Eva believed in doctors and science, not fantasy. What this man was saying had to be nonsense. But one thought was nagging at her: what about the dreams?
13
By quarter past four, Cooper and Quinn were in an unmarked car and headed to North Sydney. The traffic was already congested; it was a slow crawl across the Harbour Bridge.
“What did Munro have to say?” asked Quinn as he tried to change lanes.
“He’s not happy. Getting grief from above, I guess. It’s been over twenty-four hours since we found out Grant was dead, and we’re no closer to finding the last victim.”
“Andrew Fox said that Grant wrote to him at the paper after his story on the first murder, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Was that the only letter?”
“The only one Fox told us about. I see where you’re going. I thought there’d be more, too, but Fox is adamant there wasn’t. Just the photos, same ones as each of the husbands got.”
“You believe him?” asked Quinn.
“I don’t believe anything that fucker says. We looked into it, but never found anything.” Cooper recalled investigating Andrew Fox after the murder of Rhonda Sarton, Grant’s first victim. To his credit, Fox had advised the police immediately when he received the letter from the killer. It contained information that was known only to the police and the killer, so they knew it was authentic. What Fox didn’t tell them was that he planned a follow up article, and that’s what really got Cooper’s back up. The new article slammed the police investigation, and as far as Cooper was concerned, it put the whole case in jeopardy. For the next ten years the killer taunted the police, and Cooper personally, or at least that’s how it felt. Somehow, Andrew Fox was always there, quick to point out flaws in the investigation, shortcomings in staffing, and errors made by junior officers. He remembered the murder of Zara King, victim number three. The local detectives responding to the call didn’t notify Homicide, and consequently they failed to make the link to the previous two cases. It was over a week before someone finally saw the connection, by which time a possible lead stemming from the postage on the envelope had gone cold. That particular stuff up was front page news for two days.
Cooper brought himself back to the present. Things had changed and he needed to adapt. The old investigation had centred on victims already dead, and the search for a killer. Now, the killer had been found, the victim was possibly still alive, and time was not on their side.
“You mind if I go back over the newspaper articles?” Quinn was saying. “See if I can spot anything? I mean now that we know who the killer is, or was, something that didn’t seem significant before could jump out at us now.”
Cooper nodded. The kid made a good point.
“Sure. A set of fresh eyes can’t hurt. Take them home if you need to, you should get at least a few hours sleep in your own bed tonight.”
“Okay, boss. So this Kate McKinley, what do we know about her?”
“Not a lot. She hasn’t been at the advertising firm long, but according to Amanda’s friend Jane Feehan, Kate and Amanda have been socialising a fair bit lately.” Cooper had interviewed Jane earlier this afternoon while Quinn was looking into Grant’s property management. Jane confirmed Andrew Fox’s story, and gave Cooper some more information about Kate. “She’s the best chance we’ve got of finding out who Amanda was sleeping with, assuming she was having an affair. Jane couldn’t tell me anything, and I got the feeling she would have if she could.”
Finally clearing the bridge traffic, Quinn steered the car towards the Falcon Street exit. He was a patient driver. Good to know, thought Cooper.
“Hey, boss?” started Quinn.
“Yeah?”
“Assuming Amanda is our missing woman, do you think Grant was going to take her on the Friday, but he got spooked by the husband coming home?”
“Do you?”
“It’s pretty bold, trying to snatch a woman from her house in the middle of the day. But then that was her day off. He would have known she was home alone. Weren’t all the other women taken from their homes?”
“That’s been our theory, but I’ve had my doubts. I’ve been working on a different idea since the last victim, but I’ve not been able to prove it yet.”
“What’s that?”
“The last two victims’ lovers told us their mobile phones had either been lost or stolen. I reckon our guy has lifted the phone and arranged to meet the victim by text message. He’s been following them, so he knows where they usually meet. She gets a text supposedly from her boyfriend, and she’s not going to tell anyone where she’s going.”
“So you think once she gets there and figures she’s been stood up, in walks Grant and manages to somehow talk her into his car. Are you sure? I mean, he was a fifty-year-old guy with thinning hair, and they were all good looking women with husbands and boyfriends. It seems unlikely.”
Cooper considered this. It did seem unlikely that these women would go for a guy like Fraser Grant, but then, he was a master manipulator. He planned everything, and he was so sure of himself.
“What if he pulled this purse thing with all of them?” suggested Cooper. “He could have stolen the purse in the first place. He was stalking them, so he was definitely close enough to do it. He returns the purse with all their money the day before, and when they find themselves alone in a pub or club the next night it seems perfectly safe to accept a drink from him. After all, he’s not a stranger now, is he?”
“I don’t remember any of the others having reported a stolen or lost purse.”
“No, but if they got it back quick enough there would be no need to report it. They probably wouldn’t even tell their husband. No sense owning up to losing something that’s already been returned.”
Quinn nodded. “You could be onto something there. They might cancel credit cards, though. Most people do that pretty quickly.”
“Yeah. We can check that out.”
