‘But you wanted to do those photos, deep down, I know you did. You were always so uptight, that was your problem, so busy keeping up with the boys you were afraid to let your feminine side shine. I posed Linda for you, Stevie. It was you I was thinking about. I even took the risk of coming back to take away the props, just so it would be perfect for you. Thought it might strike a chord—and it did, didn’t it? That’s exactly how I tried to get you to pose for me, remember?’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Again, this all boils down to you.’
Stevie felt the tears well. She struggled against her bonds.
‘Then of course there was Birkby and Sparrow’s book—that fucking journalist never let up, the stupid cow. I saw her plotting and planning with the albino. I knew what they were up to. I followed her from the cafe and grabbed her in the back car park. The chloroform knocked her out before she even blinked.’
‘Oh yeah, the chloroform—where did you get it?’
‘There’s this vet I know. We did a swap, his chloroform for my ice—another little business of mine, appreciated by Thrummel too, by the way. The vet decided he needed a bit more variety in his life—you can only go so far with animal meds. What a dickhead, eh?’ Tye shook his head. ‘There’s just no accounting for taste.’
‘Why did you go to all the trouble of getting Michelle into the store? That was some kind of risk wasn’t it?’
‘Hey, why do they climb Everest? And of course there was the special bonus of putting your precious Monty in the frame for it. You gotta believe me, I didn’t get much pleasure in killing her, but I had to kill someone else, anyway. Bronze, silver, gold—get it?’ He drew in a breath and let it out slowly through thin, smiling lips. ‘Kinda fun really. I might not have enjoyed killing the others, but I know I’m going to enjoy you, long and slow. You’ll be my exception to the rule: you get the gold medal, baby.’
Stevie’s heart kick started with a jolt and she jerked her chin from his hand. ‘But Sparrow survived.’
‘So what? I learned about the safe while the bitch was begging for her life. You and Sparrow caught my boys by surprise. Bad luck the paddy wagon turned up before they could finish him off.’
‘He knows the truth.’
‘Without the documents, what can he prove? The woman was the brains behind the book. People might have believed her allegations, but who’d believe a ranting, white-faced idiot like Sparrow? Hell, even Baggly was confident enough to keep him on as a cleaner.’ He smiled. He was enjoying himself. ‘Any more questions? Any more delaying tactics? You know I have all the answers, Miz Super Cop.’
He was onto her, but still she racked her brains for more questions. Last time she’d seen Monty, he was planning on visiting Peter Sbresni. She took a punt. ‘What about Sbresni? Was he just a fall guy or is he in on it too?’
‘Sbresni knows nothing about me; he was following Baggly’s orders, and Baggly’s so fucking terrified of what I’ve got over him, he wouldn’t dare breathe a word.’
She didn’t know what else to say, she only knew that she had to keep stalling him. She grasped at one last straw. ‘You act like you have a conscience, Tye, that you didn’t really want to kill anyone. Where does Izzy come into this, how will it feel for the rest of your life to know that you’ve killed the mother of your child?’
She closed her eyes against the venom in his face. Oh God, why did she have to bring up Izzy?
‘Bitch! What do you take me for, a complete moron?’
His blow cracked her head back into the wall. She felt a slash of heat where the stitches burst open and a thick tide of blood streamed down the back of her neck.
Tye pushed himself up from the floor and paced. ‘I’ve spent the last ten minutes answering your questions. Now it’s time you answered mine.’
She stared back at him blankly. For several seconds he regarded her in angry silence. Then his face began to relax and, to her surprise, his laughter started bouncing back at her from the walls of the cavernous room.
‘You have no idea what’s so funny, do you?’ he said, recovering his breath. ‘The super fucking detective doesn’t have a bloody clue. Christ.’
Stevie swallowed and shook her head.
‘Mumps.’
He’d lost her. ‘What, what are you talking about?’
‘Shooting blanks. It probably would’ve come out eventually if you’d ever given me a chance. Now don’t tell me in your heart of hearts you never questioned your child’s paternity. Hell, your mother sure knows Izzy’s not mine; I’ve seen it in her eyes often enough—Jesus, the kid doesn’t even look like me!’
