Finding the contact tab on the app, he scrolled through the options. There was an address in Los Angeles, a phone number included. With a big sigh, he picked up his desk phone and dialled. “Yes, I’m Detective Inspector David Coates of the Sussex Police, England, and I’m investigating a possible double murder.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, he explained his reason for calling to at least four different members of staff at Chatter HQ, then had to argue why he should be allowed access to user data. “If you’re not in a position to help me, find someone who can. I need to read those files. Danny Elfman, or as he appears on here as Elf Man, is the prime suspect in two murders, do you understand?”
He listened to an American female tell him why they couldn’t give him access to their data. “And if it were your husband’s murder, your daughter’s or sister’s I was investigating, would you be so reticent to give me those files? Please, this guy has raped and murdered one woman for certain. I beg you, please, I just need to see what messages he’s been sending and to who.”
The woman said nothing, which Coates took as a good sign. He pumped his fist when she agreed to discuss it with her line manager. Asking him to hold, the line went quiet. “How’re you getting on?”
Packard gave him a thumbs up over the partition.
“My manager’s allowing you access to Elf Man’s account. I’m going to give you the username and password. This will let you view it, cheep as the user, everything. We strongly urge you not to participate in any way on the account.”
“Thank you so much,” he said, pen poised. “I promise I’ll only look at the messages. I won’t touch anything else.” The lovely Southern accent gave him Elf Man’s username and password, which was case-sensitive. Once inside, he thanked the woman again and hung up. “He’s definitely over there.”
“I don’t believe it! How’d you wangle that?”
Coates ignored his partner and showed him the photo message on Elfman’s account of the Qatar Airways first class cabin seat. Then one taken through the window of clouds below. “He’s in Sydney.” Coates glanced at a picture outside a pub called The Starfish.
“That’s on Bondi Beach, sir,” Packard explained, having been to Australia a few times. “Now we know where he is, do we need to go through the manifest?”
“Of course. We need to know what name he’s registered under. He might’ve booked a hotel room, hired a car, you name it. Sorry! I appreciate it’s a chore.”
Watching Packard with a modicum of pity, he scanned the office for DCI Morgan. “Sir? Can I have a moment?” His superior strolled over to his desk and leaned on the back of his chair, kind of like a teacher might do to a child, which he found condescending. “Peebles – or Elfman or whoever – is over in Sydney as we speak. It seems he’s become obsessed with Miss Georgina Shaw.”
DCI Morgan shrugged.
“Local celebrity, a Chatter influencer. It doesn’t matter. The point is, he’s over in Australia, which means he’s out of our jurisdiction. We have to confer with the New South Wales police now, don’t we?” He didn’t like the way his chief folded his arms.
“I was afraid this might happen,” Morgan said. “Chief Constable Gately sent me a memo earlier from the Home Secretary via Justice Secretary Richard Luckland. It says that if Peebles has left the country, a representative of the UK must assist in his apprehension. This is a sensitive matter, David, I’m sure you appreciate that.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re going to Sydney. And before you try suggesting Sergeant Packard takes your place, I need someone more senior. I’m going to request Gately partners you up with a sergeant over there. We want you to have seniority.”
“But sir–”
“But sir nothing, Inspector Coates,” Morgan interrupted. “We need this done quietly, do you understand? I’ll make sure you’re met at the airport. Now, go home and get ready. You’ll be booked on the next flight out.”
Not being given time to argue, he swore under his breath. He didn’t want to go to Sydney. “The local police can handle this, surely? Sir?”
“What are you still doing here, David? Move it!”
Grabbing his jacket, Coates walked up to Packard. “Keep on it for me, yes? When you find out what name he’s using, get me a list of hotels and car rental places to contact, would you? If we’re lucky, he’s used his passport for that at least.”
“I’ll do you one better than that, sir. I’ll phone them for you, how about that? The next time I speak to you, you’ll have the make, model and registration of the car he’s hired, and the name of the hotel or bed and breakfast he’s staying at.”
“Thanks, Gary, I appreciate it.” Coates patted his partner on his shoulder. On his way out of the office, he stepped in the elevator and waited until the doors closed before kicking the walls to let off steam. Not one part of him wanted to fly to Australia.
47
With visibility through her Jeep’s windscreen near zero, and with her headlights on full beam, the hour-long journey was intense because she couldn’t tell where they were heading. Elf Man wouldn’t let her in; he kept the gun trained on her. “I might be able to help you if you said where we’re going,” she suggested, spotting a sign for what she thought said “Heathcote”.
“I think we both know you’re not going to help me… Yet. But I’m certain you’ll grow to love me, my queen. I’ve still got to prove myself to you. And I will, and then you’ll have me as your king.”
With her hands tied to the steering wheel with cable ties, she slowed down for a steep turn. Driving in torrential rain scared her. She enjoyed high octane thrills, but not steering in this, with a psychopath sat next to her. “We can’t just keep on going! Please tell me where we’re heading.”
