The Vanishing Girls

by Callie Browning

  “John just died.”

  “Who’s John?”

  He turned to Clifford and said, “Pick up Junior. We have to get to Illaro Court right now.”

  The next few days were unlike anything Eileen had ever seen. Burying a prime minister was like burying a regular person, except it wasn’t. You met with the dean of the cathedral where other prime ministers and governor generals were buried, instead of the pastor of a rickety little church sandwiched between a rum shop and a mechanic’s garage deep in the country. Flowers came from Queen Elizabeth II and prime ministers. The processional included the armed forces, government ministries and the deceased’s mother whom Eileen had to refer to as ‘Lady’ since her husband had been knighted.

  The whirlwind was a distraction during the day. Only at night when shadows came alive and the wind whistled through the leaves of the tamarind tree, rattling the fruit in their smooth brown shells, did the thoughts of the four dead women play on Eileen’s mind. Only then would fear come rushing back as she raced up the apartment stairs and slammed the door behind her, her mind on high alert as she went quickly through the rooms, ensuring she was truly alone. In the end, Eileen took to leaving the lights on all day so she wouldn't have to enter a dark apartment. She vowed to eat less to accommodate the increase in electricity she knew would follow.

  The following week, when the prime minister was safely interred, she went to Holden again, asking about the status of the commissioner’s investigation into the serial murderers. “Derricks was busy with the prime minister’s burial. He’s a fellow who lives for that kind of pomp and pageantry. But, he said he would get to it today."

  It never happened. Around 2:15 p.m. two prisoners jumped out of a van after their court date and escaped. The police commissioner declared the convicted killers to be armed and dangerous and launched an islandwide manhunt. Later, Clifford looked at Holden and Eileen as the three of them gathered around the radio listening to the evening news, cocked his head to the side and said, “I’m seeing a pattern. Makes me wonder what's gonna happen next week at 2:15.”

  * * *

  DONNA GREEN’S BODY WAS DELIVERED a few days later and it was all Holden could do not to blow out an exasperated breath as he surveyed Dr Thorpe’s handiwork. Donna’s hair was uncombed, her nails were dirty and there was dried blood on her fingertips. Holden comforted himself that Donna would be one of the last victims to cross Thorpe’s table, which meant he’d soon be able to stop covering the good doctor's tracks. Clipboard in hand, Holden started making notes.

  Eileen peered over Holden’s shoulder at the clipboard as she placed the tools they’d need on a tray. “Is it just me or are you taking a lot of notes these days?”

  “Keeps the mind sharp,” Holden replied, hoping that a vague answer would suffice. “Are you free this weekend? I was hoping to take you out for that date we had discussed.”

  Eileen blushed. “I’d love to.” But changing the subject wasn’t enough to distract her. “Why do you need to keep your mind sharp?”

  Holden sighed. “Well,” he began in a low voice. “Since you think the police are a little slow, I thought we could keep our own notes. You never know; they may come in handy.”

  “Hmm, you’re right.” She perked up and then inspected the woman’s grimy hand, her mouth puckering in disgust. “I guess it’s a good thing that Dr Thorpe hasn’t done a good job with the tidying up.”

  “Indeed,” mumbled Holden.

  “It’s definitely the same L-shaped cut, isn’t it?” Eileen said, jutting her chin at the victim as she tugged on her gloves.

  “Yes,” Holden frowned as he looked at the young woman’s neck. “The killer is awfully lucky to keep hitting the jugular all the time,” he said, pointing to the vein beneath the skin. “Maybe he’s a butcher or something, somebody who knows where to cut. But, what's odd is that a straight cut would do the same job.” He tapped his scalpel on the metal tray, the sound echoing like tiny cymbals in the cold room.

  He reached for a magnifying glass and peered closely at the girl’s fingers. “There’s pollen in the blood spatter on her hands.”

  “What are you thinking?” Eileen asked.

  Holden chewed his lower lip and stared at the wound as though he hoped the truth would crawl out of it. Finding pollen on these women was more jarring than Holden was willing to verbalize. Something in the back of his mind told him that it was more significant than they had initially realized. “She’s the second victim that we found pollen on.”

