by Chris Taylor
The backyard was as tidy as the front. The grass was as green as you could expect at the end of winter and was cut short with the edges trimmed. More flower beds formed decorative borders along both side fences and between the cracked concrete driveway which led to an old, but freshly painted, empty carport.
A child’s faded-green swing set stood in one corner, along with a sandpit containing toys. Two small bikes with white plastic baskets attached to the handlebars stood propped against the side of a color-bond shed that filled the back half of the garden.
Ellie pulled her coat around her shoulders in an effort to ward off the late afternoon chill and made her way over to the building. She was still a few feet away from it when she noticed there was power to it and the door was padlocked.
It wasn’t surprising. This was the western suburbs, after all. In fact, she’d be surprised to find any backyard shed unlocked in this part of Sydney.
Standing on tiptoes, she put her face up to the dirty Perspex window and peered in. The light was fading fast and she could barely make out a workbench set in the middle of the room.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she recognized other shapes. An old car body, a lawn mower and a three chest freezers all materialized in the gloom.
She breathed on the Perspex and rubbed it with her hand in an effort to remove some of the grime. The indistinct shapes on the workbench morphed into tools—chisels, a small mallet, a tin of paint. Wood shavings curled in small, riotous bundles at one end, almost as if they’d been brushed out of the way and had landed in a tangled heap.
Wood shavings. Her heart accelerated, but she forced herself to remain calm. Wood shavings didn’t necessarily mean it was their killer. A lot of people worked with wood. Look at the professor and Rick Shadlow. Neither of them had turned out to be the perp they hunted.
All of a sudden, Ellie registered the sound of a motor vehicle approaching. She stepped away from the shed in time to see a white van come to a stop inside the carport. Making her way across the yard, she waited for the occupants to alight.
The high-pitched voices of children reached her ears as the passenger-side door swung open.
“Me, first! Me, first! You always get to go first!”
“No, me! Mama, you said I could go first today.”
An older female voice intervened. “Amy! Anissa! Enough.”
The voice was stern and the children fell silent immediately. Two girls about the ages of nine and seven jumped out of the car, tugging school bags out of the van as they did so. Ellie moved closer. They stopped in their tracks when they saw her, curiosity plain on their faces.
“Hi, I’m Detective Cooper. I’m looking for your dad.”
“He’s at work,” the girls replied together, then turned to glare at each other.
“She asked me,” the older one whined.
“No, she asked me,” the younger one yelled back.
“Girls, enough.”
Once again, the children fell silent, their eyes lowered. The woman Ellie assumed to be their mother rounded the back of the van. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Michelle Wilson. I’m sorry about my daughters. They know better than that. Now, what were you saying about my husband?”
Michelle Wilson’s eyes were a pale blue; her face was open and kind. White-blond hair hung down her back in a casual ponytail. Ellie guessed she was in her mid-thirties.
She took the hand the woman proffered and shook it. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Wilson.” She glanced toward the children. “You have them well trained. I’m impressed.”
The woman’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Not without a lot of effort.”
Ellie smiled back. “I’m sure. Look, I’m making some enquires about men in your neighborhood who are employed by the Orange Cab Company. Your husband works there, doesn’t he?” Ellie watched her closely, but the calm expression in the pale blue eyes didn’t falter.
“Yes, yes he does. He’s been there for years. He loves that job.”
“I take it he’s not home at the moment?”
“No, no, he’s at work. He’s working the late shift tonight.”
Retrieving her notebook and pen from the pocket of her jacket, Ellie jotted down a few notes. “What time did he start?”
“Mm, let me think. He started at three o’clock and goes through to about three in the morning.” She grinned and shook her head. “I’m usually asleep in bed. Most times I don’t even hear him come in.”
Ellie kept her voice casual when she posed the next question. “It looks like he does some wood working in his spare time.” She inclined her head toward the shed. “I saw some tools on a workbench through the window.”
Michelle smiled again. “I don’t know where he finds the energy or the time. He only has the weekends off. He spends hours in that shed. He loves being in there almost as much as he loves his job.”
Ellie’s heart skipped a beat. “What does he do in there?”
The smile turned into an outright chuckle. “You’re not going to believe it, Detective, but he makes dolls.”
“Dolls?”
“Yes, wooden dolls. He carves them by hand. He paints all of their features and sews their clothes. Tiny dresses and shoes. Hair ribbons to match. They are magnificent.”
Disappointment surged through her. Lex Wilson hardly sounded like a serial killer. Still, he was worth talking to. Who knew—he might have seen something.
“What time does your husband go to work tomorrow?”
“Oh, not until the afternoon again. He usually sleeps for a few hours after he gets in and then potters around in the shed until it’s time to go.”
Pulling a card out of her wallet, Ellie handed it to the woman. “Here are my numbers. Please, ask him to give me a call when he’s free. I would like to speak with him.”
Michelle’s eyes clouded over. Her face turned serious. “Of course, Detective. Is there anything the matter?”
“No, no. It’s nothing to worry about. We’re doing some routine questioning. That’s all.”
