“Chill, honey, he’s messing with us. He’s taken a photo of a boarding pass. He’s not coming here to meet George. He’s guessed someone’s fucking with him, and now he’s getting his own back, right, mate?” Kereama asked Oliver.
“I don’t know.” Oliver shrugged. “Looked genuine to me; it even showed the cost. If it’s real, this weirdo’s just paid four grand.”
Why had she let Oliver send the first message? It wasn’t normal for someone to pay for flights on a whim like that; he’d spent a fortune on the trip, although Elf Man might be loaded, she thought. And that made her think: he might be the nicest guy in the world. Then again, he might be a bunny-boiling psychopath. “Come on, Isla, let’s go give her the bad news.”
To Amelia’s surprise, Isla remained sat in her chair. “I’m not telling her,” Isla replied, putting her arm around Oliver. “And besides, I agree with Kereama. He’s screwing with us. He’s not really flying over here, so all this bullshit is exactly that, shit. Tell George there’s nothing to obsess about.”
“And if he does come here, so what?” Oliver added. “He gives us any shit…” He punched the palm of his other hand. “Between Shane, Kereama and me, we don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I hope you’re right.” She sat back down. “I’ve got a feeling he’s going to be trouble.” Trying to take her mind off the situation, Amelia picked up her cocktail and took a sip through her straw. She was going to get such a mouthful from Georgina when she asked for her phone back.
“Trust me, he’s over there laughing at us.” Kereama winked. “So, stop worrying and relax. Guys, are we here to have a good time, or what?” He leaned over and kissed her, licking his lips, feigning he was stealing her drink. “Mmm, pineapple.”
Amelia sat there, listening to Isla and the lads talking about a new nightclub opening in town, called Fever. With a great Oxford Street address, the club’s online brochure guaranteed a vibrant atmosphere, catering to both older and newer tastes with its myriad of rooms dedicated to varying types of music. Fever also promised the best in live bands which was far more up her alley. Georgina had been sent ten VIP tickets through the post, so they were all going next Friday. “Oh shit! She’s coming back.” She watched Georgina saunter over, holding Shane’s hand.
“Hey, guys!” Georgina said, sitting down.
Shane shook hands with Oliver and Kereama. So far, so good, Amelia thought, hoping Georgina forgot about her phone. When her best friend went into her bag, Amelia brought out her mobile and handed it over. “You left it,” she said, smiling, praying Georgina couldn’t see the guilt.
Pretending to listen to her friends, she waited for Georgina to view the messages, knowing her friend would go straight for her favourite app.
4
“What the fuck?” Georgina read the messages on her Chatter account, she couldn’t understand what happened. “Who’s Elf Man? Amelia?” Her friend wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Isla? Who’s Elf Man?”
The photo of his plane ticket worried her the most. His words and pictures smacked of desperation. Georgina had had her fair share of stalkers, her latest was sectioned at the Seven Hills Clinic. The unstable Sydney local had broken into her home, ransacked her bedroom and filmed himself wearing her underwear. Dread crept in her gut when she went through Elf Man’s account. “Here,” she said to Shane, who took her phone. “He’s anonymous. No photos.”
“The hell are you playing at, mate?” Shane hissed at Oliver.
“What? Why do you immediately assume it was me?” Oliver asked.
“After what happened a couple of years ago, you go and do this?” He shook his head in disgust while scrolling through the messages Oliver sent. “Why the hell didn’t you two stop him? Isla, I’ve seen you pull the whip out on him before. Why didn’t you take the phone off him? For fuck’s sake, this guy’s a freak.”
The rest of her so-called friends kept their gazes southward. “Thanks a lot, guys,” she added. “I thought you had my back.”
“Come on, George, Oli was having a laugh.” Kereama shrugged. “Anyway, he’s not coming over here. He’s yanking your chain, trying to put the wind up you. So, stop worrying.”
