Hunted: A Suspense Collection

by J. L. Drake

  Her mind ran riot with thoughts. Why was he doing this? She wondered as she thought of several scenarios. None ended favourably. She felt the first stages of a panic attack and tried to calm herself, taking long, deep breaths even as she cowered back into the small space as the man’s shadow cast over her.

  From the short distance dividing them, Hallie could see the well-worn jeans encasing strong well-developed legs. The jeans themselves were threadbare. The left back pocket dangled down, held on only by a few measly threads. Tears fell unabashedly down her cheeks. Her nose ran and she watched everything through misty eyes.

  She was a coward, useless and scared. The man had just killed her father and was now about to send her mother to the same fate. But still her body felt heavy, unable to move except to push herself farther into the floor. A sob escaped her mouth and she quickly stuffed her fist in the gaping hole to muffle any further sounds. Her teeth bit into her hand, her mind numb against the horrors she had already witnessed this night. She shivered, the warm air from the heater long since evaporated and replaced with the icy breeze outside. She curled up into a ball as much as the car would allow.

  Hallie heard her mother’s pleading voice as she was shoved none too gently onto her recently vacated seat. Hallie knew she would never forget the pungent scent of the man for as long as she lived, a combination of blood and bad hygiene. A thought kept repeating inside her head.

  We’re going to die.

  Her mother made a sound of despair and Hallie’s gaze shot back to her mother and their eyes met and held. She watched helplessly as the man brought his knife up to her mother’s throat and pressed it deeply into the soft delicate flesh of her neck. Blood spilled from her body, flowing onto the seat and ruining the careful detail of the vehicle.

  A scream, muffled around her fist, escaped Hallie’s throat as she watched her mother’s body go limp and lifeless. The man looked straight into her eyes and once again she felt frozen, as if the ice in his veins jumped from his eyes into her. She shivered uncontrollably.

  Hallie had the car door open and was racing towards the tree line before the man could react. Her tiny frame and short stature allowed her to blend into the woods as she sprinted for her life. Her vision blurred black as she ran faster, the darkness swelling around her. She could only just make out where there were gaps in the thick trees and bushes. The fog hindered her even more as she made her way farther into the dense growth.

  Her heart jumped to her throat and she was having trouble breathing. Her feet landed heavily on the ground and every so often she heard a twig snap under the pressure of her weight. She could hear the man behind her covering twice as much ground with his much longer and stronger legs. She strained to hear his breathing and desperately wanted to know if he was winded in hopes he would give up the chase. She didn’t dare look back for fear of tripping. She was already having trouble with that, her focus on the ground.

  Hallie knew he was closing in fast behind her. She pushed herself to go faster even though she was exhausted and her body was ready to collapse. Her nose twitched as her feet kicked up the undergrowth. The scent of mouldy leaves and damp soil assaulted her senses. The sound of heavy stomping behind her terrified her but she didn’t allow it to immobilise her. Her brain had long ago kicked into survival mode and didn’t let her dwell on anything but getting to safety.

  Hallie had no illusions. She knew if the man behind her caught up with her, he would kill her just like he had done to her mother and father. She breathed in through her nose and out her mouth as she had been taught. Her whole body ached with fatigue and fear and she wanted so much to curl up and cry in despair. She whimpered uncontrollably, knowing she was almost beaten.

  She pressed her right arm against her side as a stitch made her uncomfortable. She pushed on. She had to keep going. Hopefully soon she would be out of the woods and into a clearing. Maybe then she could find a busy road or a house. She was well within the forest now. In every direction stood more trees and even more bushes, both furry and prickly.

  Hallie heard the sound of tearing right before she was jerked back. She panicked, striking out trying to hit her target. It took her a few full seconds to realise she was still alone and that she was caught on a branch sticking out of an old flaky tree. She yanked at her winter jacket vigorously, the fabric well entwined with the branch. Desperate, she quickly unzipped the garment, shivering as the cool air hit her bare arms but soon she completely forgot about the cold.

