The Profiler

by Chris Taylor

  He had to make more of an effort to keep in contact. After all, they were Olivia’s aunts and she barely knew them. The fact they weren’t close was as much his fault as theirs.

  He brushed at the moisture that clung to his jacket and found Lisa’s headstone. It was less than two months since he’d been there, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

  Kneeling down on the wet grass, he breathed in the scent of rain, wood smoke and decay. Although she’d been laid to rest in a newer part of the cemetery, he didn’t have to look far to see the moss-covered, crumbling old concrete headstones and termite-ridden picket fences that surrounded some of the older graves.

  He reached out and touched the cold dampness of her headstone with unsteady fingers, tracing the letters inscribed in the black granite. Tears pricked his eyes and the gold lettering blurred. He pressed his hand flat against the cold stone and waited.

  Nothing.

  Panic gripped him. “I can’t feel you.” His voice was a ragged whisper. “Oh Christ, babe. I can’t feel you anymore.”

  His chest tightened. He leaned forward to rest his head against the granite. The sleet had turned into rain and he shuddered when icy rivulets of water trickled underneath his collar.

  He didn’t know how long he sat like that, but gradually he became aware that the stone had warmed beneath his skin. He sat back on his haunches and inhaled the damp, mossy, earth smell that filled the air. Closing his eyes, images of Lisa assailed him and his tension eased.

  She was smiling, looking healthy and beautiful and glowing, like she had right before Olivia had been born. Her smile seemed to go right through him and touch his soul.

  I’m so glad you came to see me, Clay. I’ve missed you. Her voice was a mere whisper of sound inside his head. He strained to hear it.

  Oblivious to the tears that ran down his cheeks, his hands tightened their grip on the granite.

  “I miss you, too. I miss you so much.” His voice cracked on the last word and he dragged in an uneven breath.

  It’s time to let me go. I’m fine. I’m happy. I’m at peace. Open your heart to love again, my darling. I want to see you smile. I’m so sorry I put you through all this. It wasn’t your fault. I told you I was fine. I told you it was just the lack of sleep. I told you lots of things. But I did love you, Clay. I loved you more than anything. That’s why you have to let me go, Clay. Remember me, but let me go.

  He was crying in earnest now. His hands were frozen on the stone. Sobs shuddered through his body. Her voice grew fainter.

  Let me go, Clay. Let me go. Her voice faded away and so did her image. He leaned heavily against her headstone, his forehead coming to rest on the cold, wet granite.

  Gradually, his breathing quieted and his pulse rate returned to normal. He heard the sound of a bird singing somewhere off to his right in the bushland which surrounded the cemetery. The lightness of it sounded so odd on such a cold, dreary day.

  Lisa’s words reverberated in his head until they sounded like a mantra. It felt like a layer of pain was being torn away each time he heard them.

  He let go of the granite and slid down to sit on the ground, unaware of the wet grass soaking into his suit pants. Slowly, tenderly, he traced her name with his fingers.

  Realization filled him. She was happy. She was at peace. She’d told him so. The weight of guilt and loss slowly, inexorably lightened.

  A huge sigh escaped him and with it, the pain he’d been holding onto for so many years. Reaching up, he undid the clasp of the chain around his neck and tugged it free from his shirt. The gold ring shone dully. Bringing it up to his lips, he kissed it before tucking it away inside the pocket of his coat. One day, he would give it to Olivia.

  Pressing his palm flat against the cold stone for a few more minutes, he mouthed a silent thank you.

  * * *

  Lex Wilson was late for work. Impatience surged through him. He thought he’d left enough time, but it had taken him longer than he’d expected.

  With the final piece glued into place, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. She was perfect. Her eyes, her nose, her lips. Even the tips of her pink-painted fingernails. The delicate cotton and wood sandals slipped on and off her feet with ease and matched the purple satin and tulle evening gown he’d stitched with his own hands.

  Her thick, blond hair curled enticingly around her hips and was tied back with a matching satin ribbon that he’d stolen from his daughter’s jewelry box. Pride surged through him and he grinned. She was sure to fetch a high price at the markets. Michelle would be pleased, which was a good thing. His wife, in a temper, was something to be feared.

  Knowing he was getting later by the second, he went to the sink which was plumbed into the wall of the shed and quickly washed his hands. There was no time to scrub. He gazed over at his tools and the mess of wood shavings that lay curled across his workbench. He’d have to clean up later.

  Wiping his hands on an old towel, he looked up at the corkboard above him and smiled at the newspaper clippings pinned there. It had been three years since he’d started his collection. Three years. Where had the time gone?

  The earliest clipping, and probably his favorite, had yellowed and turned up at the edges, but the photo of what remained of the child’s pram was as clear as the day it had been taken. A day he would never forget.

  A smaller photo of the grieving mother captured his attention. Excitement stirred in his belly, like it always did when he let himself remember. The sound of the impact. The crunch of the pram beneath his wheels. The screaming. Oh, he’d never forget the screaming.

  His heart thumped, but he couldn’t give in to the pleasure he knew awaited him. He had to get going. His shift started in less than ten minutes.

