Asylum

by Amos, Gina

  He tugged his ear. ‘I want to assure you, we are methodically working through the problem and I’m confident we’ll be able to stop this anti-social behaviour from escalating further.’ He turned to Jenny Choi. ‘Choi. You’re the community liaison officer; I want you to reassure the community. I want the message to get out there that if they’re approached, we don’t want people to put themselves in a situation where they’re at risk. People have the right to go about their business without being intimidated.’

  Choi gave a nod.

  ‘Now, are there any questions?’ Carver said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes?’ Carver turned to Luke. ‘It’s Rawlings, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Do you think Vincent Wan is behind these gangs? And if he is, are we any closer to tracking him down?’

  ‘Good question, Rawlings. There are many reasons why these gangs are on the rise. Social, cultural reasons and economic reasons are a big part of it, but our Intel suggests Vincent Wan could be directly involved in the gang culture here in Chatswood, but we don’t have any solid evidence…yet. But we are getting close. Anymore questions?’ Carver looked around the room.

  Everyone shook their heads and Rimis led Carver out of the meeting room and down the corridor.

  ‘Got time for a quick lunch?’ Rimis asked.

  ‘Thanks, Nick but I’ve got another meeting at Hurstville. By the way, how’s Jill? Shouldn’t she have been in that briefing?’

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure where she is.’ Rimis looked at his watch. ‘It’s not like her to miss a meeting.’

  ‘Maybe you should give her a call.’

  Rimis gave a half-grunt but didn’t bother mentioning he’d already tried her mobile twice. He wanted Carver to think Rimis had some control over his staff. The two men shook hands and said goodbye.

  Rimis watched Carver weave his way through the open-plan offices and wondered why Carver appeared so concerned about Brennan. He shrugged, and walked downstairs to the front desk.

  ‘You seen Brennan this morning?’ Rimis asked.

  ‘No, but she was in last night,’ the station officer said. ‘It was just after we got the call about the brawl in Mowbray Road. She asked if you were in, but you and Detective Choi had just left.’

  ‘Did she say what she wanted to speak to me about?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope, but she looked disappointed when I told her you weren’t here.’

  Rimis walked upstairs to his office. He sat down behind his desk and rang Brennan’s mobile phone for the third time. It went to voicemail. Five minutes later he tried again and there was still no answer.

  Rimis walked into the detectives’ room. ‘Anybody seen or heard from Brennan? Choi, you spoken to her?’

  ‘No, boss,’ Choi replied while the others shook their heads.

  ‘Well, let me know if she calls.’

  Rimis went back into his office and closed the door. All the team knew Carver was coming to the station this morning for a meeting. It was unlike Jill not to phone in if she was going to miss a station meeting. If he hadn’t heard from her by lunch time, he’d send a patrol car over to her apartment.

  An hour later Jenny Choi tapped on Rimis’s office door and walked in. She pulled up a chair across the table from Rimis and sat down.

  ‘Boss, still no luck with Fin Calloway. I’ve just come back from her apartment. She wasn’t at home and none of the neighbours were either, so I couldn’t ask anyone if they’d seen her.’

  He leaned forward. ‘Get a surveillance team over there. I want her found. She’s the only suspect we have, not to mention the only surviving member of the Calloway family. She could even be the next victim. I want two shifts in six-hour rotations. The moment she turns up, I want to know about it. And make sure they have a good description of her.’

  ‘She shouldn’t be too hard to spot if she’s in the neighbourhood,’ Choi said. ‘There aren’t many Caucasian, six-feet-tall women walking around Chatswood.’

  ‘Mmm…true.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t heard from Jill have you?’

  ‘No. I’ve phoned her a few times, even sent her a couple of texts to tell her we wanted to speak to her.’

