Coming Home

by PD Martin

  ‘Great. Call me when you got something.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Melbourne was a planned metropolis, with the city centre on a grid layout and the urban sprawl spreading in a mostly orderly fashion. There are lots of benefits to that planning, but today one of those benefits will make our lives harder. With so many different ways to get from here to the Hume and the Calder, it’s a guessing game for us to catch him without any tech help.

  Lily comes to the T-intersection and Main Street. Our first navigation decision. ‘I’m thinking Greensborough and then the Ring Road...’ she says.

  ‘Yeah.’ It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Melbourne and out this way. The Ring Road is one of the newer roads and there are probably multiple routes to it as well as Hume. ‘Maybe we can get support on another route to the Hume.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Lily turns right into Main Street and calls dispatch, asking for any cars in the Eltham, Greensborough and Montmorency areas to be on the lookout for Wake’s blue Pajero. She also stresses that only unmarked cars should make any attempt to follow him.

  The Ring Road is only one of many routes to the Hume Highway, but it makes the most sense—when you’re in a hurry, going one hundred kilometres per hour seems faster than the stop and start of a sixty zone and traffic lights.

  Lily changes lanes as we take a left into Bridge Street, avoiding the main township of Eltham. ‘Keep your eyes peeled.’

  We’ve just veered onto Karingal Drive when Lily’s phone rings. ‘Murphy…bugger. Okay, let’s keep it moving.’ She hangs up. ‘No GPS on Wake’s car and while his phone does have GPS, it’s switched off.’

  ‘So he’s onto us?’ Darren says.

  She shrugs. ‘Onto us, or paranoid. Or maybe a bit of both.’ She pushes the accelerator down, putting us about ten kilometres over the limit. If we didn’t have to worry about Wake seeing us, she’d put her sirens on and push the car much, much harder. But for now, we have to take it easy.

  We take a left, heading towards Greensborough Highway. All I can think about is Curtis Baker…and Wake’s blue Pajero. While Lily focuses on the road, Darren and I can devote one hundred percent of our attention to finding that car.

  ‘If he was doing the speed limit we should see him soon,’ I comment, staring west at the sinking sun. We’ve still got another hour and a half of daylight left, and after that spotting his car will be much harder.

  ‘He’ll stick to the limit.’

  If Wake is our guy, Lily’s right—the perp is an organised and intelligent offender who plans his crimes well and executes them proficiently. While we may have rattled Wake, he knows the best way to wind up with a cop on your tail is to speed.

  We’ve just merged onto the Ring Road when Darren says: ‘Is that it?’ He points two lanes across to a blue Pajero that looks like it’s sitting about two kilometres above the limit. That’d be right. You need to be 4Ks over to get a ticket.

  Lily edges closer. ‘What’s the number?’

  ‘Tango-Uniform-Victor-4-5-4.’

  ‘That’s him.’ Lily decreases her speed ever so slightly and moves across one lane, sitting about ten car lengths behind Wake and one lane across. Next she phones Shaw and fills him in.

  Shaw’s voice comes excitedly through the Bluetooth speaker attached to Lily’s visor. ‘Great. We’re about five minutes from the Ring Road.’

  ‘Okay. You may as well use sirens until you hit the Ring.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  Just before he hangs up we hear two brief wails.

  The journey up the Hume is sheer hell and I feel myself see-sawing between agitation at having to sit in a car and unadulterated rage, thinking of Curtis Baker hidden away somewhere in the country. This sicko is racing to be with him, racing to kill him, and we have to make sure that doesn’t happen. At least with two cars tracking him on the Hume we won’t lose him. We’ve got another two unmarked vehicles en-route, but most of the nearest responders were blue-and-whites, with the Victoria Police emblem emblazoned on them. And we sure as hell don’t want that.

  My ringing mobile phone brings me back from one of my rage cycles. It’s Mum. Shit, we’ve been gone a long time.

  ‘Mum, hi.’

  ‘Soph.’ She lets it out in a rush of relief.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Where are you, darling? The shops closed an hour ago.’