  Knowing he had no time to spare, but unable to resist, he turned away from the clippings and strode quickly over to one of the freezers on the far side of the overcrowded shed. Moving the boxes of junk and empty paint tins off the top, he lifted the lid. His heart caught in anticipation. He stared inside at each carefully preserved limb.

  Adrenaline coursed through him. He was nearly there. It wouldn’t be long. Soon, very soon he’d be ready to complete his most magnificent creation yet.

  * * *

  Clayton sprawled across two red, vinyl-covered seats in the busy departure lounge and took a sip from the Styrofoam coffee cup he held in his hand. The usual assortment of travelers milled around, some reading newspapers or magazines, others staring blindly through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the collection of planes on the tarmac.

  He inwardly sympathized with a young mother who struggled with an over-tired toddler who ran raggedly back and forth between her and a distant bank of chairs. He knew what it was like to go it alone. He’d offered to distract the child with a game, but the mother had politely declined. Not that he blamed her. Trusting a stranger didn’t come as easy as it used to most people, especially young women. He only wished the female victims in Sydney had been a little more cautious. It could have saved their lives.

  He sighed at the senseless loss of three young lives and tried to stem the surge of impatience. He had half an hour to wait before his flight boarded. Clouds rolled in across the hills and fog blanketed the landscape outside the windows. He hoped takeoff wouldn’t be delayed by the weather.

  He’d settled Olivia back into her room at her grandparents’ and had left her happily drawing pictures on her fresh, white cast. She’d been thrilled when he’d drawn a huge love heart using a red permanent marker and had scrawled both their names in it. With a prescription for pain medication filled and a bowl of chocolate ice cream in her belly, she was more than content.

  He’d found Janet in the kitchen, clearing away the afternoon tea things. He gave her a sincere smile of gratitude.

  “Thanks for everything, Janet. I really appreciate it. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Her eyes softened on his face. “You’re welcome, Clayton. You’re always welcome. She’s our gr
anddaughter.” She shrugged and added simply, “We love her.”

  He closed the short distance between them and gave her a gentle hug. “I know you do and I’m forever grateful. Without you and Bob, I don’t know what I would have done. Certainly, with my work, I wouldn’t have been able to do what I have. Having your support has made a difference to my life—to both our lives.”

  He pulled away and looked down at her. “I’m sure I don’t tell you often enough how important it is to me.”

  She smiled softly at him, her face wrinkling around her worn brown eyes. Lisa’s eyes. “We know, Clayton, we know. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

  “So, where’s Bob? With all the drama going on, I forgot to ask.”

  Janet rinsed her hands under the faucet over the sink. “He’s down the south coast, at Merimbula, on a golf tournament. The ‘Golden Oldies’ as they like to call themselves. They’ve arranged a three-day friendly competition with the club from down there. He left yesterday.”

  “Well, good for him. You ought to go with him one day.”

  Janet shuddered in mock horror. “Me, with a golf stick? Not in this lifetime.”

  Clayton laughed, feeling good as the fear and panic of Olivia’s accident slowly abated. “You sound just like your daughter.”

  Her gaze sobered. “That’s the first time in three years I’ve heard you mention her without pain.”

  She wiped her hands dry with the tea towel and took her time returning it to its hook on the cupboard near the sink. With a soft sigh, she turned around to face him.

  “How are you, Clayton? There’s something different about you. You seem more relaxed, more at peace with yourself. Even through the commotion of Olivia’s injury, I noticed it.” She paused. And then said, “You went and visited her, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “When I borrowed your car, I ducked out while Olivia was asleep and we were waiting for the doctor to come and discharge her.”

  His mother-in-law’s gaze didn’t stray from his face. “So, how was she?”

  He closed his eyes against the rush of emotions. Sadness at letting go. Relief she was happy. Determination to take his life back with both hands.

  He opened them on a heartfelt sigh. “She’s good, Janet. She’s really, really good.”

  Tears pricked the older woman’s eyes. She stepped forward and put her arms around his waist. Her words were muffled against the heavy cotton of his shirt. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  A voice over the intercom announcing his flight number jolted him back to the present and he sat up straighter to listen: Due to the weather conditions, the flight would be delayed another half hour.

  Disappointment coursed through him and he slumped back against the seat. Now it would be even longer before he’d be back in Sydney, back with Ellie.

  His thoughts centered on her and, he pulled out his phone and dialed her number. His heart beat faster while he listened to the call ring out. He’d braced himself for her voicemail to cut in but then she answered.

  “Hey, there stranger. How is everything?”

  He grinned into the phone, feeling like a teenager. Suddenly, two hours felt like a lifetime. “Everything’s good. Everything’s great.” He realized how much he meant it.

  “How’s Olivia? Did she have to go to theater?”

  “No, we were lucky. Just a bit of nitrous oxide and some hand-holding from her daddy and we were all put back together. She’s sporting a bright new cast from her wrist to her elbow that’s going to make her the envy of everyone on the playground.”

  Ellie laughed and his heart skipped a beat.

  “I’m so glad to hear it.” Her voice dropped lower. “And how are you going?”

  He smiled into the phone. “I’m good. I’m fine. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  “So, when are you coming back?”