“Just having a laugh?” she repeated. “Would you be laughing if I started messing about with one of your band’s fans, huh? If I imitated you and told some random fan you’d meet them, would you find that funny?” No, he bloody wouldn’t, she thought, anger bubbling to the surface. Kereama was so serious about his band and fan base, he would spit out his dummy if the tables were turned. He bowed his head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. What the hell happens now? He says he’s coming here on Monday night.”
“He’s not,” Oliver reiterated, his tone bored. “George, I’m sorry, all right? I shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t thinking. There’s no way some weirdo pom’s going to fly all the way over here just to see you. I mean don’t get me wrong, you’re great and all that, but you’re not worth a thirty-five-hour journey.”
“Gee, thanks, I think.” A backhanded compliment was more than she usually received from Oliver, a guy well known for his piss-taking. “You really don’t think he’s coming?”
“The ticket’s real enough,” Shane interjected, handing her phone back. “If he does, we’ll tackle it.”
“You never know, he might be a cool bloke.” Amelia lowered her gaze.
“This is getting boring now.” Kereama stood, turned to Georgina and said, “He’s not coming here, George, believe me. He’s fucking with us, probably laughing his head off as we speak. So, let’s forget all about it and get drinking. Who’s up for another?” He took orders from everyone.
Sitting down next to Shane, she exited out of the app and put her phone in her bag. Trying to put it out of her mind, she listened to Oliver, Isla and Amelia talking and laughing. Giving up, she wanted to see what Elf Man looked like. “Shall I message him?”
“What’re you going to ask him? Are you a psycho?” Shane eyed her.
“No!” Georgina replied, oozing sarcasm. “I was going to ask him to post a picture. At least we’ll recognise him if he does turn up.” She thought the idea was good. “What do you reckon? I could tell him the truth.”
She was taken aback when he said, “No way! You’re not telling him it was a prank. If he finds out it’s all a big joke, God knows what he’ll do. Yes, ask him to upload a selfie; it’ll be handy to know what he looks like.”
5
“All that worrying for nothing,” Amelia said, relieved. “He’s gorgeous. You might thank Oli for pranking him one day.”
Georgina chuckled, the expression on Shane’s face a picture. “Aw, don’t worry, baby, I’m not replacing you,” she teased, ruffling his hair in a playful manner. A weight off – knowing the pom wasn’t some freaky stalker guy – she started to relax. “Thanks,” she said to Amelia’s boyfriend, who placed her drink in front of her. “This is him.” She held up her phone for him to see. “Elf Man.”
“Yeah, and I’m a champion surfer.” Kereama sat next to Amelia. “That ain’t Elf Man. I’ll put my shortboard on it, mate.”
Staring at the picture of the Brit, the thought her Chatter follower might be lying hadn’t even occurred to her, that the photo was fake; her new-found relief was suddenly replaced with dread. She heard the girls arguing with him, telling her the picture was genuine, but she didn’t believe them.
“You think just because he’s good-looking he can’t be a psycho?” Kereama said. “Course he can. Not that it matters, because that isn’t Elf Man in that photo.”
A warm breeze blew Georgina’s hair over her face. She leaned across and whispered in Shane’s ear, “I think I’m going to go home. I’m not feeling it tonight and I’ve got an early shoot tomorrow morning.” Was she overreacting about this Elf Man thing? Her friends should know how fragile she was after her last stalker managed to enter her home, rummage through her drawers and slip into her underwear. It may have been two years earlier, but they shouldn’t be
behaving like this.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Shane asked, making to move.
“No, you stay put.” She stood and looked down at him. “I’m tired anyway and I’m not great company tonight.” She said goodbye to Amelia and Isla, kissing both cheeks, then kissed Kereama on his cheek, leaving Oliver out. When he complained, she turned her back on him jovially, making sure he knew she was angry with him, but not entirely. And as she walked away, Shane chastised Isla’s other half, who defended himself with the best of them.
Heading towards the car park, she passed the lifeguard tower and graffiti wall, arriving at her red open-top Jeep in front of Bondi Beach Park. She could hear all the fun in the distance; all the talking, laughter and music blaring out of speakers at Lush, The Bucket List, The Starfish and The Blue Room. If she were honest, she didn’t feel like drinking, not because of Elf Man; she hadn’t wanted to go out to begin with.