The woman still looked doubtful, but slid the card into her handbag.
Ellie looked up at the darkening sky and tossed her notebook and pen back into her pocket.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Mrs Wilson. I would appreciate it if you could let your husband know I was here.”
“Of course, of course.”
Ellie made her way down the driveway. About half way down, she turned back as another thought occurred to her.
“What does he do with them?”
Michelle’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“The dolls,” Ellie added. “What does he do with them?”
A wide smile lit up the woman’s face. “Why, he gives them to me, of course. And I sell them at the markets.” She inclined her head toward the vehicle in the carport. “That’s why I have the van.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ellie slumped back against the car seat and sighed in disappointment. Okay, so maybe the killer wasn’t on her list. With only so much manpower available, she knew there were still at least fifteen or so names that hadn’t been allocated. Maybe tomorrow they’d get lucky.
With another sigh, she switched on the ignition and pulled away from the house. She should have known just by looking at it that it wasn’t the house of a madman. The neat lawns, the gaily colored flowers, the stern but friendly wife, the bickering kids. It all seemed too normal.
As she negotiated the late-afternoon traffic, her thoughts wandered to the shed. A taxi-driving doll maker. Who’d have thought? He made them; she sold them.
Then a memory hit her and her foot slammed on the brake. Michelle Wilson, the owner of the white van. The van Ronald Carter had seen in the laneway beside his house right after his freezer went missing.
A chest freezer. Like the ones she’d seen in Lex Wilson’s shed. But why the hell would Michelle Wilson be stealing chest freezers? It didn’t make sense. The woman didn’t seem to have a deceitful bone in her body.
Could she have been lying? Ellie immediately discounted that. She considered herself to be a pretty decent judge of character and she’d have sworn Michelle was exactly what she appeared to be—a busy mother trying to raise two rambunctious children and doing her bit to support her family.
Could her husband have used the van? He worked with wood. She’d seen wood shavings piled on the end of the workbench. Wood shavings had been found in Josie Ward’s hair and underneath Angelina Caruso’s fingernails.
Her mind drifted to the paint tin. It was probably used to paint the dolls. In the dimness, she hadn’t been able to tell what color it was, but she suddenly recalled the pink paint chips that had been found in Angelina’s hair.
The impatient beep of a horn behind her reminded her she’d slowed almost to a stop. Adrenaline surged through her and she pumped the accelerator.
The peculiarities were piling up. It was all circumstantial and a good lawyer would probably explain all of it away, but still, it was a bit of a coincidence and was definitely worth further investigation.
The clock on the dashboard told her it was just after six. With her cell phone on hands-free, she dialed Clayton’s number. Excitement coursed through her when he picked up.
“Hey, there gorgeous,” he exclaimed. “I was just thinking about you. My plane just landed. It’s good to be back up here and into some warmer weather.”
Ellie grinned, glancing across at the heater she’d turned up full blast.
“So, how’d you go with your door-knocking? Any luck?” he asked.
“Well, I’m not sure. Seven out of the eight on my list were non-contenders, but the last one was interesting.”
“How so?”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s anything, really. Just a bit of a hunch. Lex Wilson is a wood carver. He’s got a shed out the back of his house where he makes wooden dolls.”
Clayton’s tone sharpened. “Dolls?”
“Yes, and the other thing that’s interesting is that he does the late shift on Tues—”
“Dolls. Fuck, it’s him. The taxi driver from the airport. Lex Wilson. Fuck. Did you speak to him?”
Ellie frowned at the urgency in Clayton’s voice. “What do you mean, the airport?”
“Ellie, did you speak to him?” His voice was tighter.
“No, he was at work. I just told you he works the late shift—”
“On Tuesdays,” he finished. “It fits. It all fits. It’s him. I can’t believe it. It’s him. The fucking taxi driver.”
Ellie’s heart faltered. “How can you be so sure? Just because he’s a wood worker, doesn’t mean—”
His breath came harsher through the phone. “I caught his cab the first night I arrived. I remember the name. He told me about the dolls. It’s him, Ellie. I’m sure of it. Please, trust me on this. Where are you now? I hope you’re still not at his house.”
“No, I’m heading back to the station. I was going to review the files on the missing freezers. You wouldn’t believe it; I finally remembered why the name Wilson seemed familiar. It’s the name of the owner of the van seen by Ronald Carter. Michelle Wilson. I received the results from the Roads and Maritime Services a few days ago.
“That’s it. Ellie, that’s it. The freezers. He’s using them to store the bodies. The parts he’s saving. They’re in the fucking freezers.”
Cold fear prickled her scalp. Her breathing laboured. Clayton was right. It did fit.
“Get yourself back to the station,” Clayton ordered. “The traffic’s banking up over here, but I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
Ellie shivered at the urgency in his voice. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
She ended the call and returned her attention to the road. A fat drop of rain splattered against her windscreen and she frowned. She hadn’t even noticed the gathering clouds. Night had settled in, along with the storm.