  Little mewling sounds came from her throat as she imagined she could feel her pursuer’s horrid breath on her neck, his hands on her pulling him to her, the feel of his knife against her own throat. Distracted she tripped over a group of raised roots and scratched her face on the bark of the closest tree as she tried to steady herself.

  Hallie headed straight, the trees not so dense up ahead to what she considered north. Her legs gave way as she came across a small dip in the ground and her body landed heavily with a thud on the leaf-covered floor. Without sparing a moment to wallow in self-pity she climbed to her feet, feeling her ankle buckle beneath her before crashing once more to the ground. She bit her bottom lip to stop from crying out and alerting the man to her location and started crawling, her pants soaking up the damp ground. She barely made it a metre before she felt the ground beneath her give way to a sharp decline.

  Hallie’s hand flayed about in mid-air for a moment right before her body slipped and she tumbled down into the river resting at the base of the decline. Her head went under the water and she struggled not to breathe. She kicked her feet and tried to swim as she resurfaced. Her waterlogged clothes tugged at her, determined to send her to a watery grave. The current proved to be too strong and pulled her light weight away from the edge and into the whirling centre before she was once more dragged under, down into the murky depths.

  Chapter 1

  Detective Inspector Matt Murphy sat at his desk and looked down at the folder his partner just handed him. He warily opened the manila folder he knew contained graphic pictures of another life that had been abruptly taken. He took a deep breath which immediately caught in his throat as he examined the colour photos of a butchered woman. His hands automatically became fists, crumpling the folder inside them.

  One crime he despised more than all others was crime against women and children. He had been raised singlehandedly by his mother since his younger sister, Kendall, had been a baby. His father had been an unfortunate causality in a liquor store robbery. After drying the many tears spilled over the years by his mother and sister, he had learned to respect the softer gender and could pick up on the slightest hormonal change in a female.

  According to his fellow policemen, he had a superpower. One they would love to have themselves. One officer had even said it would make his life easier knowing whether to fight or flee.

  Matt could never imagine raising a hand to any woman and despised those who did. He worked those cases extra hard. Never resting until the perpetrator was arrested and behind bars.

  Matt ground his teeth together and threw back the last of his coffee that had gone cold and started to congeal in the bottom of the mug. He took in the sight of the beautiful young woman who now sported several stab wounds and a gaping hole that had once been her throat. He never realised just how much he could come to hate the colour red.

  Just looking at the photo, Matt could smell the crime scene. Years of working homicide cases will do that to you. All a cop had to do was to look at a photo to imagine all sort of things. He scanned the photos with a critical and analytical eye, cataloguing what might prove useful in nailing the bastard who had brutalised and then murdered the innocent woman.

  “Jesus.” He let the exclamation escape beneath his breath, disgusted.

  Matt jotted down a few notes in point form. Questions he wanted to ask the first-on-scene officer or evidence he wanted to inspect closer. As he put his pen down, he looked up at his new partner, Darryl Hill, and squinted against the bright sunlight
streaming through the large glass window directly behind Darryl.

  It was such a beautiful day outside. It seemed ghastly to be reviewing such a horrible murder. It was the time for kids and adults alike to run around amongst the daffodils and daisies. For the sweet smell of jasmine and lavender to fill their noses and for the light breeze to tease at women’s dresses. Matt certainly wouldn’t be appreciating it any time soon. He sneezed as the dust particles wafting about the room settled in his nostrils from the ancient air-con as it vigorously pumped out stale air.

  As much as Matt liked spring—the warmer days, the flowers blooming and the promise of summer coming—he hated the fact that his nose tended to look like Rudolph’s as he was assaulted with hay fever. Matt popped two tablets from the collection in his top desk drawer and washed it down with a gulp of water from a bottle he found tucked away behind the stapler. His lips curled in distaste as the stagnant water ran down his throat.

