by MJ Doherty
The door opened and the Inspector entered. He handed her a cup of the awful coffee brewed at the station. The smell was simultaneously enticing and off-putting.
“You’ve been out for about two hours,” he explained.
Sheepishly she asked, “But what about you, sir? I took your couch.”
“I had a nap on the sick-bay bed,” he said.
She sipped her coffee, trying to shake off her exhaustion.
“We’re convening the MIR in fifteen minutes,” he said.
After drinking the execrable brew quickly, she excused herself. She went to freshen up in the women’s locker room on the ground floor. Looking at her exhausted features in the mirror after a quick shower, she saw a bone tired woman who hadn’t seen her husband or children for almost two days. Frowning, she looked a bit harder and saw a detective, determined to catch a ruthless murderer and kidnapper. She put on a fresh shirt and went up to the MIR.
*****
Charlie stared out of her balcony window at nothing in particular. She had finally stopped pacing. Early morning dog walkers and joggers went past without her even noticing them. Amanda’s call had woken her hours ago and she was still feverishly waiting for news. She felt utterly useless. There must be something I can do to help, she wondered desperately. She was just about to dial Amanda again when the phone rang. Darren’s number came up on the display and she answered it immediately.
*****
“Shut the fuck up!” Marsh thundered. Sally could see that, exhausted by the last two days, he was beyond even pretending to be civil.
The officers in the MIR fell instantly silent. The day shift crews were present along with key night-shift people, about to go home.
Sally sat quietly off to one side, Phillips and Poulsen with her.
“Cooper, report,” he ordered.
“Sir, we’ve tracked the Nissan Maxima through CCTV and traffic control footage. We know he went northward up Gympie Road at just before 0200 hours. He diverted onto Rode Road, heading toward West Chermside. There’s no more footage after that.”
“Price. Forensics?” Marsh demanded.
“Sir, they’re testing the used water bottles. No results yet, but the hair they found in the cot is a match to Phoebe Rawlins. There’s more testing being done in relation to a cup we found in the surveillance room and of course the blood in the container, although we assume that will be Mitchell’s blood. We have fingerprints, but nothing in the system matches them.”
“And Mitchell?”
“He’s going to be unconscious for an unknown period, according to the doctor. I don’t know when or even if we’ll be able to interview him, sir.”
Marsh frowned.
“Sir,” Price continued, “the equipment at the site confirms we’re dealing with an IT expert.”
Marsh told everyone to look at the screen. Pressing a button he brought an image up for everyone to see.
“That’s a picture of Morrow from his Naval records. He would have been about twenty-four.”
Everyone looked carefully at Morrow’s face. Sally and Phillips confirmed the image was a younger version of the man they’d seen in the gym.
“He was a radio and communications officer. There’s literally no record of Morrow after he left the Navy. It’s like he vanished. He must have assumed another identity,” Marsh thumped the desk he was standing next to in frustration.
He said, “Our legal people tell me the Judge was reluctant to give us a warrant for the accountant’s premises earlier. He didn’t throw out the application, just told us to get a bit more. He’s reconsidering it now after the events of this morning. We should have a decision soon. I want a team on stand-by, ready to go the moment we hear.”
“Price, is there anything new from the surveillance on Michael Rawlins?”
“No sir. No contact as yet.”
“Cooper, before you go home and get some sleep, get someone to follow up the information about infringements for that Nissan Maxima. And I know it’s impossible, but your team will have to examine all the traffic cameras and footage we have in a radius around Rode Road.”
Cooper nodded, “It’s already being done, sir,” he replied tiredly.
*****
Phoebe heard the water running again. Soon afterwards, footsteps came down the hall and her door opened. She looked at him in horror. He wore a grin on his face and held ropes in his large meaty hands.
He grabbed her roughly and threw her to the bed. He leaned over and pressed her down with the full weight of his heavily muscled torso.
