by Fiona Tarr
‘I’m sorry Detective...’ she waited.
‘Cunningham and this is Detective Williams’
‘I’m sorry Detectives, but the Senator is leaving for Canberra tonight. He has a lot to catch up on before the Parliament meets again before Easter.’
‘We have three missing women and the prime suspect has a reference signed by said Senator, so unless you want me to come back with a warrant, at least ten Federal Police officers for a full search, followed closely by the press, I suggest you let the Senator decide how busy he really is.’ Jack had leant in close so only he, Jenny, who swayed forward to listen and the secretary could hear.
The woman’s eyes positively bulged, but she got up so quickly that Jack had to jump back out of her way.
She knocked, entered and then closed the door. Moments later, the door opened wide and the secretary showed them in.
‘Detectives. What can I do for you?’ The MP was packing his briefcase with a wad of files, his laptop sat open on the desk. He pushed it closed.
‘You signed this reference?’ Jack held out his hand. Jenny placed the reference in his palm and he passed it to the Senator.
The Senator looked closely, taking his time to decide exactly how to answer the question. ‘It appears to be my signature.’
Jack smiled. ‘Spoken like a politician, sir.’ Jenny passed the next document to Jack’s waiting hand.
‘And this, appears to be a fake ordination certificate.’ The Senator took the document, handed back the first and appeared to study it in earnest.
‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know.’ He handed the paperwork back.
‘I’m going to be perfectly blunt Senator. This man, this fake member of the Catholic church is our lead suspect in the murder of two young girls, the kidnapping of at least five more and now a PI, who was working on the case.’
The Senator picked up his laptop, disconnected the power and put it in his briefcase. ‘I’m terribly sorry Detective but I fail to see what any of that has to do with me.’
‘You recommended him to his current employer. You must know him.’
‘I do favours for the sons of friends all the time.’
‘So this man, O’Brien, is the son of a friend?’ Jack pushed.
‘I didn’t say that. I don’t recall signing that reference, so I believe...’ the Senator considered his words carefully, ‘it could have been a favour, for a friend.’
‘You signed a reference for someone you don’t even know?’ Jack slapped his hand down on the Senator’s desk. ‘If this man is our killer, our kidnapper and you gave him a job, with vulnerable children, your career will be finished. Unless your memory suddenly becomes clearer.’
‘Don’t threaten me Detective.’
‘Don’t stone-wall me Senator.’
‘Senator.’ Jenny moved forward, making eye contact with Jack, hoping he’d let her intervene. He was getting nowhere with his macho aggression, the frustration evident in his twitching jaw. Her partner nodded. ‘If we were to ensure your involvement remain between us, maybe you could help us find this man?’
The Senator was silent a long time. ‘I need more than two detectives to give me amnesty Miss.’
‘Detective,’ she corrected. ‘What you’re asking for, indicates you are more involved in this than you have led us to believe.’ Jenny leant forward as the Senator took a seat, pushing his briefcase to the side.
‘Look, I don’t know the man, not well. I was asked to write a reference, as I said, by a friend. Nothing more.’
‘If that is the case, you have our word we won’t expose your name in our reports. You’ll be an informant.’ Jack offered and Jenny nodded. ‘This man abuses young women Senator. Your friend might be involved but at the very least, he is responsible for putting a predator into a school.’
The MP sighed and looked from Jack to Jenny before finally speaking. ‘Judge McDonald. It was a favour, for him.’
****
Max took the key the Principal had given him and opened the church doors. They creaked loudly as he pushed them back, the sound eerie in the darkness. Max shivered, winter was only a month away and the night was cold, dew settling on the grass. He edged in closer. He used his torch to find the light switches and flicked them on, one at a time. The statue above the altar took him by surprise, the light shining above and below, illuminating the Virgin Mary’s face, making it look somewhat ghostly. He exhaled long and slow.
Max moved up the altar steps, ignoring Catholic convention. The man wasn’t even a real clergyman so he had no issue rummaging through the bastard’s drawers, cupboards, under the pulpit, wherever he thought there might be evidence.