  For the past few hours Rimis had been trying to convince himself Brennan was off doing her own thing, as usual. That she’d walk into the office any minute and he’d tell her off for missing the meeting and not reporting in that day. But now? It had been too long. ‘Something’s not right.’ Rimis pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I want you to organise a patrol car to go to Brennan’s place. And let me know immediately if you hear from either Brennan or Fin Calloway.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Choi left and Rimis tried to stay still, tried not to pace. The next half an hour dragged by, but finally his landline rang — Jenny Choi.

  ‘Well?’ Rimis ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘The patrol car just called in…Jill’s front door wasn’t locked and there were signs of a struggle inside the apartment. It was a right mess.’

  ‘Shit!’ Rimis hung up, walked down the corridor to the detectives’ room.

  Choi was still holding the phone, her face ashen.

  Rimis took a deep breath. ‘Listen up, everyone. Brennan’s missing.’ All eyes were on him. ‘As far as I know, the duty officer was the last person to see her, at around eight o’clock last night. Rawlings, see if we can get a trace on Jill’s mobile phone. And Chapman, I want you to check if she logged onto the police network last night.’

  ‘Right, boss,’ Choi said.

  Rimis remembered Fin. ‘Choi any word on Fin Calloway yet?’

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘Great, just great. So she’s missing as well?’

  When Rimis walked back into his office, his mobile phone rang. It was Scott Carver.

  ‘Have you heard from Jill?’ Scott asked.

  ‘No. And I just got word from a patrol car I sent over there…signs of a struggle at her apartment. They checked with one of the neighbours but he said he didn’t hear or see anything. He was out, didn’t get home until well past midnight. I’m worried, Scotty. Really worried. With all this digging around she’s been doing, maybe she’s upset someone.’ Rimis leaned over the phone and rubbed his forehead. ‘The wrong someone.’

  Chapman knocked on the door and Rimis waved him into his office. ‘Hang on will you?’ He looked up at Chapman. ‘What is it, Chapman? Did you find something?’

  ‘Jill logged a report last night. She went to see Adam Lee at his father’s restaurant. She saw a tattoo on his stomach that identified him as a member of the Red Cave Gang.’

  Rimis’s shoulders slumped. ‘Shit.’ Rimis brought the mouthpiece closer. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘I heard,’ Scott Carver said.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Jill wanted to scream from the blinding pain behind her eyes but her mouth was stuffed with an oily rag and covered in tape. The rag was small, no bigger than the palm of her hand she guessed, but if it worked its way any further down her throat she’d choke. Her wrists were bound together in front of her. A blindfold dug into her temples — tied tight. Her head pounded, sinuses screaming in pain. Her first response was to check her holster but it was empty. The Swiss army knife she always carried with her and her phone were missing as well. Her gun. What use had it been to her? She’d been given special permission to take the Glock home because she feared for her safety. Dorin Chisca had threatened her life when she’d gone to speak to him in prison about the part he played in her father’s murder. Chisca was a powerful man, with many friends inside and outside of prison.

  Every nerve in her body was on high alert. All she could remember was being grabbed from behind and then it all went hazy. Think harder. Jill’s breathing slowed. She remembered the shadow by the window, the attack from behind, and the biting sting of a needle. She went through everything she could remember; looking for any detail that might help her identify her attackers.

  Brennan, you fool. She’d ident
ified Adam Lee as a member of the Red Cave Gang, hadn’t she? What the hell did she think was going to happen?

  She had to regain her composure. Where was she? She felt around her with her fingers. The space was small, she tried to kick her legs out but they thudded against surfaces in every direction. Car boot? Seemed likely, but the car was stationary…it was parked somewhere. How long had she been unconscious?

  Try to breathe, stay calm. At least she wasn’t going to run out of air. Cars weren’t built tight enough for that…were they? And the lock? They’re meant to be secure from the outside in, not the other way around, right? A release tag, there should be one, somewhere.

  Then she felt it. Not a release tag. It crawled across her cheek, spiky appendages pricked at her skin. Movement in her hair. She was living her worst nightmare. She shook her head from side to side, tried to raise her bound hands to her face, tried to flick the cockroach away. Get the fuck off. Tears flowed.