“No, my dear. I’m not going to kill you just yet.” He smirked at her lasciviously, and whispered close to her face, “But perhaps it’s time for something almost as enjoyable?”
He ran a hand up her side, lingering as he groped at her breast. Trapped and helpless under his bulk, she shuddered in revulsion. He got up and lovingly tied her arms and legs to the bed frame as his eyes and hands roamed over her body.
His thick fingers toyed with the top button of her jeans. Her eyes bulged in horrified disbelief at what was happening. It suddenly occurred to her that there might be worse things than death. She opened her mouth to beg him to stop when suddenly he sighed and removed his hand. He looked down at her with an almost tender expression on his face. She felt enormous relief until she looked at his eyes. They maintained their predatory gleam. Leaning over, he tenderly tucked a stray wisp of her auburn hair behind her ear.
Utterly disgusted, she stifled her terror and somehow summoned the courage to challenge him. “You seem quite excited this morning?” She jibed.
Laughing at her, he replied, “Yes my dear, I am. Today I meet your husband. And he will give me my money, as well as a lot of fun.” He smirked at her, adding, “Of course, that won’t save you.”
He placed tape over her mouth and left the room. She heard him whistling merrily as he walked away. Desperately trying not to gulp or sob under the tape, she concentrated hard on breathing slowly and deeply through her nose. She heard the sound of his car starting and the garage door going up.
As he drove out of the garage, she recalled that she had recommended him to Michael’s lawyer. It’s my fault. Poor Michael! Her mind reeled at what the confrontation with his brother would do to him in his fragile state.
Painfully, she tried to open her jaw against the tape, pulling hard. This time she had kept her mouth shut when he taped it, in the hope of having more leverage. Nothing happened. Determined, she continued to work her jaw and mouth. She would not stop until she shifted the tape, as agonizing as it was.
*****
Charlie negotiated her way through the sprawling edifice that was the Royal Brisbane and Women’s Hospital in Herston. After taking the lift up to the tenth floor, she made her way to the Intensive Care Unit, wondering how they could possibly get the patients there quickly. It was quite a distance from the ground floor Emergency Department.
Darren had explained what the police found at the industrial site in Mayne. Shattered they had not been quick enough to rescue Phoebe, Charlie was nonetheless incredibly grateful for Mark's recovery. She prayed he would survive intact.
She cursed inwardly and thought, if only Amanda had been quicker! She knew it wasn’t Amanda’s fault but she wished it had been different. From what Darren had said, the police were only moments away from the discovery themselves, but Amanda had been sitting outside the place the day before. She had been unwittingly drawn away from it by the events at Phoebe’s apartment.
She entered the ICU and paused for a moment to obey the instructions on the wall to switch off her mobile telephone. After asking for directions to Mark's bed, she went to the end of the unit and peered behind the curtains of Bed 10. Roman sat holding Mark's limp hand through the side rails of the complicated looking hospital bed. Unconscious, Mark had a tube down his throat and was connected to a series of machines and infusions. A nurse sat on a stool pulled up to a table near the bedside, filling out a chart.
Charl
ie cleared her throat mildly. Roman looked up tiredly and nodded at her to come in. The nurse said nothing.
She drew up a chair to sit down next to Roman, leaning over to hug him briefly.
“How is he?” she asked, concerned.
Roman’s pain-wracked unshaven face already gave her the answer.
"They're keeping him in an induced coma until he's completely rehydrated and they're certain he hasn't suffered any brain damage. They did an MRI just before. We should know today,” Roman replied, his voice breaking.
She leaned over and gently kissed his cheek, placing her arm over his broad shoulders. He leaned into her and cried quietly. She couldn't stop her own tears from falling. Her tears fell for him and for Mark, but mostly for Phoebe.
*****
Michael sat quietly in the waiting room of the Wilston Wellness Center. He was ten minutes early for his 9 AM appointment. He filled out all of the paperwork and left it with the woman at reception. He looked around the room. The place was pleasantly neutral. He supposed a counseling center couldn’t afford to be too gaudy.