He moved out into the vestibule, a floodlight shone above, revealing the bell that hung in the tower. Shadows were cast from multiple directions; the effect almost beautiful. Max shook himself to focus. He caught sight of the doors at the back of the entrance. The lock was new, he pulled it, but it was clicked shut. He tried the keys the Principal had given him. The first were a bunch of only two, for the Chaplain’s office. The second bunch was supposed to be for the church, but he tried them all, one by one. The lock rattled, even the keys that fitted, didn’t open it.
Max considered his options. He could find bolt cutters, but that wasn’t exactly in the brief. He’d been given keys by the Principal, which meant he had permission to search anywhere those keys fit, but he didn’t have a key to this lock.
He decided that searching the Chaplain’s office might yield the key he was looking for. He reached inside the church, turned off the lights and pulled the door closed. He didn’t bother to lock it.
****
‘He’s gone.’ Gemma whispered.
‘Why didn’t he come down?’ Liz asked. ‘Does he come at night often?’
‘No, not unless, unless he brings friends.’
‘We should be okay to drink the water then, right?’ Liz was thirsty, having not had anything to drink since breakfast. She wondered how Gemma had managed it for these past few weeks, only drinking at night, only a little so she didn’t sleep too long.
‘Yes, drink some of the water he left now.’ Liz heard Gemma pick up her own water bottle. There was a stack of them within arm’s reach. All had the twist-lock broken, all were drugged.
Liz unscrewed the top and drank deeply. ‘Not too much. You’ll pass out in seconds.’ Gemma warned. Liz stopped herself, holding the last mouthful in her mouth for a long time, hoping to slowly let it slide down her throat.
The sound of the church doors opening, the lock being jiggled, the door to the basement opening sent a shiver down Liz’s spine.
‘He’s coming back!’ Gemma hissed.
Liz pushed her body to the side, trying to make herself invisible in case he turned on a light, or brought a torch. Memories flooded her, overwhelmed her and she stifled a whimper. She needed to be calm. She needed to be strong, for Gemma, for Belinda, but the sound of the door handle, the torch in the darkness. She was that young woman, trapped in her own bedroom, under so much weight she thought she might suffocate. The smell of stale alcohol filled her senses, from the depth of long buried memories. It’s not real. It’s not happening. Stay calm. Don’t scream.
The light flashed onto her face, then on to Gemma who sat wrapped in a filthy blanket in the corner. Then on to Belinda, who had only woken for a few minutes, to drink more water and leave reality for the world of dreams, dreams that protected her from this man.
‘What a shame I don’t have time to get to know you better.’ The Chaplain moved close and Liz resisted the urge to pull away as he stroked her face.
‘You couldn’t handle me little man.’ The strength of her voice surprised her. The slap came from the darkness. ‘That’s right, beat me while I’m tied up.’ Liz held her bound wrists in the air in front of her. ‘Untie me, then try that again you arsehole,’ she taunted.
He pushed her down hard, his knee in her chest, her hands pinned low under his leg. ‘I really wish I had more time
to enjoy you. I think you’d be a lot of fun. This one over here, she knows how to put up a fight.’
‘Leave her alone you filthy prick.’ Gemma’s words were slurring, the drugged water beginning to take effect.
‘Once you’re asleep, I’ll pick up my things, cut your throats and head to my next job.’
‘Talkative today aren’t we? I’d begun to think you were mute or something.’ Liz could feel her consciousness slipping away. The weight on her chest moved, the sound of a zipper reached her ears. The weigh on her chest was suddenly too heavy to breathe. The room was spinning. No, it was something else that was stopping her from breathing.
‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouthful slut?’
30
Max pulled all the drawers out of O’Brien’s desk, not bothering to be careful in his search. ‘Where are the keys?’ The last drawer was empty. He lifted it upside down and checked the bottom, growling with frustration at the plain, wood timber beneath. Nothing, no keys, no photos, no notes, no items out of place. Nothing, nothing useful in pinning the missing girls on O’Brien or helping Max find where he was holding them.