“All right, your wish is my command,” he said, his hands up in mock surrender. “Further up here you’ll find an abandoned hospital–”
“Waterfall Sanatorium? We’re going to Waterfall?”
“Yeah, you know it?” Elf Man asked, surprised.
“Of course! Everyone knows it. Urban explorers used to upload their photos inside the hospital, until it became too overgrown and dangerous. It’s just crumbling bricks, trees and brambles now. Why are we going there?”
“That’s what you and the Urbex community think.” Elf Man trained the gun back on her. “I found a way in. Instead of booking a fancy hotel, I studied this place on Google Maps. It’s amazing how much you can learn from it. I found out where you live in Point Piper from your cheeps and then checked it on Maps. I guess you should be more careful how much detail you include in your posts in future, huh?”
She continued driving the Jeep along the Princes Highway, the A1, through Heathcote until Elf Man ordered her to slow down. When he told her to pull over, she obliged, parking at the side of the road. “I can’t leave her here; someone will steal her,” she complained.
Elf Man got out, switched a torch on and directed her to a hollow bush tucked inside the woods suitable for hiding her Jeep, which she and Elf Man disguised using branches broken from the trees above. With her car hidden, Georgina walked barefoot in front of him in the rain. Thunder roared and lightning threatened to strike overhead. “We won’t get through,” she said, having to navigate a muddy path, climbing over downed logs. “We need to turn back.” Her captor didn’t listen; he kept nudging her with the gun.
“Don’t be so defeatist, my love,” Elf Man retorted. “We’re nearly there.”
Georgina had to endure the rain, mud and scratches associated with hiking through thick undergrowth. By the time they breached the sanatorium’s perimeter defences, she needed a rest.
Looking up at the broken walls of Waterfall Sanatorium, she remembered the tales told to her as a kid. Haunted, they said. Spirits of over two thousand dead tuberculosis patients walked these woods, they said. Friends in her class at school told her and Amelia of this place. The hospital where lost souls went to die in silence, their families having packed th
em off. Georgina felt the muzzle of the gun in her back through her drenched T-shirt.
“Come on, I’ll show you a way in.” Elf Man prodded her the way to walk. “Remember, any funny stuff and this will go off. Go steady.”
She couldn’t run anywhere. Eventually, he overtook her, and she followed him, brambles flicking back, scratching her face, occasionally catching her bare legs. Georgina wanted to jump on his back and punish him. Instead she walked behind him, dreaming of blowing his brains out, or sticking him in his throat with the knife he carried.
“Here we are.” He crouched and climbed over a crumbling hole in the wall that had once housed a window.
Georgina followed him inside. The east building had far more structure left to it, including a roof. Before she climbed inside, she noted the derelict structure had four storeys. “Where to now?” she whispered.
Actually, she didn’t want to reach their destination. When they arrived, it would be her and Elf Man alone together, until either she managed to flee, they were found by someone, or until he killed her. Elf Man was unhinged, disturbed.
This building, unlike the first couple they had walked past, looked in pretty good shape considering it had not been lived in for thirty-four years. Windows were shattered, certainly, and the walls were cracked everywhere, but the structure stood on its own. She only saw what the flashlight wanted her to see. In daylight it would be worse, she thought.
“It’s just up here.”
To her left was what appeared to be a small room. Through the darkness, watching the torchlight, she saw a doorway. Elf Man led her inside. On the debris-covered floor, her captor shone the light on an old battered mattress. Holes in the ceiling leaked puddles of rain. “Here? You want me to stay here?” She stood, her hands in front of her, bound. “I thought I was your queen? Would a queen settle for such rank accommodation?”
“Oh, now you want to be my queen, do you?” he said, pointing the gun at her chest. “Funny. Only an hour or so ago you wanted to stick me with this knife.” He took the blade out and pointed it at her. Then he slid the pistol in his shorts. “I tell you what, convince me that you want to be my love, and I’ll consider upgrading our living quarters. How about that? And I’ll prove to you I’m worthy of your love.”
Was he for real? The scary truth: she believed he meant every word, every syllable even. He shone the light on the mattress, then on a metal bar next to it that she could see was bolted to the concrete floor. “What the hell’s that doing there?” The strangest place to find what looked like a bike rack.
“No idea, but it’s going to be useful.”
She took a couple of steps back when he approached her with the knife. When he cut her ties and freed her wrists, she understood what he was doing. Her freedom short-lived, he grabbed her left wrist and yanked her over to the metal bar.
Taking out two more cable ties, he secured her to the bar. “Sorted,” he said, shining the torch in her eyes. “You sit and relax. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. This storm’s supposed to last until late morning.”
Elf Man sat in front of her, the flashlight lying on the ground next to him giving them the only light, and stared. “We’re all alone now.”