The woman at reception approached him and politely asked him to follow her. She led him to a small room and left him to wait inside.
“Doctor Briggs will be in shortly,” she said.
He looked around the room. Again, it was painted in neutral tones. The chair was comfortable and there was an ample supply of tissues in the bookcase, with an open packet on the desk.
The door opened and a large muscular man entered. His features were pleasant and his eyes seemed gentle behind small round glasses.
He smiled at Michael and held out his hand, “Martin Briggs,” he said.
Michael shook it, “Michael Rawlins,” he replied.
Briggs held his hand a fraction too long, before motioning for Michael to sit again. He took the seat opposite and looked down at the checklist Michael had filled out at reception.
“I see that you’re seeing a psychiatrist. That’s good. You need some support to deal with childhood trauma and some more recent issues. Your wife recommended you. Lovely woman, by the way.”
Michael nodded. As he looked at Doctor Briggs, he began to get a prickling sensation on the back of his hands. There was something about his voice that tugged at him.
“Well, this session is just a getting to know each other session, more than anything,” Doctor Briggs explained, looking over his glasses at Michael.
Michael was riveted by his eyes. Calm, clear, blue and utterly unfeeling. They held a certain smugness that was familiar to Michael. Alarm bells started going off in his head. Suddenly Michael felt extremely scared and claustrophobic. He had to get out of the small room.
He stood up and made to leave, saying in a panicky voice, “Sorry, I have to get out of here.”
A commanding voice said, “Sit down, Jefferson.”
Michael froze. Bile rose in his throat as he looked into the menacing eyes of his older brother.
*****
Amanda carefully laid out her butchers paper sheets in Charlie’s office. They covered the whole floor. Finding nothing, Amanda knew what she had to do. Her father had always said, “The devil’s in the detail. Always go back over the details where you’re stumped. There’ll be something you’ve missed.”
Sighing, she looked at the screen shots of Phoebe’s Facebook page. She ticked off each item as she worked. Coming to a post from the Wilston Wellness Center, she realized she hadn’t really looked at it before. She knew Phoebe was in therapy. Who wouldn’t be after everything the poor woman’s been through? On top of someone trying to murder her, she has that whole thing with Charlie going on.
For thoroughness, she brought up the Wellness Center’s page on the web. Looking through it carefully, she perused the staff profiles. The picture of Doctor Martin Briggs showed a muscular man. His glasses were a distraction, but behind them she could see a faint resemblance to Michael, just in the shape of his eyes. His bio listed skills in IT and fitness. She gasped in horror.
She called Charlie, but her phone went straight to voicemail. After leaving a message, she contemplated what to do next. The sensible thing to do would be to call the police.
*****
Michael stared at his brother with unseeing eyes. Inside, he was awash with silent panic, outside he was frozen, just like when he was inside that small dark space as a child, hearing the gunshots that killed his family. Completely unable to process what his brother was saying to him, he sat very still in his chair.
Suddenly he thought of Phoebe. Some of the words Stillman was saying began to sink in. Stillman had Phoebe somewhere. He would hurt her if Michael didn’t do what he wanted. Michael’s panic began to fade. He began to think about all the horrible things that had happened in his life and he got angry.
Glaring at Stillman’s smirking face, he interrupted him, “You killed Harry and Ranelle, didn’t you?”
Stillman smiled at him and nodded slowly, deliberately, as if he was savoring Michael’s sudden understanding.
He replied, “Ahh, I see you’re starting to catch on. You always were quite slow. Those fools deserved to die. Do-gooders, both of them. I enjoyed that. It was so easy, a pillow over her face as she slept. He was too drunk to even notice her thrashing around. He’d spent the evening at the pub, as usual. Then it was his turn.” Stillman rubbed his large hands together, emphasizing his satisfaction.
Michael could feel his anger rising. Honore’s sweet face appeared in his mind.
“You hurt Honore, too. You abused her!” Michael accused.