  “But where would pollen come from?” Eileen mused. “Sugar cane doesn’t have pollen, does it?”

  “It does actually, so the odds are it could come from the cane fields,” Holden said as he straightened up.

  Eileen frowned. Once again, they may have come up against a dead end.

  Chapter 23

  The Grand Plan

  Eileen’s anxiety rose as the week went on. With dangerous prisoners and a serial killer on the loose, she had switched from tea to coffee to help her stay awake and she cussed every day because of it. Bitter and acrid, the coffee tasted like burnt toast and she took to sweetening it with so much sugar that it tasted like burnt toast with marmalade. She was loath to have more conversations with Holden about falling asleep at work. Eileen didn’t want him to think that she was taking liberties with the situation just because they were dating.

  It was Friday morning and Eileen was looking forward to her date with Holden that weekend. Her feet were pulled up to her chest in a chair just outside her front door, absentmindedly flipping through the paper as she ate breakfast. Out of habit, she turned to the classified section and scoured the small blocky ads. She ran her finger up and down the columns, ignoring the wet ring that bloomed from the glass of juice she used as a paperweight. Finally, squeezed into the corner of page thirty-four was an ad seeking a cleaner with instructions to call a familiar phone number in the late afternoon: the Slasher's phone number. Her chest felt like it was on fire the way her heart started to beat. She ran inside the apartment, snatched up the receiver and spun the dial. Holden answered the phone on the second ring. “I just saw it,” he said when he realized it was Eileen.

  “We should call Derricks,” she said, excitedly.

  “I already tried calling him,” Holden told her. “He wasn’t home and his secretary said that he won’t be reachable for the next two days.”

  “Two days!” Eileen exclaimed.

  “I suspect Derricks is on some sort of sting operation to track down the escapees. He’s gone from Rock Hall to Bush Hall and can’t find the prisoners,” Holden said. “I’m sure finding this killer is important too, but the new prime minister has made finding those prisoners a top priority. I guess we’ll have to wait to see how we can proceed.”

  “I’ll reply to the ad.”

  “What?!”

  “I’ll call and arrange to meet the Slasher. You can follow me and we’ll catch him in the act.”

  “Eileen, this makes no sense. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

  “Do you think I like making up these girls? Painting foundation over stitches on their necks? What’s stopping it from being me or somebody else?”

  The tension on his end of the telephone was palpable. He always got quiet when he was uncomfortable, letting his brain go into overdrive as he calculated every angle.

  “Holden…”

  On the other end of the line, he hesitated. “Yes?”

  “I know you won’t let anything happen to me. But we have to do something.”

  He sighed. “Okay. You can call the number, but everything else we’ll do my way.”

  By the time she pulled into the car park at work, Eileen was regretting her decision to ask Holden to play Tonto to her Lone Ranger. When she pushed open the door to the building, Holden was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed as he watched her walk in.

  “I tried reaching Derricks again,” he said without preamble. His hunched shoulders told her that the commissioner was st
ill out of office.

  Eileen sighed. “It won’t be that bad. I’ll just go and see who turns up for the meeting. Then we’ll leave and call the police. You’ll be nearby so everything will be fine.”

  His eyes were pained as he stood and asked, “Do you really want to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright then,” Holden pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Then let’s move up our date to tonight.”

  “Why?”

  He scratched his chin, his reluctance clear in the way he said, “So that we can leave tomorrow open for us to see who turns up for the meeting. The ad says to call after 5 p.m.,” Holden reminded her. “As soon as we do that, we’ll lock up and go out.”

  A smile touched Eileen’s lips. “That sounds fantastic.”

  He leaned over and kissed her then, a soft and sweet press of his lips against hers, heavy with promise for the night ahead.

  * * *

  NEVER BEFORE HAD ONE DAY DRAGGED ON as long as that day did. Every time the parliament building’s clock tower gonged, Holden's heart accelerated to the point where he feared it would disconnect from its arteries and fall out of his chest. He'd been in high-pressure situations before, but never to the point where every single thing grated on his nerves and made his temples pound.