They drove in silence for a while, the idea sinking in. The more he thought about it, the more Cooper liked it. If his theory was right and they could find out where Amanda went on Saturday night to meet her lover, they might find someone who saw her with Fraser Grant. That would at least confirm they were looking for the right woman, and who knows, they might get a lead on where Grant had been headed. It was something.
14
Taylor carried a takeaway coffee back into Eva’s room. After Andrew had left earlier, Eva had been taken down for her first biopsy since the transplant. It was a relatively painless procedure: under a local anaesthetic, Dr Graham inserted a probe into an intravenous line in her neck which went all the way down into her heart and took some tiny samples. These samples would then be evaluated to check for signs of rejection. Eva was now back in her room, with a nurse taking her temperature and other observations. The nurse was writing up her notes when she saw Taylor enter.
“You can’t bring that in here,” she said, staring over the top of her glasses at the coffee. Taylor took a last mouthful, throwing the cup into the bin outside the door before washing her hands at the sink. The nurse finished writing and left, eyeing Taylor as she went.
“None of them like me very much, do they?” she said to Eva, more as a statement than a question.
“Except Rob, he’s always pleased to see you.”
“That’s true.” She smiled. Rob was a male nurse, and no different to the rest of the male population in their adoration of Taylor. “How are you doing?”
“The nurse said everything’s normal.”
“Great,” said Taylor, drying her hands and taking a seat beside the bed.
Eva considered not telling anyone, pushing Andrew Fox’s news to the back of her mind forever, but there was no hiding from her best friend.
“What is it, Evie?”
She sat up in bed, breathed as deeply as she could, and told Taylor about Andrew, his missing wife, and the origin of her new heart.
“What’s all this got to
do with you?” asked Taylor.
Eva fidgeted with the frayed corner of her blanket. “Cellular memory. I don’t know, I think he thinks I can somehow use the heart to help find her. What are you doing?”
Taylor had taken out her phone. “I’m googling him. If he’s a journalist he should show up somewhere. Surely he’s written a story or two. Here we go — Andrew Fox, Sydney Times, no less.” Taylor quickly scanned the first article. “Sounds like a tosser to me.”
“Yeah, well, tosser or not, it’s kind of hard to ignore his news.”
“Be careful, Evie, it could be all bullshit. He could be just trying to trap you into giving him a story.” Taylor was still playing with her phone. Next thing she held it up to her ear. “Sydney Times, please,” Eva heard her ask. Then, when she’d been connected through to the paper, “I’m after one of your reporters, Andrew Fox. Do you know where I can reach him?”
The conversation continued for a few moments before Taylor left her phone number and both their names. She hung up and smiled at Eva.
“She’s going to call him and have him call me back. I left your name as well, so it shouldn’t be too long if he’s as desperate as you said.”
“What did you do that for?”
“You’re an easy target in here. I need to make sure he’s legit. He’s got you all worked up with this story. If he’s full of crap, there’s no need for you to worry.” The phone rang. “Shit, that was quick.” Taylor glanced at Eva before taking the call in the hallway.
As she waited, Eva’s fingers drifted lightly over the bandages on her chest. She hadn’t seen her scar yet. She could feel the length of it through the bandages, but it wasn’t the same as seeing it. Somehow, that would make it real.
One look at Taylor’s face when she came back into the room was all Eva needed to understand that Andrew Fox had been telling the truth. She really did have the heart of a killer.
“He gave me the number of his friend at RPA, the one who helped him trace the heart, so I can confirm his story. If it checks out then there’s not really much doubt.” Taylor sat on the side of the bed and took her hand. “Are you okay?”
Eva turned away. “It’s just a heart, Taylor. A pump. Nothing more.”
“But you have to be just a little bit freaked out by where it came from.”
“Well at least now I don’t feel so bad about someone having to die in order for me to live. He deserved to die for what he did to those women.”
Taylor nodded. “Fair point. But you know it’s not that straight-forward. You’re rattled by this, I could see it the moment I got here. How do you feel?”
“Are you my psychologist, now? I can feel my heart beating. That’s what I can feel. I can breathe properly for the first time in two years. It pumps blood around my body, and it does a much better job than the last one. That’s all I care about right now. That’s all I can afford to care about right now. I can’t think about this anymore. I won’t.” The persistent beep of the machines monitoring Eva’s heart rate quickened. She closed her eyes, trying to relax. The nurse from earlier appeared in the doorway and stood watching the monitor for a minute before backing away as it returned to normal. Eva picked up her notebook and started doodling, hoping her friend would give it a rest for now. Taylor had known her for too long though.
“Don’t shut me out, kiddo. Has the psychologist been back to see you since the transplant?”
“He was here this morning,” she conceded.
“What did he have to say?”
“I don’t know, he was asking me how I felt, telling me that I could expect to go through different emotions, partly because of all the anti-rejection medication, and partly because the operation was such a huge deal. Apparently post-operative depression isn’t uncommon. But I’m fine, honestly. I just want to get on with my life. I’ve been stuck in hospital for ages, and sick for too long before that. I want this part of my life to be over.”
“So you don’t have any problem with the fact that your heart came from a serial killer?”