  She kicked out. Then the rag edged slightly backwards in her mouth. She could feel its hot sting — close to the point where her gag reflex would kick in. She froze. Calm down, Jill. Get it together.

  She focused on taking more even breaths through her nose. Slow, solid, but not too deep. Her heart rate slowed. Okay. She had to get out. Run. But where to? She had no idea where she was. She concentrated, listened for any sound that would help identify her location. She heard a plane overhead, a barking dog, distant traffic noise. She rolled back and forth trying to loosen her bindings. The car rocked and rolled with her. She bent her wrists, bent them further until she thought they would break.

  Over and over she repeated the action until her wrists were raw. Her sense of time was distorted, but at a guess she’d been working the ropes for at least half an hour, maybe an hour. Her hands cramped. She lay still, listened to her laboured breathing, thought of Rimis. Would he come charging to her rescue like he had when Kevin Taggart had tried to kill her? How long had she been in the boot? She might have only been unconscious for a few hours. If that was the case, it was still the middle of the night. No one would realise she was missing. And by the time they did it might be too late. No, it was up to her, she couldn’t wait for a non-existent cavalry to turn up and save her. She tried the ropes again, tugging, twisting her wrists, and working the rope, again and again until she felt them loosen a little. With her energy spent, she knew she was dehydrated and the ache behind her eyes made her wonder what damage had been done to her skull.

  She rested, gathered her strength, and began all over again. Had it been two hours now? Three? She twisted her shoulders from side to side, struggled with the rope until it was loose enough for her to feel the circulation returning to her torso and hands. Whoever she was dealing with, they weren’t professionals. She’d just had her first lucky break. Second lucky break: whoever tied these knots had never been a boy scout. And they’d tied her wrists in front of her, not behind her back.

  The rope was loose enough now that she could lean over and tear the masking tape from her mouth with her fingers. The rush of heat and pain seared her lips and cheeks. She yanked the foul-tasting rag from her mouth, felt saliva and bile dribble down her chin. Next, she tugged her blindfold, pulled it down and blinked. Cars had tool kits, right? She groped with her fingers, used them to lift up the worn, carpeted panel to the tyre well. She backed herself into the corner of the boot and for once she was glad of her height — or lack thereof.

  She reached into the tyre well. A lone screwdriver. It would have to do. She used the tool to loosen the knots further. She rolled over onto her side, and felt for a boot release. Nothing. The car must be an old model, pre-2000. She felt for the lock with her fingers, found it and jabbed the point of the screwdriver against it to try and release the spring latch. She pressed her back hard into the corner of the boot and kicked her feet out with every ounce of energy she had left.

  The boot sprung open enough for her to push it up with her legs. She climbed over the rim, projected herself out and fell hands-first onto a slab of concrete. She lay there to catch her breath. She tasted blood, tried to stand. Fell. Pin pricks of white light flashed and exploded in her head.

  FORTY-SIX

  Blood pounded Jill’s ears. She got to her feet, touched the back of her head, felt the open wound with her fingers: wet and sticky from blood.

  The scent of exotic spices was powerful. She recognised the car that had held her captive— a 1999 Commodore VL. Her father had had one just like it.

  After she’d pushed the boot closed, a thought struck her. What if her abductors weren’t coming back? It was obvious she was dealing with amateurs. Maybe they didn’t have the guts to kill her. It was possible they’d decided to take the easy way out and let her die in the boot.

  She looked around. Searched for a way out. Saw an illuminated exit sign. She was in large industrial warehouse, the only windows, at ceiling height, were blacked out.

  She was sweating from struggling in the boot, but now the cold hit her and she started shaking. She knew she had to move, get out of here in case they were coming back for her.