Georgina led a charmed existence. Driving home via Warner’s Avenue and Blair Street, she told herself off for being down. She knew millions of girls would kill to lead her life, to look like her, and to be Shane Daley’s girlfriend. She appreciated growing up in such a beautiful city with so many magnificent beaches. Sydney was the most amazing place to live.
Cruising along Balfour Road, she thought about how fortunate she was. Her dad had been a professional surfer in his day, which of course had rubbed off on her. Watching him riding those waves romanticised the ocean for her. From the age of five, she’d grown obsessed with the sea, devouring book after book on the subject. On her eighth birthday, her parents bought her a surfboard… And from her first lesson she lived and breathed surfing. She could remember ripping her first wave, that moment of elation.
Catching her first barrel was the biggest rush, even better than sex. Oh, and skydiving topped everything. The first time she’d jumped out of a perfectly good aeroplane, her heart felt like it wanted to leap out of her mouth. The anticipation worse than jumping, once out, falling was exhilarating; she would recommend skydiving to anyone willing to listen. She and Shane loved it so much, they invested in their own diving packs.
Driving along the tree-lined O’Sullivan Road, Georgina put on her favourite heavy metal band, The Deranged. Kereama’s group had a bust-up with them, so she had to beg Isla and Amelia to go with her last time. Of course, they’d had heaps of fun.
Fifteen minutes after leaving Bondi Beach, Georgina arrived outside the gates to her house in Point Piper. She was lucky enough to call Wolseley Road her address. Her four-bedroomed home sat next door but one to the Royal Prince Edward Yacht Club, and backed onto Lady Bennett’s Beach. A beautiful home, its location was only one draw: its eight-foot perimeter wall also drew her to it. After the breach at their last home, she and Shane wanted greater security.
Pressing a button on her key ring, the gates whirred to life, opening automatically. Georgina drove through and watched them close. Satisfied, she parked outside the house. Then she picked up her shopping bags from the rear seat.
Inside her fabulous house, she closed the door and used voice activation to secure the alarm, always the first thing she did when returning home alone. Once safe, she walked through the hallway and upstairs to the lounge/dining room and kitchen. Four bedrooms were on the second floor, along with two bathrooms and the gymnasium, while the ground floor consisted of another bathroom, a library and her hobby room. In the basement, she and Shane had built a home cinema and games room, complete with full-sized pool table and bar.
In the lounge on the first floor, she ordered the blinds to close, and they obeyed, the whirring her signal it was safe to walk in front of the glass walls. She loved the glasshouse style in the daytime, but when dark outside, she couldn’t see through the glass; she could only view her reflection. It creeped her out, so she made sure the blinds were pulled before she entered the room.
Placing her bags on the tabletop, she walked upstairs to her bedroom and unhooked her dressing gown from the back of the door. Shedding her clothes, she wrapped herself up in her soft, comfortable robe and went back downstairs. The lounge messy, she tutted, knowing she and Shane had deliveries from contracts to put away.
She had signed several contracts with clothing designers. All Georgina had to do was wear something sent to her, upload a picture to Chatter and tag the company in. They gave her a promotional code to give her followers, so when her fans bought something, she received royalties. And her top two contracts alone brought her thousands of dollars each month, not to mention her sponsorship deal with Ripped Energy Drink, who she was shooting for in the morning. Ripped were her biggest contract by far.
Diving into her bags, she pulled out a stunning dark blue and white bikini she had earmarked for the next day’s shoot. Hanging the top in front of her chest, the mirror told her it was as sexy as she hoped. The air con worked better than it should, so she ordered the thermostat to warm up a little, taking the temperature up to twenty degrees.
After yawning, Georgina decided it was time for bed. Upstairs, after brushing her teeth, she dropped the gown on the floor and climbed under the sheet, getting comfortable with her mobile. It was routine to catch up with her friends’ activities on Chatter before sleeping. She smiled, scrolling through her mates’ pictures, liking them all, commenting on some. Amelia’s page showed a photo from earlier in the evening at Lush: a lovely picture of the three of them. Not being a fan of Twitter, she preferred to “cheep” on Chatter, rather than Tweet on Twitter. She liked the “cheep”, and commented, “My bitches”.