  Across from Holden's desk, Eileen was working as though she hadn’t a care in the world. She took calls, crafted schedules, made wreaths and generally appeared in good spirits. On the surface all was well, but Holden had come to realize that Eileen wasn’t one to broadcast her discomfort. He suspected that she had purposely detached herself from the reality, trying her best not to become overwhelmed by the prospect of their plans. Clifford sauntered in the way he normally did, spouting his wacky theories and unfounded superstitions with unfettered glee. Today, he was particularly concerned about the possibility of a vast network of devices linked by wireless frequencies that communicated with each other at lightning speeds. Holden rolled his eyes. As usual, Eileen found Clifford’s manic ravings charming, her profound delight evident in the tears that ran down her face. Since Eileen’s arrival, Holden had been able to find humour in most of Clifford’s inane babbling, but on days when he was stressed, his enthusiasm waned. And today, Holden’s enthusiasm was at an all-time low.

  When the clock finally struck five, Holden’s mouth grew dry and his palms grew clammy, almost as though his saliva had gone down the wrong tube and ended up in his hands. Eileen cast him a quizzical look, but he said nothing as he picked up the phone and dialled the number. When it rang, Holden nodded at her, signalling that she could pick up her phone. He placed his hand over the receiver, worried that the killer would hear his anxious breathing. As the line kept ringing, it dawned on Holden that Eileen might be right. The only reason that the killer had carried on like normal, operating out in the open was that he wasn’t fearful. The Slasher assumed his plan was ironclad. Holden gritted his teeth; he’d see to it that the Slasher’s incarceration was iron clad too.

  “Hello?” said a low voice.

  “Hello,” replied Eileen cheerfully. “I’m calling about the job.”

  “Very good, dear. What’s your name?”

  “It’s Lisa.”

  “You sound very nice, Lisa. Pleasant and young. I’m looking for someone between sixteen and thirty and…” A car horn blared, and a metallic rattling drowned out the man’s voice for a moment.

  “Yes. I’m within that age range, but I’m so sorry, I barely heard you over the background noise. Do you mind speaking up?”

  “Oh yes, my apologies. I was saying you should come to meet me at —”

  “Boss, I thought you and Eileen was going out tonight,” said Clifford as he ambled into the office and slammed the door.

  Holden and Eileen swung around, their eyes wide as they pressed their fingers to their lips. Had the killer heard Clifford?

  Silence hung in the air. Holden held his breath and squeezed the receiver as he strained to hear something, anything, but the killer didn’t say another word before he ended the call.

  Chapter 24

  The Night that Changed Everything

  Their attempt to catch the Slasher had been a disaster. Eileen was furious that they may have squandered their only chance to catch him, but Holden pointed out that a serial killer would be able to resist the compulsion to murder. All they could do was bide their time until The Slasher struck again. Eileen reflected that it was probably a good thing that they’d moved their dinner to that night; at least the day would end on a high note.

  Holden hadn’t said where they were going, but Eileen firmly believed that it was safer to be overdressed than underdressed. She chose a snug gold dress with a scooped back and flounced sleeves that her body filled out with reckless abandon and paired it with black heels and gold accessories on her wrists and fingers.

  She finished off the look with hooped earrings and bangles before she picked up the phone to find out if he was ready. She’d only spun the rotary dial once when she heard a knock on the door. Peering through the wooden window, she was surprised to see Holden standing in the verandah clad in a smart silk shirt and formal slacks.

  “I was just calling you,” she laughed in surprise as she opened the door. “Did Clifford bring you?”

  Holden grinned like a schoolboy with a secret. “I drove.”

  Eileen tried to contain her confusion, but couldn’t. “The hearse?”

  Holden held back a smile as he cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not a savage, Eileen. There’s no way I could take a beautiful lady out for a night on the town and ask her to pick me up.” He held up a narrow car key on a silver ring and shook it until it tinkled like a cat’s bell in the night air.