  Why had she been brought, here? If they’d wanted her dead why not kill her in her apartment? And how did they get into her apartment, anyway? With so many locks it was like Fort Knox. She didn’t want to think about anything now except getting out of the warehouse. One thing she did know, if she got out of this alive she was packing up her things and handing back the keys to her apartment. She would never feel safe there again, not after this.

  But for now, she had to work out who she was dealing with. Adam Lee wasn’t smart enough to have organised her abduction on his own. So who was he in league with? Vincent Wan?

  Then a low growl of a metal roller door. A wedge of low light. The door didn’t go all the way up. Footsteps on concrete. Jill looked around for a place to hide. She crouched behind a pallet of boxes in a dark corner, shivering uncontrollably.

  ‘It was a mistake bringing her here. I want you to kill her, and then leave the country. Think you can manage that, Shazi?’

  ‘Do I have to do it now? I was hoping to have fun with her first.’

  Jill knew that voice. It was Adam Lee.

  ‘No time for that.’

  The other man’s voice had an edge to it. He wasn’t used to having his instructions questioned.

  ‘We have drawn too much attention to ourselves already. Now get that roller door down before someone sees us. And turn the lights on.’ The door hit the ground with a loud ker-clunk. Industrial lights lit up the warehouse like a Jersey Jack pinball machine.

  A car door opened, then the boot. Slam. Mumbled voices.

  ‘Where are you, Detective Brennan?’ came the mocking voice of Adam Lee.

  She crawled in behind another wooden pallet stacked high with sacks of rice. Moments later, she heard heavy breathing, the stink of garlic and cooking oil. Never show weakness, never show fear, Rimis’s words cycled over and over in her head.

  She held her breath, waiting. With no way of escaping, Jill knew it wouldn’t be long before they found her. She patted the pocket of her jeans, her only hope. They were getting closer now, kicking empty boxes, and rattling steel shelving.

  A figure stepped towards her; his face hidden by shadow.

  ‘Shame you saw my tattoo.’ Adam was breathing hard, and despite the cold Jill could smell the fetid stench of sweat and rage. Adam grabbed her by both arms and dragged her out from her hiding place.

  Jill kicked him. She looked at the older man and recognised him from photos she’d seen — Vincent Wan. She looked him directly in the eye. ‘Are you aware of the mandatory sentencing laws in this country for killing police officers? It’s life imprisonment if you don’t know?’

  ‘You really think I’m interested in your Australian laws?’ Vincent Wan said.

  Jill tried to pull away again but Adam held her tight. Wan traced the line of her cheekbone, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Jill stopped struggling. ‘You’r
e making it worse for yourself, Mr Wan.’ She said his name with purpose.

  ‘Very good, Detective. I am honoured you recognise me.’ Wan came closer looked her in the eye. ‘You can tell a lot from a person’s eyes. Don’t you think?’

  Jill squinted, ignored his question.

  Wan pulled a gun from the waistband of his trousers. ‘You’ve met my nephew, haven’t you? I call him Shazi. A nickname I have for him. It means idiot in Mandarin. Unfortunately, he takes after my brother in the intelligence department. I give him a simple instruction: abduct Benjamin Cheung, but what does he do? He allows the boy to overpower him. I realise now it is true what they say; if you want something done properly, you must do it yourself.’

  Adam’s grip tightened.

  ‘Why didn’t Benjamin Cheung come forward?’ Jill asked Wan.

  ‘Because, my dear, he and his family knew who they were dealing with.’

  ‘So you extorted money from the family and went ahead and killed David Cheung anyway.’

  ‘Yes, but never mind that, unfortunately, the mother and son are out of my reach for now, but not for long.’

  ‘What about Lucy Fletcher the girl who was run down the same night David Cheung was murdered?’

  ‘Yes, very unfortunate. Another one of Shazi’s careless mistakes. She was being held here, but she managed to escape. Her death was an accident. The girl was not meant to die, my men were careless. She was dressed in dark clothes they simply didn’t see her run out in front of them. Such a waste. She was a beautiful girl and would have brought in a tidy sum when I…’