers,’ Bill said, playing with the corner of the paper in front of him. ‘Some blokes on a hunting trip encountered Black and his dog in unusual circumstances.’

  ‘Where and when?’ Janine asked immediately.

  ‘Captain’s Creek, earlier this year. The details match with another prostitute reported missing. She was last seen in the city,’ Bill said.

  ‘That’s much more recent than the poor woman out at Yonga State Forest,’ Janine said, speaking a little faster.

  ‘There was another call to Crime Stoppers. An ex of Black. She thought he was going to kill her one night, and he talked about going to see the captain,’ Bill said.

  ‘Really? Do you need any more than that?’ Janine said. ‘He took Sammi to Captain’s Creek!’

  ‘Yep, I agree with you. Two rangers are on their way right now,’ Bill said. ‘But the inspector thinks we should concentrate our resources on Yonga because we have tangible evidence there. We have an actual body instead of speculation.’

  ‘Two rangers? That’s the best we can do? What if she’s still alive?’ Janine implored.

  ‘We have to be realistic, Janine. We’ve got a pretty good idea of who this bloke is and what he’s been up to. Do you really think he took Sammi out for a picnic in the bush? That he just dropped her off out in the bush and has left her wandering around?’ Bill said. ‘We’ve got a suspect but, sorry, we’re looking for another corpse, aren’t we?’

  Sunday 3:03 pm

  Sammi staggered forward. One more step. Just one more step. She glanced at her watch, more out of habit than to check the time. She couldn’t remember what it had said the last time she looked anyway. Had any time passed at all? Her shirt had pretty much dried out, but her shorts were still damp and the material clung to the front of her thighs. She was chilled to the bone, despite it being a warm afternoon.

  She stopped and tried to focus, studying the dial of her watch. The big hand was on the twelve, the little hand just past the three. The hand counting out the seconds seemed to have stopped. It was flickering, one second forward, then one second back. Time was no longer moving. She was caught in an endless loop of trees and creek and seconds. She dropped to her knees, then onto her bottom. She gave her head a shake.

  She knew she was hallucinating. Hunger, exhaustion, terror would do that to you. If she was going to start seeing things, why couldn’t it be her angels again? She scanned the bush, looking for a friendly shimmering face, but even her visions had abandoned her.

  She had severe stomach cramps. It felt as if her insides were contracting behind her ribs. Her eyes ached as if someone was trying to pop them out from inside her skull. Her legs no longer hurt anymore, because she had lost sensation in them.

  She was spent, too fatigued to even cry.

  Thoughts of Gavin flashed into her mind. She tried to imagine every detail of his face. But she could no longer remember the shape of his lips, or the timbre of his voice when he laughed. It made her unbearably sad. Why had they parted on such bad terms? How could she let him know that she hadn’t meant it? That she loved him?

  She closed her eyes, but couldn’t tell if she dozed off or how long she sat there. Then movement caught her eye. She stared as a long brownish snake slithered its way across the dead leaves and broken branches about a metre in front of where she sat. Clearly she had been sitting motionless in the dirt for long enough that the wildlife was now ignoring her.

  She should move away. That’s what you did when you saw a snake. Then she remembered she needed food, and recognised the snake for what it was – a long piece of meat. Without giving herself the opportunity to think twice, Sammi grabbed her pointy stick and acted quickly. The snake was heading for a fallen log. Moving quicker than she had all day, she rolled onto her knees and whacked the middle of the snake, just as the head started to disappear under the log.

  The exhaustion took the strength out of her arms. Although her stick did make contact with the snake, it was not hard enough to disable or damage it, just enough to anger it. Under attack, the snake twisted around, raising its forebody and head. With a speed and agility that Sammi had not anticipated, it struck out at her, mouth wide, fangs exposed. She felt a sharp pain like a bee sting as the snake bit her on the right wrist.

  She shrieked and thrashed her arms in its direction, but it had already recoiled. She staggered to her feet and took three steps backwards. The sudden movement and panic made her head spin.

  Sammi stared at the two puncture marks on her wrist, her heart palpitating. On impulse, she put her mouth over the wound, sucked hard and spat on the ground. Wasn’t that how they treated snake bites in the olden days? The metallic taste of her own blood made her retch. Then the vomit came but there was nothing but water and sour bile. Her head spun and she felt so faint, as if she might float away on the breeze. She had nothing left.

  That was it. She had fought as hard as she could. She had outwitted the serial killer. She had endured the cold night. She had battled hunger and exhaustion. But in the end, she was but one girl against th
e wild.

  She let her legs buckle underneath her and slumped onto the dirt.

  Sunday 3:05 pm

  Doctor Eli Jakobsen always tried to accommodate the police. He respected their job and knew they were all working towards the same aim – the pursuit of truth. He knew a forensic pathologist such as himself could go some way to unlocking the information contained in a dead body, and separate the natural deaths from the suspicious ones.

  He was good at his job because he was a curious man by nature, and his job interested him because there were so many variables, so many questions to ask. When the detective had called and explained the situation to him, he immediately agreed to help and headed straight to the mortuary.

  Instead of the usual blue body bag, an odd-shaped package sealed in a large brown exhibit bag sat on the steel examination table. An uneasy detective loitered at the door, obviously sent along to observe continuity and to report back on any findings.

  The doctor’s assistant, Steven, dressed in a surgical gown, gloves and mask, carefully cut open the bag near the top. At some point, someone had determined this to be an exhibit, and had sealed the bag with tamperproof tape. Steven then cut through a black garbage bag, and then another, and a brown tail flopped out of the open bag.

  ‘Have you ever done an autopsy on a dog before, Doctor?’ Steven asked, as he cut the bags free from around the barman’s dead dog.

  ‘No, I can’t say I have. I did Google it before I came. Incredible what you can find on Google,’ Eli said. ‘They don’t want an autopsy anyway, just an analysis of the stomach contents. I’m pretty sure they know what killed him.’

  The dog was now unwrapped and the bullet hole cleaving his nose open was quite obvious, as was the one between his forelegs.

  Eli pointed to the dog’s jaw and Steven grabbed the mouth and opened it up so he could check inside. It was something they did with corpses and seemed like an obvious place to start, on the way to the stomach.

  Steven rolled the lips back off the sharp yellow canine teeth. ‘You’d know about it if they were chewing on you,’ he remarked.