  “You got a car?!” Eileen squealed as she stepped onto the verandah to look down. There, parked next to hers, was a sleek Hyundai Stellar Prima.

  “I ordered it a few days ago and they delivered it this evening. Things have picked up quite a bit at the mortuary, thanks to you. I figured the least I can do is treat you like a queen.”

  His eyes twinkled as he held out his arm. “Are you ready to go?”

  Eileen felt like she was floating on a cloud as Holden escorted her to the car. Eileen sank into the buttery soft seat and savoured the feeling that coursed through her as Holden's eyes raked across her bare legs, before he bit his lip and started the car.

  They had reservations at a posh restaurant at the most exclusive hotel on the island and ordered a meal of delicious crab cakes, sinfully creamy pasta and a fantastic bottle of white wine. Romantic piano music drifted across the dance floor as soft candlelight flickered at the tables around them. For a long while after they’d eaten, they looked into each other’s eyes and held hands, thoughts of their harrowing day forgotten as they surrendered to the rhythm of the night.

  “I’m not a ballet major like you, but if you’d like to dance, I’d be more than happy to take you for a whirl.”

  Goosebumps rose on her skin as he rested his hand on the small of her bare back and led her onto the dance floor. She leaned her head against his chest as they slow danced, wishing she could melt into him right then and there.

  "You're quite good...as I knew you would be."

  Eileen grinned. "One of my many hidden talents."

  Holden's looked into her eyes with longing. “I've no doubt. How long did you study ballet?”

  “About five years.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  She shrugged. “I bounced from one hobby to another for years until I started painting. My life felt complete then, like I could finally express myself.”

  "Do you express all of yourself or just the parts you don't want anyone else to see?"

  "What do you mean?"

  His didn’t break eye contact as he said, ”I mean that I saw the way you stepped in front of that painting. There's a reason you didn't want me to see it. You're hiding something."

  Her mouth grew dry and her feet felt leaden as she stumbled on his shoe
s. "It's not that simple.”

  “It’s not that hard either.” His face was pensive as he asked, “Will you ever tell me what you’re keeping from me?”

  With guarded eyes, she glanced up at him. “Yes. But, do I have to tell you right this instant?”

  He quieted, his dark gaze penetrating as he responded. “Not now, but soon. I want you to be able to say every and anything that comes to your mind.”

  "Like Clifford?" she asked teasingly.

  “Well…yes." His smile waned. “It’s been months and I don’t even know your last name.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “This island is small and you’ve proven that you can search out any information you want. Why haven’t you done that with me?”

  “Because I want the truth to come from these lips,” Holden said, kissing them lightly. “Because I want to have no secrets and only healthy boundaries with you. I’m not looking for someone to warm my bed, Eileen. I’m looking for a life partner, a woman who can uplift me, a true better half. A woman that I can protect, even if she is a badass.”

  Eileen wasn't quick to be impressed with words; they took little effort and weren't always followed by concrete actions. But Holden's words were pure and burrowed deep. She was comfortable around him; he was the only person who didn’t find her ideas too outrageous, who didn’t say her painting was a waste of time and money.

  Holden was encouraging and gave her free reign to try things. He’d helped to empower her, perhaps without realizing it. She’d pushed herself to limits she’d never known she had. Handling large sums of money, developing an eye for detail and facing her fears about death had all allowed her to grow by leaps and bounds in just a few months. Before, she’d hidden behind a brash attitude, overcompensating for what she lacked. Now, the idea of failure was almost laughable.

  The two of them were so different that for a while she had wondered what it was that attracted her to him. Finally, she knew: their love for art, personal development and a good joke, even if sometimes Holden tried to pretend he wasn't amused. Their appreciation for books, even though their choices of genres diverged. But above all else, their respect for the truth was the lynchpin of their relationship. Eileen may have been a bit more colourful with her expressions, but Holden never sugar-coated anything either, no matter how discomfiting. The world was full of people who loved the safety net of lies, as though they could weave a new reality with nothing more than saliva and artful imagination.