She looked at him, shocked.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean she never breathed a word? Maybe she thought you deserved to be a dupe, you can be a prickly little bitch. Funny though, I never took you for the screwing around type. It was Monty, wasn’t it? It had to be. You always did have a thing for him. It made framing him all the more sweet, made the killing of Michelle that bit easier.’
No. This had to be another of his lies. She wanted it to be true though. Her throat was too dry for words.
She struggled to fathom the implications of what he was saying. When she’d discovered she was pregnant, she had no doubt it was from the rape. The violence had left an indelible impression on her mind of powerlessness and self-hatred. The encounter with Monty had been so brief, a stupid drunken impulse in response to his tenderness, a small measure of unexpected comfort at the end of that ghastly week with Tye.
Tye sighed and shook his head. ‘I never understood how you could be so blind, you were so convinced the kid was mine. Course I didn’t mind.’
‘Why? So you could keep the link with me?’ she finally managed to croak.
‘I knew you were putty in my hands so long as Izzy was in the equation.’
A sob pressed against the back of her throat, she couldn’t let it escape. No tears. But her internal battle proved pointless when she realised that for once in his life, Tye might be telling her the truth.
She’d read of cases in which extreme fear caused physical blindness. Could the same be said about mental blindness? Perhaps deep down she’d known all along that Monty was Izzy’s father. Had she suppressed the knowledge out of fear of losing him, thinking that he’d only ever regarded her as a little sister? She was convinced he’d been repulsed and ashamed of their brief intimacy. Even during their fleeting but passionate lovemaking, she’d known it was the alcohol running things, and that it was Michelle he’d had in his mind.
‘Never mind, babe, it’s over now. Time to put an end to your misery,’ Tye whispered in her ear. ‘Only I think this time our impotent killer’s going to get lucky. This’ll baffle your profiler friend, eh?’ He rubbed his bulging groin and grinned. ‘But first, precautions have to be taken.’
Stevie watched in horror as he sauntered to the other end of the room, turned his back and started to rummage among the junk on the table. The noise from the generator made it hard to interpret the sound of his movements, but she could imagine the grinding of tablets, the clinking of a glass and the trickle of liquid. When he turned once more to face her, he was holding out a glass of orange juice.
No! She knew what was coming next. She felt like she had always known.
He held the glass up for her to see the liquid turning blue. ‘You’re going to enjoy this, babe,’ he said.
With her ankles and hands bound, all she could do was roll onto her stomach and wriggle like an inchworm, anything to stop him from forcing her to drink the drugged juice. He gripped her shoulders and flipped her onto her back and she found herself cradled in his arms like a baby, like a lover.
She closed her lips and clamped her jaw, but he pinched her nostrils until her limbs tingled and her chest felt as if it would burst. The glass clunked against her teeth, her lips parted for air, and in a reflex action she gulped the mixture down.
When he let go she shrank into herself and curled like a leaf onto the gritty concrete floor. She watched him return
to the table through blurred eyes.
She clenched her jaw. She couldn’t let him win.
She forced herself to think. It was Rohypnol, the dye confirmed that. It could start taking effect as early as fifteen minutes after ingestion, but might take longer to work its way through her fettuccine dinner. Her mind raced as she recalled the symptoms: impaired memory, dizziness, confusion, lack of inhibition, sexual compliance—there had to be more.
Think Stevie, think. Christ, you might only have fifteen minutes!
Tye glanced over his shoulder and smiled before turning back to the boxes on the table.
Stevie scanned the room for anything she might use to cut her bindings. Her eyes came to rest on the nearest metal cradle. If she could get closer, maybe she could use one of the edges to saw through the duct tape. But that glimmer of hope soon shattered when she realised the jagged hunk of metal was further away than it looked. She’d never be able to reach it without Tye seeing her.