  ‘We’re on the Hume.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think we’ve got a suspect, Mum.’ I still don’t want to get her hopes up, inform her that we think we’re following someone right now to the place where John was held, and killed. Instead, I try to soften the blow. ‘He’s too young for John’s murder and the others, but he’s a suspect for the recent ones, and we think he may know something about John and the earlier boys.’

  ‘I see.’ Mum’s silent. It’s a lot to take in.

  ‘So what are you doing on the Hume?’

  ‘Following the suspect.’ I bite my lip. ‘He’s only a few cars in front of me, Mum.’

  ‘Bring the little boy in, darling.’ Mum’s voice is ragged with emotion. ‘Bring him back to his family.’

  ‘We will, Mum.’ I choke on my words. If we can get Curtis Baker back alive and as unharmed as possible...

  Just after Seymour, Wake takes the Goulburn Valley Highway exit, heading us towards Shepparton.

  ‘Shepparton?’ Darren glances at the signed turn-off.

  I nod slowly and let out a deep breath. ‘My old stomping ground.’

  Darren winces at my poor attempt at casual.

  Could John have died only a few kilometres away from home and from us? The thought of him so close and undergoing such hell won’t leave my mind.

  ‘What you thinking?’ Darren’s voice is a whisper, but Lily would hear even a whisper. Not many places to hide in a car.

  ‘John.’ I answer him honestly, comfortable for Lily to know this detail. It’s probably assumed...obvious...anyway. To this point, I’ve managed to keep some kind of distance between the case and my emotional involvement. But now, as everything’s coming to a head, I doubt I’ll be able to maintain that level of objectivity. And, God help me, if I’m in a room alone with Wake and my gun...but then I remember my promise to Darren.

  Darren reaches his hand out and places it on my shoulder. ‘If Wake’s our guy it’s nearly over. He’ll know what happened to John...exactly what happened.’

  Darren’s right. If Wake is our guy, he dumped Ted Strawasky right where John’s body was found nearly thirty years ago. Wake had to have been there, seen the man who took John, held John, killed John.

  ‘Yes. I feel like we’re close.’

  Wake has no “history” from thirty years ago—all that we know is that he must have been in his early teens. If he’s involved now, he was somehow a witness and maybe even an accomplice to the atrocities in country Victoria and New Zealand. Could he have saved John and the others? Or maybe their presence protected him in some way.

  ‘If he’s the son of our killer, maybe his dad moved onto boys—strangers—when his own son became too old.’

  Lily nods. ‘If we are talking father-son, he probably started abusing his own son after some stressor, and, like you said, eventually moved onto other boys. Perhaps boys that were like his son at the preferred age.’

  Sexual abuse, like domestic violence, can be cyclical, with the victim becoming the perpetrator. However, most victims of child abuse don’t go on to commit the same acts of depravity on others. In fact, stats show that about ten percent of males who were abused as children become abusers in their adult lives. Past sexual abuse is just one potential trigger factor in a person’s psyche.

  ‘What if he’s a victim, no blood relation?’ Darren asks.

  ‘Similar scenario,’ I reply. ‘Although you’d have to wonder why the killer kept Wake around for years when all the other boys met with death?’

  Lily glances in her rear-vision mirror. ‘Maybe Wake was his f
irst victim. He developed more of an emotional attachment to him, one that he couldn’t break by killing Wake.’

  I nod. ‘So Wake’s abducted, possibly as young as seven or eight, and then moves from victim to accomplice, or even just observer, when he gets older. The perp’s attachment extends to taking him along when he moves from Australia to New Zealand. They probably even had some level of emotional co-dependency. Wake becomes used to his life with the original perp, used to the abductions and the killings...or maybe he’s just able to block them out...not think about what was happening to the other boys.’

  I bite into my bottom lip, wondering what Wake was thinking when the perp took John. Did he talk to John? Comfort him? Hopefully Wake will tell me, but it’s possible I’ll never know. Wake’s got nothing to lose now, and he may choose death by cop rather than turning himself in.

  ‘Do you think he remembers? The amnesia could be a ruse.’ Darren’s staring into the darkness that surrounds us now that it’s 8.45pm. We’re in the Victorian countryside with virtually no illumination save a few cars’ headlights.