The first drop was followed quickly by another and another. She flicked her wipers on and soon had to turn them up high when the rain hit with a vengeance.
Early evening traffic was still heavy as people rushed home from work, eager to get inside out of the storm. Her thoughts were a jumble of fear and excitement. They had him. They had him!
She had to call Ben. They needed to put together an arrest team. Wilson was at work until late. It would be safer to arrest him at his home. She prayed he wasn’t out there now trolling for another target.
A jagged arc of lightning lit up the sky in front of her and she jumped. The sound of the thunder that followed it a few moments later reverberated through the car. Ordinarily, she loved to watch the power and fury of a storm—when she was safely inside four solid walls.
It was a different matter experiencing one from inside what felt like the insignificant nothingness of the squad car.
Accelerating as much as she dared through the blinding rain, she made her way along the four-lane highway toward the heart of Penrith, and refuge.
A loud clunking sound came to her over the noise of the storm. The steering wheel tightened in her hands and the vehicle pulled to the right.
With an effort, she corrected her direction and centered the car in the lane. Again, it pulled to the right. The noise got louder and suddenly, she realized what it was.
A flat tire. Just what I need.
With a glance in her rear-view mirror, she lifted her foot off the accelerator. The car limped to the side of the road. Switching off the ignition, she turned on the hazard lights and punched the station’s number into her phone. There was no way she was going to climb out into what had become a deluge to change it.
The call finally connected and she explained her predicament to the switchboard operator.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” the woman said, “but the truck’s already out on a call. I’m sorry, but you’re the second officer to call in a flat tire in the last ten minutes. They’ve only just left for a job over at Glenbrook. It’s difficult to say, but they could be gone awhile—at least an hour or so.”
Her shoulders slumped on a loud groan. “An hour?”
“Or so. Could be less; you never know your luck.”
“Yeah, the way mine’s been going, I’ll be lucky to see them before midnight.”
The operator chuckled. “Well, they’re not exactly known for their punctuality and in this weather, who knows?”
“Gee, thanks for your support and understanding.”
“Hey, I’m not the one stuck on the side of the highway.”
She ended the call on another heavy sigh and peered in the rear-view mirror at the bank of car lights behind her. She could probably catch a taxi. That would be quicker than waiting for the tow truck.
A shiver of unease trickled down her spine. Lex Wilson was somewhere out there. Right now. In his taxi.
She shook her head. She was being silly. What were the chances of coming across him? There were hundreds of cabs on duty right now. It was peak hour. She’d hail a cab and get back to the station. It would probably take her ten minutes, fifteen, max. And then she’d see Clayton again and together they’d work out how they could put Wilson away forever.
With newfound courage and resolve, she dialed the station and left details of her change of plan with the switchboard operator. The rain had eased slightly, but was still coming down. Taking another look out the back window, her heart leaped in gratitude when she spied what she was looking for.
The cab was still a fair way back, but headed in her direction. She leaned across and picked up her handbag from where it sat on the passenger seat and pulled her phone out of the car kit. Tugging the keys out of the ignition, she pushed them under the floor mat.
Glancing again through the rear-view mirror, she judged the distance about right to give the driver enough time to see her and pull over. Bracing herself against the rain, she opened the door and climbed out, dragging her handbag with her. Hailing the cab with an outstretched arm, she sighed in relief as an indicator came on and the taxi moved a
cross the lanes of traffic toward her.
It came to a stop behind her vehicle. She hurriedly covered the short distance and went to open the rear passenger side door. It was locked.
Damn!
She tapped on the window, hoping the driver would notice. He didn’t respond and she surmised he couldn’t hear her over the storm. She tried the front passenger seat and the door cracked open. She thought briefly of Clayton and their conversation about riding in the front, but the rain was soaking through her clothing and the odds of stumbling into the killer’s taxi were next to slim. With a sigh, she opened the door wider and collapsed onto the seat.
“Oh, thank God you came along,” she breathed. “You’ve made my day. I thought I’d be sitting out here half the night.”
The driver smiled, showing perfect, even teeth, starkly white against his dark, scruffy beard. “No problem, I’m happy to be of service. Where can I take you?”
Ellie returned his smile gratefully. “You wouldn’t believe it, my car’s got a flat tire. Of all the days to get a flat, I have to pick the wettest evening we’ve had for over a month. Is that bad luck, or what?” She relaxed against the seat, brushing at the errant raindrops that clung to her skirt and jacket.
The driver’s smile was slow and thoughtful. “I think we make our own luck, good, bad or indifferent.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” She pushed her handbag onto the floor near her feet, only realizing afterward she still held her phone in her hand.
“So, where are you going?”
“Penrith Police Station. I’m on my way back to work.”
The man nodded. “Of course, you’re a police officer.” He turned away and manoeuvred the cab into the traffic.
Ellie glanced at the clock on the dashboard and dialed Clayton’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Hi. I’m sorry, Ellie. I’ve been caught in traffic. The rain’s a bitch. I’m probably still about fifteen minutes away.”