He extracted the dark wetsuit from the box and laid it on the table between some cans of gold spray paint. The dull metallic gleam of a gun next to the paint cans caught her attention. It looked like the Glock Barry had given her for the re-enactment. Tye must have taken it from her bag. If she could find a way of getting to the gun ...
A pleasant floating feeling began to overtake her senses, she felt herself gently rocked, like a lilo on a calm sea. Thoughts of the gun faded into the back of her mind.
A sudden dry retch brought her back. It broke through the soporific rhythm of the drug and gave her scattered senses one last chance to regroup. Then an idea filtered through the fog of her mind; an idea that might even save her life. Nausea. That was it. Another side effect of the drug was nausea.
Drawing in a deep breath, she willed the filthy odour of the generator deep into her stomach, then begged her body to expel it. She gagged again, turned her head to the side and opened her mouth. Nothing happened. Perhaps she shouldn’t have suppressed the urge before. Tye turned to look at her and she pulled her head back with a jerk, she couldn’t let him see what she was trying to do. The sudden movement of her head caused her ponytail to flick against her face. Up floated another idea.
She jerked her head again, this time catching the ponytail between her teeth. She forced the tickling hairs to the back of her throat and gagged.
Again only a dry retch.
Tye had his back to her. He’d taken off his clothes and was busy easing himself into the wetsuit when her body finally obeyed her command. With several heaves she puked out the fettuccine and, she hoped, most of the Rohypnol. But she couldn’t let him see the mess. She wriggled as far away from it as she dared, nudging a bit of filthy tarpaulin across to hide it from sight, and prayed the stink of the generator would mask the acid smell.
Now she had to convince him the drug was still coursing through her system. She attempted to conjure up the pleasant floating sensation she’d experienced before she’d vomited. Returning to the lilo she willed back the sleepy feeling. On the verge of sleep, her limbs felt blissfully heavy. A moan escaped her lips, followed by a deep sigh.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tye pull the diver’s hood over his head. Then he manipulated his erect penis through a hole in his wetsuit so it lay flat against his belly. Under any other circumstances the image would have been ridiculous.
Block the fear.
Lack of inhibitions, sexual compliance. She giggled. The giggle became a laugh. He smiled and moved towards her with a pair of scissors in his hand. She concentrated on making her breathing slow and even.
He cut through the bindings on her ankles and eased her legs apart. Not yet, she cautioned, not yet. She must wait.
He leaned forward, trying to press his lips to hers, but she turned her head to the side. He mustn’t taste the vomit. She attempted to distract him with a sensuous moan.
‘C’mon, babe,’ Tye said. ‘You’re going to love this. Don’t be shy.’
Another sleepy giggle.
He positioned himself at her feet and slipped off her trainers and socks. ‘I’m going to make you look real pretty.’ He picked up a can of spray paint and shook it. The ball inside the can rattled, then her toes spasmed as a chill wave washed over the top of her foot. Her nose and mouth stung with the fumes of fresh paint.
‘Just wanted you to get an idea of the final effect, seeing as you won’t be around to see it.’ He lifted her foot to show her. She smiled inanely while her heart felt ready to explode with fear. When he let her foot go it fell to the ground with a thud as if it really was weighted with gold.
‘But where to put the end product?’ he mused. ‘Monty’s car perhaps? Now there’s an idea. I’ll just give you back to him, all pretty and posed—a pretty picture for him to dwell on while he rots in jail.’
Through slit eyes she saw him pick up the scissors and move to the outer seam of her jeans.
Now!
Her double-barrelled kick caught him under the chin, knocking him onto his back. He hit the concrete hard. ‘You bitch! You fucking bitch!’
She sprang towards the table, turned her back to it and seized the gun between her bound hands. Tye was on his feet and about to lunge when the pull of the slide and the sound of the chambered bullet stopped him in his tracks.
With her back to him and twisting her neck around as far as she could go, she knew the only chance she had of getting away was to kill or disable him now. But the swaying of her body told her that despite her efforts, she’d still absorbed some of the drug. The bullet could fly anywhere.
She couldn’t think rationally.