  ‘It’s hard to say,’ Lily responds. ‘It’s possible he always remembered and just didn’t want to tell anyone...wanted to start afresh. And it’s possible he still can’t remember anything from his time with the perp. He might not even realise why he’s almost compelled to do these things to his victims. Might not realise he was part of the same cycle over thirty years ago.’

  ‘But what about the same body dump site?’ I ask. ‘Surely that can’t be coincidence.’

  ‘Sub-conscious, Soph.’

  I nod, having come to the same realisation as the words left my mouth. The subconscious is a powerful thing and Wake could have literally found himself travelling the same stretch of road, pulling over at the same spot and hiking the short distance in with the body. Consciously he may have been thinking: This looks pretty good. Remote. Quiet. But in reality his subconscious was leading him to that spot, compelling him to repeat the behaviour of his own abuser.

  A shiver runs through me and I push away the image of a man carrying John’s lifeless form through the bush searching out John’s “resting spot”. John’s never been at rest, but maybe he will be soon.

  We’re still about twenty kilometres from Shepparton when the left indicator of Wake’s blue Pajero starts flashing.

  Lily immediately hits redial on her phone—thankfully still in reception.

  ‘Yup.’ Shaw’s voice booms through the speaker.

  ‘You got him?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  Lily slows a little, but then continues straight as Wake takes a left onto a dirt road running parallel to the one we’re on. The further out we came, the fewer the cars on the road to provide us with camouflage. And if we’d followed Wake down that dirt road we could have tipped our hand.

  Behind us, it becomes suddenly dark. Shaw’s killed his lights and probably pulled off to follow our guy. ‘We’ll swing around in a bit.’ Lily maintains a steady speed, but it’s eighty in a one-hundred zone. If Wake glances towards the main road he’d see our lights continuing on the open stretch of highway, moving a bit slow for the road, but she doesn’t want to get too far away. And neither do I.

  ‘He’s made another turn,’ Shaw says through the open connection. ‘We’re going to follow, still without lights.’

  ‘Okay. I’ve got a bend coming up, so once I’m around that we’ll head back your way. Take it easy. Wake’s got nothing to lose at this point.’

  ‘I know, Murphy. I want the boy safe too.’

  ‘Let’s keep the phone line open.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  Lily swings off to the left, pulling into the dirt just enough that she can U-turn in one movement. After a quick check of her mirrors, she’s back on the road, heading for the mystery road.

  Once on the dirt road, she kills the lights and slows down to a crawl, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the darkness. It’s slow going, less than five kilometres an hour, and although I want to tell Lily to hurry up, to turn on her lights and floor it, I know her strategy is for the best. We have to think about Curtis Baker—he’s the priority now, not Wake. Not his past victims. And if Wake hears cars, sees headlights coming his way from the middle of nowhere, he might skip the sexual part of his last night with Baker and go straight to the murder component. It’s one of the worst parts of being a cop—every fibre of your being wants to burst in, save the boy from further assault and emotional harm, but at what cost? His life? With someone like Wake, that’s exactly how a confrontation will go. He’ll take Baker out, and then turn the gun on himself or storm us for the death-by-cop option.

  ‘We’re on the dirt road, Shaw. About half a kilometre in. You?’

  ‘I can still see Wake’s lights, but it looks like he’s slowing down.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Come straight for two kilometres, then take a right into another dirt road. We’re about a kilometre down that road and I guess Wake’s roughly one K in front of us.’

  ‘Okay. Let me know when he stops. If we lose reception, wait for us. Baker’s chances will be increased if we can get Wake away from him. Three of us can distract Wake while the other two go in for the boy.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Darren’s hand is on my shoulder, a comforting presence.

  The silence and sense of isolation is broken only by pebbles crunching under our tyres and occasionally bouncing off the car’s under carriage as we inch along the dirt track. After about five minutes of silence a beeping tone comes through Lily’s Bluetooth speaker...we’re out of range and in the complete seclusion of the country, just like all his victims have been. I hope Shaw managed to tell our back-up our location. Lily didn’t. Then again, mobile phones aren’t their only mode of communication.