Georgina didn’t know why – she enjoyed catching up with her friends – but she thought about Monday night, possibly meeting Elf Man and she shuddered. Knowing the photo the Brit sent was a fake creeped her out. Did she really have some whacker pom flying all the way over here? She shivered again, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep until Shane returned home later.
6
It was approaching half five and the police headquarters in Lewes was busy gearing up for yet another Friday night bonanza. DI Coates didn’t need to worry about policing boozy nights these days; his worries were far more serious. Instead of controlling pubs, nightclubs and the like, he looked after violent offenders, murderers and rapists. A gruesome job, but someone had to do it.
A number of his colleagues in the office were sat behind desks. Paperwork was an unfortunate necessity of police work. Coates hated the bureaucracy. His monitor displayed a missing persons file; he clicked on his mouse and switched to another folder. “I really thought we’d get lucky on this.” Sergeant Packard sat next to him, staring at his screen. “How come no one’s worried about her?”
“She might be a prostitute,” his sergeant suggested.
“Yeah, I thought that, but even working girls are missed by someone.” He clicked another file. “If she was killed a couple of days ago, her family might not have tried contacting her, I guess.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Sleep had been elusive the previous night. Focusing on the screen, he asked, “Any luck on the tattoo?”
“I’m running some names now,” Packard replied. “My contact at Wozz’s remembers doing several hummingbirds. He emailed me the files, which I’ve sifted through. Two stood out, but photos weren’t included.”
“We need a break on this one.” Coates sighed at the thought of wading through yet more reports. At least he had dinner with his wife, Ellie, to look forward to at The Snowdrop Inn on South Street. The expense was worth every penny.
“I think we might have a match,” Packard said, turning his monitor slightly. “Tara Henson, twenty-nine from right here in Lewes. Picked up for solicitation in 2009, charged and sentenced to a hundred and fifty hours of community service, which she carried out. Since then, nothing.”
“Well done,” Coates said, studying the screen. Holding up a crime scene photo – the likeness spot-on for Tara, although official identification required next of kin, he regarded his partner. “Where does her family live?”
Packard scrolled down. “South Malling, The Meadows. Nice houses in that neck of the woods.” There was a brief pause. “Kind of makes you wonder how she got into tricking, huh? If she grew up on that estate, well, opportunity’s never far away. Why start selling herself?”
Coates stood and grabbed his suit jacket. “Let’s go and find out, shall we?” Discovering the identity of the victim was a huge part of any investigation, whereupon further findings stemmed. They would have an idea of who murdered her, he had faith. “Call through and get a couple of uniforms to meet us there, would you?”
“On it, sir.” Packard picked up his desk phone.
While checking he had everything, Coates lifted his own landline phone when it rang. Hoping the coroner, Patricia Rollins, would be the voice on the other end, he said, “DI Coates,” in greeting. Delighted to recognise her voice, he sat back on his seat. After exchanging pleasantries, he got down to business. “So, did you find any trace?”
“Lots. Your suspect, whoever he is, he’s sloppy. I mean, we didn’t just find semen; we found saliva, a bloody fingerprint, hair, and skin under the victim’s fingernails. You name it, we got it!”
Coates had to breathe deep. With that amount of forensic evidence, a name had to surface, surely? “That’s great news,” he said, something dawning on him. “Although, it would make him either stupid–”
“Or he doesn’t care,” Rollins finished. “And I know which you’d prefer.”
“Dumb every time. And when will we get the analysis back?” It was all very well knowing she’d found forensic evidence, receiving the results could take forever. “Please don’t tell me a few days.”
“I requested it be expedited. The lab’s assured me you’ll receive the report by close of play Monday, or Tuesday morning at the latest. I’m afraid we’re not working in a perfect system here.”
Mr Invisible Page 2