In the middle of debating the pros and cons of recklessly letting the shot fly, she became aware of feet clanging down metal stairs. Then Monty was bellowing her name and pounding on the door.
‘In here!’ she called, the feeling of giddy relief now compounding her dizziness. ‘Open the door and let him in,’ she commanded Tye.
He was frozen on the spot several metres away from her. He looked from Stevie to the door, shook his head and smiled, in control again.
The hammering on the door stopped.
Cramping pains shot up her neck as her body reacted to its twisted position. To unbolt and unlock the door she’d have to drop the gun and she doubted her reactions would be quick enough to coordinate both movements. Keeping the gun on Tye as best she could, she edged herself closer to the door.
‘I’m in here, Mont, but I can’t open the door!’
With a heavy thump and a curse the door bowed but the lock held.
Tye dived towards her, and in the same moment a hollow banging sound from the floor made the spotlight above her shudder, the door vibrate.
Stevie fired. The bullet cracked into the far wall and ricocheted around the room like a slammed squash ball. She closed her eyes, waiting to be hit by the bullet, the impact of Tye’s body or both.
But when she opened her eyes again, he was gone.
26
Many sociopaths will study psychology books and become skilful imitators. One example is Australia’s notorious multiple murderer, Tye Davis, the exclusive subject of this study.
De Vakey, To Catch a Killer
Monty cut through her bindings with the discarded scissors and passed a hand across her face as if needing reassurance she was still alive. Oblivious to the blood dripping from the back of her head he attempted to draw her to him.
She held him back with straightened arms; it was all she could think of to keep them both in the here and now.
He came to his senses and sprang to his feet. ‘Where the hell’s he gone?’
‘A trapdoor, here.’ Stevie pointed to the open wooden lid in the floor in front of them.
‘For Christ’s sake.’ He began to descend the rusty metal ladder, turning when she tried to follow to scowl at her, ‘You’re not coming. Go wait out the front for back-up. They’ll be here any minute.’
Stevie’s body contradicted her expression of stubborn defiance, forcing her to tur
n her back on him and heave again. It was like the opening of a floodgate she could no longer control. When it was over finished she whirled back to the open trapdoor in time to hear the fading ring of Monty’s footsteps on the metal rungs, a soft thump, then silence.
She sat on the edge of the hole for a moment, glancing around the ghastly room with her legs dangling. She found her eyes drawn to the misted silhouettes on the floor and a shiver rippled up her spine.
‘Bugger this for a joke,’ she said aloud. Feeling for the top rung with her foot, she eased her way into the hole.
The fishy odour that rose to meet her as she reached river level made her stomach lurch. Holding her nausea back by willpower alone, she stepped off the last rung and crawled through a short tunnel until she came to a wooden flap not much bigger than a doggie door. Once through this she found herself on a small sandy ledge about three metres above the sloshing river. The scrabble of frantic movements from the bank above made her look up into the wet night.
The rain that had started as a misty drizzle earlier in the evening had turned into a downpour. While the cold on her face served to drive away some of her drug-induced fuzziness, the rain made for poor visibility. She narrowed her eyes and tried to see through the wind and lashing rain, but all she could make out was the looming mass of the riverbank above her. With hands outstretched, she blindly groped against its muddy face for fistfuls of grass. The damp of the earth through the knees of her jeans and the sting of rain on her face caused a sudden wave of euphoria. A surge of heart-thumping adrenaline washed away more of the fuzziness in her head and the churning of her gut. She was alive. Unbelievably alive.
At the top of the bank she caught a glimpse of Tye running across the weedy plot between the riverbank and the power station. Dressed in his black wetsuit all she could make out was the pale backward and forward motion of his pumping hands and feet. The blurred outline following some distance behind had to be Monty.
All at once, several beams of light pricked the darkness. The sound of sliding tyres on mud broke through the noise of the rain and she saw Tye veer to the right almost into the path of a braking police car. A second sharp turn and he was face to face with another. Outflanked, there was only one way left for him to go and that was ahead.
An Easeful Death Page 25