“Jesus, Taylor, you make it sound like I’m going to become him, or something. It doesn’t work that way. My last heart was defective, but it didn’t define me. It didn’t dictate who I am, who I want to be. Neither does this one. I’m still the same person. I have to believe that. And as for Andrew Fox, I’m sorry that his wife is missing, but I can’t help him. Dealing with the transplant is hard enough without some stranger telling me I can see dead people.”
Taylor smiled. “I don’t think that’s quite what he meant.”
“Well cellular memory then, whatever. It’s bullshit, Tay. We decided that a long time ago.”
“Yes, we did. But I’m not talking about cellular memory. Look, Evie, this is something you’re going to have to deal with eventually. But you’re right. For now, let’s concentrate on getting you better.”
Eva managed a smile, appreciating the change of subject. They talked about the store, about Taylor’s latest dates, about everything and nothing. It helped, but it didn’t erase the growing fear, and it didn’t hide the new pain in her chest.
15
Quinn pulled into the driveway of the building housing Medlow and Bracks, the advertising firm that employed Amanda Fox. The security guard glanced at their badges, waving them through into the visitor’s parking area.
“Kate McKinley,” said Cooper when they reached the front desk. The receptionist placed a call and within a few minutes a young woman walked toward them, slender arm outstretched. She can’t be more than twenty-two or twenty-three, he thought as he shook her hand.
“Miss McKinley, I’m Detective Sergeant Cooper. We spoke on the phone. This is my partner, Detective Senior Constable Quinn.” He caught the brief smile on Quinn’s face when he said the word partner. Don’t get comfortable with it, kid.
“Yes, this is about Amanda you said? I’ll help in any way I can.” The words sounded hollow; Cooper was unsure whether she had any interest in helping find Amanda at all. Strange, they were supposed to be friends.
“You’re aware Amanda Fox has been missing for at least three days now. We’re trying to build up a picture of her life in the days and weeks prior to her disappearance. Anything you can tell us about her recent movements, her social habits, would be helpful.”
“Amanda and I went out together a few times. Well, really, it was more of a group thing. The other interns and I go for drinks on a fairly regular basis, and we invited Amanda once, to be polite. Before we knew it, she was joining us every Friday night.”
“I’ll need a list of names. Was she with you this last Friday night just gone?”
“No. She was going to, but she never showed. I don’t know why. Amanda doesn’t work Fridays so the last I spoke to her was on Thursday. She seemed fine then, looking forward to seeing Mickey.”
“Mickey?”
“Mickey McKinley, my brother. He hooks up with us occasionally, and he and Amanda seem to have hit it off. He’s more her age, you see.”
That’s what it is about this woman, thought Cooper. Even a couple of years older and you’re out of date already. The generation gap is widening faster than ever.
“Where can we find your brother?” asked Quinn.
“Like I told Amanda’s husband, she’s not with Mickey. I already checked.”
“Even so, we still need to talk to him.” Quinn got out his notebook and looked at her pointedly until she gave up the address and phone number.
“You gave Andrew Fox this information?” asked Cooper. That’s all we need, he thought. Cooper had no doubt that Andrew Fox would be investigating the disappearance himself. He was probably already on his way to the brother’s place.
“He was here a half hour ago, maybe less. Demanding information. It’s a bit late for that. Maybe if he paid more attention to his marriage he wouldn’t be in this mess now.”
Cooper considered filling her in on what was really going on, but it wouldn’t make any difference. This woman didn’t give a shi
t about her so-called friend. He knew the type, always stirring the pot for her own entertainment. Even Andrew Fox didn’t deserve this little cow working against him.
“Can you show us Amanda’s work space please?”
Kate led them to a desk in one corner of an open plan office. Cooper looked around while Quinn tried getting more information about Amanda’s social habits out of her colleague, as well as the list of regulars at the Friday night gatherings. Neither detective came up with anything useful, and they left to try to stop all-out war between Andrew Fox and Mickey McKinley.
16
Dr Graham knocked before entering Eva’s room, and Taylor excused herself to wait in the canteen down the hall. Eva liked her privacy when it came to the doctor’s visits.
After looking over her chart and performing the usual routine observations, Dr Graham pulled up a chair and sat next to Eva.
“We need to keep an eye on your blood sugar levels and your kidney function over the next couple of days, but so far things are going well. I’ve instructed the rehabilitation team to start with you first thing tomorrow. They’ll have you up and about in no time. It’s a good, strong heart you’ve got there now, Eva.”
“It’s a killer’s heart,” she replied, narrow eyes looking directly at him.
“What? Where is this coming from?”
“I know I’ve got the heart of that serial killer from the news. How could you do this to me, Dr G?”
She couldn’t be sure, but Eva thought she saw the doctor’s cheeks redden slightly before he turned away and walked to the end of the bed. He paused to place the chart back in its holder before he spoke.
“First of all, the donor process is anonymous. You don’t know anything, for sure. Second, when that man died and became a donor, no-one knew who he was. The doctors performing the organ harvest and the transplants certainly would not have known. And third, it makes no difference where your heart came from. It’s yours now, that’s the important thing. We talked about this before the transplant. What’s going on?”
The Dark Series Page 17