Max was worried now. If the guy skipped out of town, they’d never find the girls. They could be locked up and die of starvation before they were found, that’s if he left them alive. He forced his panic down. He hadn’t searched the locked room yet.
‘Bugger it.’ He pulled his lock pick set out of his inside jacket pocket and headed back to the church at a jog. As he approached, he saw the church lights were back on. He reached for his gun instinctively, but it wasn’t there. ‘Damn.’
He pulled out his phone, Jack answered on the second ring. ‘Bring the cavalry mate. I think our man is back in the church.’
‘I’m on my way already Max. Caught a break. The basement of the church is where he’s holding them.’
‘How the f... It doesn’t matter. I was just heading there to unlock the place. I’ll get the prick.’
‘Be careful Max. You’re not armed.’
‘Tell me about it. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve still.’ Max hung up, put the phone in his pocket and pulled out his flash light. It wasn’t Police issue, it was only pocket sized, but it was the only weapon he had. It would have to do the job.
Max moved inside the vestibule. The door that had been locked earlier was wide open. No lights shone from below. A good thing Max thought as he moved into the darkness, his flashlight in his hand but switched off.
****
Jack looked at Jenny as the line went dead and he clicked the hands free off. ‘I should have pushed McDonald harder. We are going to be too late to help Max. I hope Liz is alright.’
‘We pushed the Judge as hard as we could Jack. It wasn’t until you threatened him with murder charges he decided to save his own neck. Liz is a tough cookie Jack. She’ll be good.’
‘This whole mess is dirty as. Call the hospital and get an update on Jones. I want this sewn up when we get this guy. It’s too early for a warrant for Judge McDonald, but I’ll get the bastard.’ Jack drove up the centre island on Anzac Highway, barely squeezing past a truck before slipping back into the fast lane in peak hour traffic.
Jenny nodded and pulled out her phone, dialling the hospital before plugging her ear with her finger and trying to talk over the sirens and lights Jack had blaring.
‘Jones, came in unconscious. Has a Police officer watching him.’ A few moments of nothing and Jack risked a quick glance at Jenny, who shrugged. The car bounced up the island again and Jenny grabbed the handle above the window to right herself.
‘Yep, that’s him.’ She looked at Jack as she spoke, his eyes searching for answers. ‘Okay, thanks.’ Jenny put the phone back in her pocket as they pulled through a red light onto Brighton Road. Finally, the traffic was starting to thin out, but Jack wasn’t taking any chances. He took the first right after Jetty Road and headed for the Esplanade, making speed on the smaller, less crowded road.
‘Not awake yet.’ Jenny answered Jack’s unasked question as they moved down the centre line on the Esplanade.
‘Shit. I hope Max nails him.’
‘Without a gun!’ Jenny looked dubious.
‘You saw the guy. He’s scrawny. Max’s got this.’
Jenny didn’t say anything. Jack was focussed on the traffic, weaving around slow cars, squeezing between others that pulled over on hearing the sirens and seeing the lights.
****
Max heard a girl’s voice. It wasn’t Liz but the desperation made him move faster, with less caution. It was a mistake. Without being able to see what he was doing, for fear of alerting O’Brien, he was descending the stairs, literally blind. His leather shoe slipped off the rounded, well-worn stone steps and he lost his footing, falling the remaining distance on his backside, one step after the other.
He jumped to his feet. The stealth was gone. He pushed the button on his flashlight, whizzing the beam around trying to get his bearings. He saw Gemma, shivering half naked, half under a blanket, crouching in the corner. She looked like she was about to pass out, but her hand rose limply, pointing to her left.
Max’s flashlight moved quickly, finding its target. O’Brien stood, his fly open, his eyes wide. Max felt the rage rise as bile touched his tastebuds. ‘Stay where you are O’Brien. You are under arrest.’
He kept the light on O’Brien’s face, resisting the urge to flash in on Liz, to see if she was alright. The guy’s posture said she likely wasn’t, but he couldn’t risk taking the light off the arsehole in front of him.
He heard O’Brien casually do his fly up, a look of triumph on his face. ‘You’re not a cop, are you?’