  He coughed, clearing his throat from the almost toxic taste and threw the empty bottle in the small circular bin beside his desk before once more focusing on his partner. Darryl Hill was new to Harbour Bay after recently passing his detective’s exam and landing the job after Matt’s last partner retired.

  Darryl was six-foot and lean. Any weight on him was pure muscle. A regular down in the gym. Matt briefly wondered if Darryl was married or divorced. It wasn’t something they had discussed during their short acquaintance. He leaned more towards single since he hadn’t seen Darryl rush out in the middle of a case as many did to placate their women when they pointed out how much time the men were spending at the office. Matt had seen many marriages fail. Wives never seemed to understand the importance of what they were striving to achieve. They only saw junior’s missed soccer game or a family barbeque they turned up late for or had to leave early.

  Matt himself had never had this issue and sure as hell planned to put it off as long as he could. His career was his life at the moment and he wasn’t looking for anything long-term. He certainly didn’t want something that started with love to end in hatred. He had known very few cops who had actually made their marriages work.

  He and Darryl had never talked about anything personal. Matt sensed Darryl was much like him and preferred to keep his own counsel. When they were together, they spoke about cases and brainstormed ideas. One thing Matt did know was that Darryl was meticulous with his files and was the type of man who always strived for excellence. A real go-getter who didn’t need to be told when or how to do his job.

  Matt had heard similar stories from officers who had worked with the detective. The top of his class at the Police College in Goulburn. He got the job done and rarely let any case go cold. Matt felt reassured at the knowledge. He didn’t like guys who kissed arse to get ahead. He wanted dedicated people. Those who would happily give up dinner at home and sweat blood for results. Because of that, Matt knew he could trust Darryl with his life and in the future there would be times he would need to.

  Below his clean pressed shirt, Darryl’s pants were creased and drops of spilt coffee marred the shiny polish on his brown leather shoes. His naturally tanned face was clean shaven and had it not been for the bloodshot light brown eyes, one would have thought him well-rested. His skin held a slight green tinge and beads of sweat dampened his light brown crew cut. The rookie had obviously seen the pictures prior to passing them over and was probably wishing right about now he hadn’t. Matt waited a moment just in case his partner needed to make a quick trip to the head. He watched as Darryl’s Adam apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed in an effort to keep his breakfast down.

  Matt remembered his first bloody scene and the struggle he had not to let his dinner repeat itself. He had been ready to right the world’s wrongs. Now, at thirty-five, he wasn’t as stupid as to believe he could save everyone. It had been a hard lesson to learn but in the end after the countless heartbreaks and guilt trips he had finally accepted it. But not without cost.

  He was as physically fit as someone could get without being a bodybuilder, spending his downtime in the gym downstairs, unwinding after long hard days like these. His hair, sporting a few stray greys, was longer than regulation allowed but he could never find the time to have it cut.

  Darryl nodded stonily at Matt’s assessment of the case. “Marie Stanton, twenty-seven-year-old med graduate. The perp took his time with her before he cut her throat ear to ear.”

  Matt shuddered. He had seen this work before and knew exactly who was responsible. The only problem was finding the man. He was as elusive as a four leaf clover and had been wanted by law enforcement for years. His capture would be paramount to that of Ivan Milat’s.

  “The Butcher,” he said through his teeth. His face was a mask of pure rage at not being able to prevent the victim’s unfortunate and unnecessary death.

  Darryl’s face screwed up in disgust. “It’s been confirmed.”

  Matt felt the wariness in his body deepen. He had already been up for seventeen hours and he figured he’d be up for another seventeen at least. He ran his long thin fingers through his hair, in agitation, no doubt making the almost black tufts stick straight up in the air. He mentally shrugged. Appearance wasn’t high on his list of concerns.

