by MJ Doherty
She heard him chuckling before the sound cut off abruptly.
She felt so sickened it made her retch. As she leaned over, she desperately tried to stop the dry retching that was causing intense pain in her head and chest. Becoming dizzy, she came close to fainting. Suddenly she had a moment of clarity. She could fall apart or she could find the strength to hold onto hope. Hope that the police and Charlie and Amanda would find her.
Somehow she got her breathing and nausea under control. She lay back down and stayed perfectly still, counting off the seconds slowly in her mind until the lack of movement made the lights fade. When darkness finally came, she felt some small relief that he couldn’t see her. Her mind frantically churned and she thought, what am I going to do?
Determined not to give in to panic, she figured she could at least try to work out how to get out. The other thing she could do made her feel sick to the core. She needed to speak to this monster, to engage him, to try to find out things from him. Unable to face that task immediately, she tried to perform a calming meditation her therapist had taught her.
*****
Sally waited along with everyone else in the large room. Inspector Marsh had convened the MIR and was about to bark out information and tasks, she knew from experience. The room was full of people. It looked like he’d seconded the whole of Nundah police station. There must be more than thirty people in here, she thought, as she looked around at the chatting group of uniformed officers and detectives.
“Quiet!” He demanded in his usual abrasive manner, adding, “we’re not fucking around here. Lets get this briefing on the road.”
The room fell instantly silent.
Marsh commenced detailing the situation, “It’s now 1900 hours and Phoebe Rawlins has been missing for over three hours. Mark Mitchell is also missing. You all know that normally we don’t regard anyone as being missing when they’ve only been gone a few hours, but we know the woman was under threat. The circumstances are also suspicious.” He looked at the newcomers to the room as he said this.
“Here’s what we have so far,” he continued, “a tall muscular man attacked Rawlins in her home just over five weeks ago. Then, two weeks after that, a tall muscular man was seen via CCTV tampering with her car when it was parked at her workplace. That night on the way home she was severely injured in a car crash because of the tampering. The crash was triggered remotely, using an application on an iPad. Therefore, our man is an IT expert. At first we suspected Rawlins’ husband, Michael Rawlins. Michael Rawlins is not tall or muscular, but his wife is insured for five million dollars and he can afford to hire people. He also had a mistress, Marita Sanchez. Ten days ago, Sanchez was murdered by a person over six feet tall. The method was a blow to the back of the head using a blunt instrument.” Marsh paused briefly, letting the information sink in.
He continued, “Today, a security guard hired to protect Phoebe Rawlins was found unconscious outside Rawlins’ apartment. He’d been knocked out by a blow to the back of the head. The security guard is about six feet tall himself, making it likely that whoever did it is also tall. Then, Phoebe Rawlins and Mark Mitchell disappeared. They were last seen in Rawlins’ apartment by her friend and co-worker Roman Coustas, the gay partner of Mitchell. There are wheel marks in the doorway to the place. We’ve managed to rule out the dollies used by the delivery and removals people that were at the apartment today. Someone used a trolley for something. Maybe to transport a body out?”
Marsh looked around the room.
“The apartment block CCTV was disabled. Deliberately. Multiple cameras were covered up or damaged, including the ones in the car park, the front gate and the car park entrance. The last camera images are from 0400 hours this morning. The images show a large muscular man in a balaclava reaching up to cover or damage the cameras.”
Marsh paused and made sure he had everyone’s attention before continuing, “Mark Mitchell is an IT expert. He also happens to be tall and muscular.”
Looking at Sally, he said, “We should have been looking at him long ago, but someone fucked up.”
Looking around the room again, he announced, “Mitchell owns a rental property in New Farm. That property and his residence, also in New Farm, have been thoroughly searched with nil results. The Hamilton home of Michael Rawlins has also been searched. Again, no results. Michael Rawlins and Roman Coustas have been interviewed. Both of them deny any knowledge about the disappearances.”
Marsh paused for a breath, then continued, “Coustas’ movements getting food this afternoon check out, so he’s not in the picture. Michael Rawlins’ car was cold and still parked in his drive, with leaves and debris on the windscreen. It doesn’t look like it’s been moved for a few days. No other vehicles are registered to him. He has a holiday house at Noosa. Local police have checked it out and nothing has been found. There are no trolleys or other moving equipment at any of the properties we checked.”
Looking around the room, he continued, “We’ve got access to the CCTV and street camera footage from the entire Southbank area and the nearby streets for a sixteen hour period from the time the apartment block cameras were disabled. It’s all set up on the first floor.”
“Before I starting making allocations, I’m directing you all to be back here at 2245 hours tonight for a debrief and handover before the night-shift starts.”
Pointing at a large group of uniformed officers he directed, “You lot will review the CCTV footage. Look for any vehicle that arrives in the area and then leaves again. Pay special attention to vans and trucks. Vehicles that could carry ladders and trolleys and store bodies. Drake, you supervise them. Get to it,” he ordered.
Ten uniformed officers and one detective left the room.
Pointing at a pair of detectives, he ordered, “Go follow up with scenes of crimes. I want anything they have the moment they get it.”
Two more people left the room.