  He heard the eagerness in her voice and felt warm all over. “I’m sitting in the airport as we speak. I was booked on the four-thirty plane, but they’ve just announced a delay because of the weather.”

  “Good old Canberra winter, hey?”

  He grinned. “You’ve got it in one.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m out in Penrith doing door-knocks. We’ve split it up between us so we can cover more ground.”

  “Who’s riding with you?”

  “No one. We’re short-staffed. I told Ben it was fine.”

  “Save some of them for me. I’d love to be the one to knock on the door of the bastard who’s responsible for this.”

  “I know how you feel, believe me, but you probably won’t get in until late this afternoon. I’m going to do my best to get through the names on my list today.”

  “Yeah, no worries. I’ll see how I go. With a bit of luck, I might be back there by six. I’ll call you when I land.”

  There was a pause before her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I can’t wait.”

  His stomach did a somersault in anticipation. “Um, Riley’s still in town and wants to catch up for dinner. My brothers, Declan and Tom, might tag along, too. I was wondering… That is, would you like to…?”

  They both knew what he meant. His invitation signaled so much more than sharing a meal. He waited with bated breath for her reply.

  “I’d like that, Clayton. I’d like that very much.”

  * * *

  The pale afternoon sun had made a beeline for the horizon when Ellie climbed back into the unmarked car and crossed the penultimate name off her list. The air had turned chilly. She switched on the ignition and turned up the heat. There was only one name remaining: Lex Wilson.

  Wilson. She still couldn’t remember why it sounded familiar. It was a nondescript, common Australian surname and one that shouldn’t have caught her attention.

  Checking the address on the paper, she leaned over and punched it into the GPS mounted on the dashboard. Pressing ‘go,’ she did a U-turn and headed in the direction shown on the screen. Picking up her radio, she called into headquarters and informed the operator where she was going.

  She hadn’t heard from Clayton. He was probably still in the air. At least, she hoped he was and that his plane hadn’t been delayed any further.

  Glancing at the vacant seat across from her, she felt a wave of longing. She couldn’t believe how much she missed him, how quickly she’d become used to having him beside her, joking, laughing, plotting, teasing, grinning. He hadn’t even been gone a full day and already she was pining. There was absolutely no hope for her.

  She was doomed.

  She was a goner.

  She was a write-off.

  She was in love. Head-over-heels, forget-about-the consequences in love, Fed-be-damned, in love. She shook her head at the incongruity of it. She’d never have believed anyone in a million years if they’d told her she’d find the man of her dreams while she was caught up in the middle of a nightmare multiple-murder investigation.

  Nothing about that scenario made sense. But then, when did love ever follow the rules? No one got to choose who they fell in love with. Hadn’t she read that somewhere? Read it; heard it—it didn’t matter. It was the truth and that’s all that did make sense.

  He’d sounded so good when he called. So calm, so happy, so keen to get back. She only hoped he’d meant what he said when he told her he loved her.

  She’d discounted it earlier as just words uttered at a time when most men forgot how to think with their brain. But now, she wasn’t so sure. He’d seemed so serious, so earnest, so genuine. And the man she’d come to know over the past couple of months wasn’t the kind of guy to throw out declarations of love without thinking about them first.

  She only hoped she wasn’t making their connection into more than it was—just because she wanted it to be that way.

  Ellie sighed and flipped her indicator to the left to make the turn into the Cranebrook Street she’d set as her destination. She’d j
ust have to wait until she spoke to him again. Then, she’d know for sure.

  She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Five-thirty. At least another half hour before he landed.

  “This is bordering on ridiculous,” she muttered, pushing thoughts of him aside. She checked the last address on the paper that sat on the passenger seat. Twenty-six Harpers Drive. Which meant it was the red brick-and-tile bungalow ahead on her left.

  She pulled into the curb and shut off the ignition. The house looked like all the others on the street, with nothing to distinguish it except for the flourishing flower beds that grew along the fence line. Impressed at the display in the middle of winter, she recognized the pretty pink and yellow bell-shaped flowers of a common Correa bush, at least two different types of Grevillias, with their spiky olive foliage, a magnolia bush laden with creamy-white flowers and an early flowering native wisteria, whose bright purple flowers crept in gay abandonment along the front fence.

  Climbing out of the car, she made her way up the concrete path leading to the front of the house. Though the path was old and cracked, it had been swept clean and ended at a freshly painted front door. Knocking twice, she stepped back and waited.

  There was no response.

  She cleared her throat and called out. “Police, is anyone home?” Silence met her once more and she knocked again.

  After another couple of minutes with no response, she turned and walked along the patterned-tile porch and peered through the front window. Heavy cream curtains had been parted to let in the light and she could just make out lounge room furniture through the gauzy-white film still covering the window.

  A good-sized plasma television, which was turned off, graced one wall and faced out to a newish brown-suede couch. The room was as neat as a pin. Not exactly where she imagine a psychopathic serial killer would live.

  She called out again through the window, but the house remained stubbornly silent.

  Retracing her steps down the worn concrete path, she crossed the front lawn and made her way down the side of the house. It was possible someone might be in one of the rooms furthest from the street and couldn’t hear her.