  We keep crawling forward, taking the right and looking out for any sign of Shaw or Wake. It’s not long before we see a small shack with a couple of lights on the top of a hill. Lily slows down a little more, even though our car should be out of earshot.

  We start to climb, closing the distance, and it’s not long before a torch gives a single flash on the road in front of us—Shaw.

  As we get closer I can see the dark blue Ford pulled into a small clearing on the side of the road. Lily pulls in further up, and by the time we’ve moved out of the car, Shaw and Danahay are standing behind us, both wearing bullet-proof vests.

  ‘Well?’ I ask Shaw.

  ‘He’s been in there for about five minutes now. We haven’t been up to have a look yet.’

  Lily nods. ‘Let’s go. Have we got backup coming?’

  ‘They’re about fifteen minutes behind us. And if anything changes up there I’ve got this.’ Shaw gives the SAT phone strapped to his waist a small tap.

  ‘I don’t think we should wait.’ I edge up the hill ever so slightly. ‘If Wake’s spooked, there’s no telling what he could do to Curtis Baker.’

  Shaw looks at the other profiler, the official profiler, for input.

  ‘She’s right.’ Lily moves to the boot and takes out her waist holster, checking her weapon and extra ammunition. Lily’s job keeps her at a desk most of the time, but she’s made her way up the rank and file, and I’m sure she’s kept her eye in at the shooting range.

  ‘You think he’ll be armed?’ Darren asks, knowing the chances of a suspect carrying a gun in Australia are much less than the States.

  ‘Hard to know. Farming land like this, probably got a rifle. There was no evidence of gunshot wounds on any of the victims, but it is possible they were shot in soft tissue and left to bleed out.’

  Possible, but unlikely. Firstly the wound would have to be a clean-through shot, otherwise the bullet would have been recovered with the remains. Secondly guns aren’t generally personal enough for a sadistic paedophile—they prefer to kill with their bare hands, usually during the sexual assault or directly after. And thirdly, I saw the original perp strangle John. But Lily is righ
t about the rifle. It’s not something he uses for the boys, but it could be used on us. I take my gun out of my handbag, along with an extra two rounds of bullets.

  Shaw and Lily eye the gun but don’t say anything. They know they need the extra weapon on their side, especially given we’ll be splitting up and Darren’s not carrying.

  ‘You guys got a spare vest?’ Lily asks Shaw as she passes her spare to me. ‘This will be too small for you, Darren.’

  ‘Yup. I’ll be back in a sec.’ Danahay moves down the slight gradient to the Ford.

  Lily eyes my gun again. ‘Try not to fire it, huh?’

  ‘Last resort only,’ I say, even though I’d like nothing more than to put a bullet in Wake.

  She gives me a quick nod, but her eyes rest meaningfully on mine.

  ‘I presume Faulkner doesn’t know I’m here?’

  Shaw clicks his fingers. ‘Damn, I knew I forgot to mention something.’ He gives me a grin. ‘For old time’s sake, Soph. But don’t fuck it up. Don’t make me regret it.’ Like Lily, his eyes go from me to my weapon.

  ‘Come on, guys. You think I’m gun crazy just because I’ve been living in the States for a couple of years?’

  It has the desired effect—smiles with soft chuckles from Lily and Shaw and a mock offended look from Darren.

  Once Danahay is back and Darren’s suited up, I ask Shaw what the plan is. As the most senior member here, Shaw’s in charge and he’s got more field experience than Lily. Darren might have more on the clock than Shaw, but he’s only an observer.

  ‘Lily, you come with Danahay and me to the front. We’ll focus on Wake, the man who might have the gun. Sophie, you and Detective Carter try to find Curtis Baker, see if you can’t get him out of the house.’

  We make our way up the dirt road, moving in close formation and keeping to one side and the tree line. I doubt Wake’s looking out the front window to see if he was followed, but you never know. The pace is a slow jog, but even that’s a little awkward in the pitch black of country Victoria. There are lots of areas like this in Australia—where your nearest neighbour is fifty kilometres or more away. It brings to mind the Aussie horror-thriller flick, Wolf Creek. Total isolation. I’m glad I’m here with three other law-enforcement people that’s for sure.