‘Close enough moron.’ Max began moving towards O’Brien, the flashlight beam bouncing with each step.
O’Brien moved his arm. Max couldn’t see what he was doing, but it looked like he was getting something out of his pocket. His face disappeared from the flashlight beam and Max struggled to follow his movements down, the light bouncing off damp stone walls until it found its target once more.
Max froze, his foot mid-air, the step he was taking halted. He slowly lowered his foot as O’Brien smirked. ‘Don’t come any closer, or she dies.’
Max watched the blade inch closer to Liz’s artery. Her hair was limp across her face, her eyes closed, her body unresponsive as O’Brien nestled her against his chest, his arm around her chest.
The pose would have been intimate, given any other situation, but Max could hardly breathe. ‘What’s the plan? You can’t drag an unconscious woman up the stairs.’ His voice was steady, despite the tornado going on inside his gut. The sound of a siren in the distance faded and Max hoped Jack was still on his way.
‘You’re right. I want you to shackle yourself,’ a beam of light flashed to the far wall, where another girl was slumped unconscious on a striped, thin mattress, ‘over there.’
Max hesitated. His mind was racing. If he shackled himself, the guy would be in the wind, but would he really leave the girls alive? Max doubted it. To sit and just watch him kill Liz was unthinkable.
‘Look. I’m not a cop anymore sunshine, but I was one, for close to thirty years. I’m not tying myself up so you can then have free reign to kill the girls and take your leave.’
Max hadn’t let the beam drop. O’Brien seemed to like it that way. Max knew why, it made his location unmistakable.
The man seemed to consider his words carefully, but then he grinned again and tightened the blade against Liz’s throat, a drop of blood formed on the blade. ‘Well, well. We have an impasse then. You could tie yourself up and I could make my escape, leaving the girls behind, safe and sound. Or, I could just kill your partner, here and now. That outcome is guaranteed now isn’t it?’ He pressed the blade hard against Liz’s skin, blood dripped from the thin slice it left.
‘Okay, okay.’ Max took his bearings carefully before making his decision. It was a risk, but one he had to take. He dropped the flashlight, the beam s
hone from the floor to the left-hand stone wall, next to Gemma, who was unconscious on the floor.
‘Pick up the light!’ O’Brien shouted as Max moved quickly to the right. He was on top of O’Brien in seconds. He had no doubt the man would try and kill Liz, but he had to do what he could to get to her first. Max hit him side on, at full force. The sound of bone on stone reached him, but O’Brien was still struggling.
Max felt Liz’s motionless body below him as he wrestled with O’Brien’s knife hand, putting his own palm between Liz’s throat and the blade. ‘Give it up!’ Max ordered, but the struggle continued, the blade slicing into the tendons of his hand, the sensation of cutting flesh lost in his adrenalin.
The sound of footsteps came as a welcome relief. Jack’s shouts rang out from above, but Max’s hand was screaming at him now to let go. He head-butted O’Brien, who finally let the knife go and lunged forward, trying to escape the former detective’s grasp.
Max grabbed him by the foot, but O’Brien kicked out, breaking loose. Max took another swipe, but missed. He heard footsteps on the stone, flashlights flickered on the walls as people made their way down the stairs. Max could feel the blood running down his arm, spilling to the floor.
Just as he rose to make another attempt to apprehend O’Brien, he heard a grunt. Two flashlight beams converged on him, then on the wall where Gemma was shackled. Then on the floor in front of the girl where O’Brien lay, still. Gemma’s eyes were wide open, a blood smeared weapon in her hand.
She covered her face with her bound hands, trying to avoid the light beams. Then began to sob uncontrollably, her body shaking, words mumbling incoherently.
‘Over here!’ Max called, as he slumped back onto the ground, falling against the wall. ‘Liz, is over...here.’ Max fell exhausted.
Jack appeared, then Jenny. He heard Jack talking. ‘She’s breathing, just. Check the other girl.’ Max let himself go then, the darkness seeping into his soul as the blood drained from his torn hand.
31