  Matt took in the room. There were five detectives in Harbour Bay’s DU—Detective Unit—including himself and Darryl. Thankfully the city was fairly quiet when it came to murder, at least until now, and he and Darryl along with the other detectives in the unit worked a variety of cases across all of the divisions within the LAC, Local Area Command: Dean Matthews, Nicholas Doyle, and Amelia Donovan, the only woman on the team.

  Amelia was neither fat nor thin, her physical type tough rather than fragile and could take down any man in a fight—including him one time when she had goaded him into a knock-down all-in wrestle. He had walked away red-faced and from that moment on he had admired the spunky woman. Her raven hair was just long enough to be tied into a ponytail and she sported light brown almond shaped eyes. She never hid her femininity from the men she worked with. Her clothes often hugged her body but not enough to distract them from a case. She was all business and didn’t take any shit from anybody, least of all ‘scum-sucking criminals’ and they all had tremendous respect for her. She was one hell of a detective, ambitious too. Matt knew, as he knew the sun would rise again tomorrow, that one day she would be his boss.

  “And the last two victims?” he asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming. Marie Stanton hadn’t been the first, not by a long shot. Since the early nineties, the Butcher had been killing, moving from state to state leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. For some reason which Matt couldn’t fathom, the Butcher had come back to Harbour Bay and apparently he planned to stay.

  His gaze drifted over to the large bulletin board opposite his desk. Multiple photos of smiling women were pinned to the board. Below the snapshots were the corresponding crime scene photos. Each mutilated body stared back at him, condemning him for allowing them to die. Darryl’s stare followed his.

  “The boys in forensics say they’re all the work of the Butcher.”

  Matt nodded. It had been five years since the Butcher had last reaped havoc in Harbour Bay. At that time he had not yet been labelled a serial killer. He had moved on after inadvertently leaving his last victim alive and in police custody.

  Matt stood, running his hands over his wrinkled forest green shirt, as if to magically iron out the creases. His tie was loose and hung haphazardly around his neck. He started making his way down the corridor of the LAC, Darryl easily keeping up with his long strides.

  “I hear back in 2005 with the Walker double homicide, there was a survivor,” Darryl said, looking for new angles in which to tackle the case.

  Matt nodded, remembering it like it was yesterday. It had been his first case as a detective, and the crime scene was forever burned in his memory. The Ford Fairlane parked into a tree. The body of Senator Ian Walker left on the highway, his throat slit, his head barely a
ttached to his neck. His wife, Missy, half inside the car and half out. Both their bodies had been stabbed multiple times close to or not long after death.

  It had still been dark when he and his partner, Ed Graham, a seasoned veteran with over twenty years’ experience, had entered the LAC. The sight of the little girl huddled beneath a mountain of blankets had broken his heart and gave him nightmares for months afterward. He was surprised at the strength of will to survive the girl had showed. After pulling herself free of the nearby river that flowed adjacent to the town she had ran towards the nearest civilisation she could find, which happened to be a house roughly thirty kilometres outside of Harbour Bay. She’d banged on the door until it had opened to reveal two sleepy farmers. The owners had bundled her up in a blanket and had immediately taken her into town.

  When children her age would have collapsed in tears and closed themselves up, Hallie Walker had talked and hadn’t stopped until she had told her entire story. Not only had she told her story but she had kept on telling it to whomever asked. Matt figured it was due to the fact the girl was running on pure adrenaline.

  Later, she had sat there still as a statue, the only sign of life her active eyes shifting about the room as they took in the commotion around her. He and Ed had walked over to her and her solemn amber eyes, red from crying, watched them warily. Her short shoulder length red-brown hair was knotted from the events of the night, her clothes still damp beneath the blanket and her skin smelled of the river.

  She’d been terrified, her slight body shaking slightly. He imagined all that she’d experienced, all that she’d witnessed. How scared and alone she’d felt, knowing help was too far away, the highway rarely used other than by locals as travelling motorists preferred to use the newly built freeway that bypassed the smaller towns along the coast.