He pointed at all of the remaining uniformed officers in the room, “You lot, start speaking to every single resident on Rawlins’ floor. Then speak to everyone in the damn building. Then speak to everyone in the neighboring buildings and businesses. Somebody must have seen something. Get to it.”
Another ten people left the room.
Pointing at a single detective he ordered, “Go to the Mater Hospital and interview that security guard as soon as possible. The moment the doctors clear him.”
Pointing at another detective, he ordered, “Get over to the security company and get the details of who ordered the job. Confirm that it was Michael Rawlins through his barrister, Moss. Then find out what you can about the guard.”
“You two, my office. Now,” he ordered, pointing at the only two people left in the room, Sally and Phillips.
*****
Inspector Marsh did not invite Sally and Phillips to sit. Instead he lectured them where they stood.
“I can’t believe you missed that about Mitchell! Idiots, the pair of you!” Marsh roared at them.
Sally stared resolutely ahead, fists clenched.
Phillips’ hung his head before admitting, “It was my fault, sir. Don’t blame her.”
Marsh responded, “It’s her fault because she’s in charge of you, moron.”
Phillips blanched.
“You two can stay with the most unimportant lead on this case. Forget about doing anything else. Follow up that gym in Bowen Hills. I’m giving Michael Rawlins to Markovic and Price, so don’t go near him.” Marsh barked at the pair, before telling them to get out of his office.
Phillips was still burning with anger and humiliation when they got to their desks.
“Fucking bastard,” he said to Sally.
“Keep your voice down,” she shushed him, looking around the room carefully.
Phillips looked defiant.
“Come on, let’s check if uniform got to go visit the two Morrows,” Sally said, directing his attention to her screen.
She checked the database and saw the notes there. Phi
llips was leaning over her shoulder, also reading the entries.
They looked at each other. Sally said, “That’s odd.”
Phillips replied, “Maybe the Morrow we want doesn’t have a license? Because it’s not either of those two blokes.”
Sally’s instincts were on alert, she had a feeling something was not right. She said, “Maybe he uses a fake name at the gym?”
“Let’s go get Sanchez again and pump him for information about Morrow,” Phillips suggested.
“Good idea,” Sally replied. She couldn’t think of anything else. Until Everett let them know when Morrow was back in the gym, there wasn’t much else to follow up.
They left the station, heading for Sanchez’s flat in Albion.
*****
Michael wrung his hands in worry and despair. This is all down to me and my fucked up family, he thought. He poured himself another generous shot of bourbon and added some coke to his glass.
The police had let him come back home after he was interviewed. He had been of no assistance to them at all. I’ve been no good to anyone, he thought bitterly. Especially not poor Phoebe. What the fuck is going on? Is it my brother? And what about Honore?
Michael had found himself becoming more and more filled with memories about his poor dead sister and the rest of his original family. After his psychiatrist had broken the news to him recently about her diary contents, he had wept like a child. Knowing what had happened to her had left him reeling in despair and shock. He had the dairy with him now. Ever since it was given to him, he had kept it close, holding it at times, but not daring to open it and read it. The touch of it somehow made what happened more real to him. The shabbiness of the old pink cover and the little broken lock were the dismal symbols of all that was left of his family.
He could see his sister’s beautiful sad face. He could remember her holding him close and telling him that she would try to look after him. That she would try to keep him safe. He understood now that she had tried her best to shield him from the evil lurking in his family. He couldn’t imagine the unspeakable things she had been through for his sake.
He remembered how distant and unconcerned his mother had been, Stillman her only care. His father was mostly unhappy from what he could recall. And as for Stillman, he was a horrible bully. Smug, gloating, superior. Michael remembered how he used to tease him relentlessly, and physically hurt him every time he could get away with it. Stillman always acted like an angel when adults were around. Their mother always took Stillman’s side if Michael complained. Their father withdrew. Honore had been the only one to stand up for him. And now poor sweet Phoebe had been dragged into all of it. And Mark too, purely because he cared for Phoebe.
Michael downed his drink and wept again.
“Please God, don’t kill Phoebe,” he begged, sobbing.
All the while his head was filled with images of Honore’s kind face, always so sad.
*****
Phillips bashed on the door to Sanchez’s third floor unit. Sally leaned over the railing of the 1970s multi-apartment block, looking at the cars parked in the drive below. Unattractive, untidy and noisy, it was the perfect place for a drug dealer.
The door finally opened a crack. Phillips shoved his foot in the crack and said, “Police, open up.”
“You got a warrant?” An aggressive voice demanded from the other side of the door.
“We’re here about your sister, dickhead, not your drugs,” Phillips replied.
“Wait there,” the voice responded.
A moment later, the door opened and Henri Sanchez stepped outside, closing his apartment door firmly behind him.
Sally eyed the small man. He looked aggressive and suspicious. Not unusual for a drug dealer, she thought, paranoia goes with the territory. He was well muscled. She could see the edges of tattoos poking out from under his collar and sleeves. His eyes were red and tired, but his pupils were not pinpoint or dilated. Good, she thought, he’s not wasted.
“Come on,” Sanchez said, leading them to the rear stairs.