Stillman looked surprised, but unrepentant.
“She kept a diary, you disgusting fuck,” Michael snarled at him.
Stillman looked at him, “So what? She amused me for a time.”
Michael’s face went white when he finally understood Stillman was controlling and hurting people long before their parent’s died. He could hardly bear to think about it but the thoughts came into his mind unbidden. Profoundly shocked at the conclusion his mind had drawn, Michael looked at Stillman and said in a dead voice, “You killed Mum and Dad. You lied about hiding. It was you trying to find me, to kill me.”
Stillman looked triumphant. “Not so stupid after all,” he conceded.
Michael stared hard at him, the man responsible for every torturous harm he had ever suffered. He could hardly believe it. The monstrosity of it was overwhelming. And here he was, about to do it to him yet again.
Stillman laughed at his expression, “Yes, if I’d been able to find you back then, I wouldn’t have to go to all this bother now. I’d have inherited everything. Although I have to admit, I’ve had a lot of fun over the last six months. I’ve enjoyed watching you. Teasing you. Removing your lovely mistress. She was a tasty treat by the way. Did you know she was sleeping with me the whole time she was sleeping with you? She only slept with you because I manipulated her into it. Told her you’d solve her money problems.”
Michael continued to stare at him with unadulterated hatred.
Stillman said, “Back to business, little brother.” He shoved some papers across the desk toward Michael.
“Sign them, unless you want me to torture your lovely wife.”
Michael looked at them. The papers were an authority to transfer his inheritance to an account at the Grand Cayman Banking Corporation.
Stillman said casually, “She’s a dyke, by the way. Did you know that, brother? You married a lesbian.”
Michael looked up in confusion.
Stillman laughed at him.
Still laughing, Stillman said, “I’m her therapist. I know more about her than you do!”
Michael made to stand up. Stillman beat him to it. Dwarfing Michael with his bulk, he threatened him, “Sign now! Or I’ll hurt you as well as her.”
Michael took the pen Stillman proffered. Stopping, he said, “What happens after I sign?”
“I was going to kill you, for old times sake. To tie up loose ends. But I’ve changed my mind. I like having you
alive knowing that I’ve taken away everyone that ever loved you. I like it that someone knows what I’ve achieved, even if it’s only you. But if you breathe a whisper to anyone, ever…then you’ll die, slowly, without mercy.”
“What about Phoebe?” Michael demanded.
“She dies. Quickly, painlessly, if you sign. If you don’t sign…” Stillman sneered at Michael, “then I’ll make her suffer in ways you can’t even imagine.”
Michael knew he was capable of just that. He signed. Stillman’s word was worthless, but he would take any chance at all to save Phoebe from suffering.
Stillman took the papers. Folding them carefully, he placed them in his pocket.
“Now leave,” He ordered Michael. “Pay your account. Look as though nothing is wrong. Go get into your car and drive home. Remember, I’m watching you. No matter where I am, I can always watch you. And I can hurt you.”
Numbly, Michael obeyed him.
*****
Sally frantically radioed the message from Amanda through to Michael's surveillance officer. He replied that Rawlins’ vehicle had not moved. He was still inside at his therapy appointment. She instructed the officer to enter the premises and arrest the therapist, Martin Briggs. Backup was en route.
She ran to her vehicle, still clutching the portable radio. Phillips and Poulsen followed her. Phillips drove them towards Wilston. The Inspector followed them in his own vehicle.
The radio crackled to life en route. Neither Briggs, nor Rawlins were at the Wilston Wellness Center. Briggs apparently drove a Nissan Maxima. It was missing from his car park at the back of the premises.
Sally punched the dash in sheer frustration, crying out, “Fuck!”
*****
Amanda drove into the makeshift dirt car park at the rear of the Wilston Wellness Center. It was not really a car park, just an undeveloped rear lot with some trees and some worn places where cars regularly parked. No doubt it was a muddy quagmire when it rained.