“Don’t want your customers to see you speaking with police?” Phillips jeered as they followed him.
Sanchez replied, “Damn right, pig. Now what the fuck do you want?”
Phillips bristled. Sally placed a calming hand on his arm.
She said to Sanchez, “Tell us about your mate, Morrow.”
“We lift together. I don’t see him anywhere else,” Sanchez said.
“That’s it?” Phillips demanded.
“I don’t even know where he lives, man. Get off my case. If it wasn’t for my sister I wouldn’t even speak to you…”
Sally cut him off before he uttered whatever name he was about to call them, “Look, Sanchez, I don’t give a shit about your lifestyle, I just want to find whoever killed your sister, OK?”
Sanchez nodded, “I hear it’s not that pussy, Rawlins?”
Sally confirmed, “It’s not Rawlins. Did Morrow ever meet Rawlins?”
“Nah, it’s like I said, lady. I only hang with Morrow at the gym. He never knew my sister, and he sure as hell never met her stuck-up boyfriend.”
“Listen, Sanchez, what I’m going to tell you isn’t public news OK?” She said.
Sanchez nodded. He looked at her. They were at the back of his building, behind the washing lines where none of the residents could see them.
She looked him in the eye and said, “Your sister was murdered by someone who was over six feet tall. And whoever it was had sex with her too. Didn’t look like rape.”
Sanchez flexed his muscles as if he was trying to control himself. He looked really angry, as if he was about to punch something. After a few moments, he calmed a little and his shoulders sank.
Looking at Sally he said, “I know she was no angel, but she was still my sister, you know?”
“I know,” Sally said sympathetically. She added, “Any idea at all who it could have been?”
Sanchez looked angry again, “I wish I knew. I’d kill the fucker myself,” he replied.
Sally believed him. “Tell me what you know about Morrow,” she said.
“I’ve known him maybe six months. He just showed up one day and started lifting. I was the only one around to spot for him. It got to be regular, you know?”
Sally nodded.
“He likes sport and chicks and he’s juiced up.”
Sally nodded again, “What sort of car does he drive?”
“A green Nissan Maxima, maybe ten years old. Nothing flash.”
“What’s his registration number?”
“No idea.”
“OK, where does he live?”
“I don’t know, never been there,” Sanchez said.
“Does he have a job?”
“He never said. I never asked.”
“OK, when does he come in to the gym?” Sally asked him.
“Sometimes he lifts at night and sometimes in the day. It’s not always the same. He comes in at least five days though. He’s a serious lifter.”
Phillips asked, “Don’t you guys have a time where you meet up there or something?”
“Nah, man. I do a lot of business there. I’m there all day sometimes,” Sanchez replied.
Sally nodded. “Listen,” she said, “don’t tell him we were asking about him, OK? And don’t act like you know us if we show up at the gym.”
Sanchez nodded sullenly.
He asked, “You think it’s him?”
Sally replied honestly, “I don’t know. I’ve got nothing solid. I just know he’s lying about something.”
Sanchez sneered, “We all are, lady. You better get more than that.” He walked away, leaving them behind the clothesline. They could hear him muttering, “Fucking pigs,” as he left.
*****
Sally and Phillips joined everyone assembled in the MIR at 2245 hours as ordered. They had very little to report. After they left Sanchez, they came back to the station and looked up the list of men called Stephen Morrow in the elect
oral rolls in Brisbane. There were a total of three. The first two had been checked out already. The third one was living in a nursing home. Whoever the big guy was, he wasn’t actually called Stephen Morrow.
Sally listened carefully as the other groups reported. The security guard had been hired by Charlie Moss. He was awake and couldn’t remember anything. Whoever hit him, did it from behind. He never saw the man.
The forensics revealed no fingerprints other than Phoebe’s, Roman’s and Mark’s and various deliverymen. They found some fair hair on the floor in the apartment. Roman Coustas and Mark Mitchell were fair, so they had to test it to see whom it might belong to. Minute traces of blood, unable to be seen with the human eye, were picked up with by the forensic black light. They had no idea whose blood it could be. It was blood type O positive. DNA analysis results would come as soon as possible.
Sally mused, that gets us nowhere. About 38 per cent of the population is O positive. The reports kept coming in. The door-knock revealed very little. No one from the surrounding buildings or businesses had seen anything of interest. Some of the other people on Phoebe’s floor had heard trolley noises all day. So had the apartments above and below Phoebe’s. They had not paid attention, as they knew she was moving in. One of the neighbors did say he thought he heard a trolley in the hall at around 1600 hours.
The CCTV crew’s report was far more interesting. Their task had been mammoth and they were far from finished. However they had identified approximately thirty vehicles in the vicinity of the apartment building at 0400 that were also there twelve hours later at 1600. Of course many of them were vehicles for the nearby cafes, restaurants and bakeries. They had not yet finished looking at the times between 0400 and 1600 or after 1600.
A team of people was already hunting down the addresses they got from the registration checks and investigating them. So far no tall muscular men had been identified as the drivers of the vehicles. It was like finding a needle in a haystack but with persistence they would identify the driver. Sally only hoped it was not too late when they did.