What did he want from her? One answer was obvious from the way he gazed at, first her legs, then up to her waist, then her wet T-shirt, which clung to her breasts. Georgina dared not talk, in case it made him move towards her. She tried to avert her eyes.
“You are lovely,” he said, playing with the knife, scraping the metal against the hard ground. “And what I love about you the most is you don’t realise how stunning you are. You’re above the vanity that your friends suffered.”
Staring at him, she growled, “Don’t you talk about them! They were my mates. You have no right. And you don’t know me as well as you think. I love the fame. I’m always taking selfies.”
Her words seemed to trouble her captor, who grew agitated. “Nah, you’re better than that. You’re just being difficult because I haven’t proved myself to you yet. But you’ll see sense. Before we leave here, you’ll believe I’m your soulmate.”
“Ha! Buckley’s chance of that happening.” She laughed. “You’re a psychopath. I could never love someone like you.”
Georgina realised her defiance had gone too far when he launched himself at her with the knife. She gulped as he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat, which he stuck the blade on. “No! Please, I didn’t mean it.” She squeaked, afraid to move in case the blade sliced her flesh.
“That was nasty, my love,” he said, his mouth an inch from hers. He sat so close, she could smell his foul breath. “And you’re not a nasty person, are you?”
She closed her eyes when he licked his lips. “No!”
“Good. I would hate to think I’m wasting my love on the wrong queen.” Elf Man made a sort of chuckle in his throat. “No, you’re the one for me.”
48
David Coates’ plane touched down at 16:08 on Friday afternoon at Kingsford Smith Airport. DCI Morgan had booked him on the earliest and fastest flight he could find, which flew from Gatwick and took twenty-three hours, including a two-hour-and-twenty-minute layover in Dubai.
Not expecting to be in Sydney for any length of time, Coates had packed the bare necessities for his trip, managing to cram everything into one holdall. He felt smug avoiding baggage claim, sailing through customs, and walking into the Arrivals lounge. With his ID in his trouser pocket, ready to pull out at a moment’s notice, a police officer in a light blue short-sleeved shirt and black trousers waved him over. The female cop stood next to him carried a placard with Coates’ surname written on it. “Sergeant Kennedy?” Coates held out his hand.
Kennedy shook it, but didn’t say anything.
“Incremental Sergeant Janae Willis,” said the ginger officer with the ponytail. “If you’d like to come with us inspector, we’ll get you squared away and fill you in on where we’re at. I understand you’re booked into the Sydney Boutique Hotel?”
“So it says on my itinerary.” He looked at the piece of paper Morgan had given him. He liked Willis on sight; she had a genuine way about her. Affable and professional. Coates thought he might have trouble with Kennedy. “If I can drop my stuff off, I would love to make a start on finding Peebles.”
Still no word from Kennedy. He followed the two armed officers out of the main doors to their car, which was parked directly outside. Willis went to open the boot, but Coates said not to bother, that he only had hand luggage. Kennedy sat in the driver’s seat, while Willis took the passenger side.
The first thing Coates noticed: the heat. According to his phone, the temperature stood at twenty-eight degrees, full sun and zero chance of rain. Kennedy started the engine and the air conditioning came on. Coates wanted to talk about the case. Instead, he watched the world go by as they drove from the airport to the hotel.
Willis asked him, “How was your flight?”
Kennedy kept staring at him in the rear-view mirror.
“Fine,” he replied. “A bit long for my liking, but hey, I’m here now.”
When they reached the hotel, he checked in, grabbed the key to his room, dropped his bag off and went back to join his colleagues. Within ten minutes, he sat in the back of their car again. “Right, where are we up to?”
“Fill him in, Janae,” Kennedy said, pulling away from the kerb.
“We’re taking you to the crime scene first,” Willis said.
Coates leaned forward. “Crime scene?”
Kennedy snorted, while Willis turned in her seat to face him. “I know you’re tired, having been on a plane for the last twenty-four hours, inspector, but there’ve been some major developments in this case. We’re taking you to Miss Shaw’s house, where we found her boyfriend, Shane Daley, dead at the scene.”
“Dead, how?” Coates noted Kennedy’s attitude.
“From what the coroner can gather, he was stabbed in the abdomen. The suspect then sliced hi
m open. He had several stab wounds on his stomach, so the medical examiner believes Daley fought with the suspect, before he slit Daley’s throat. A bloody mess, is what it is. No sign of Miss Shaw, so we assume she’s been abducted.”
Sitting back in his seat, Coates cursed under his breath.
“Shane Daley’s a celebrity in this city, inspector, the captain of the Sydney Swans, with a huge following on all the major social media apps, so you can imagine keeping this away from the news has been a nightmare.”
“And this is why he’s here,” Kennedy chirped, staring at Coates in the mirror still. “Isn’t that right, inspector? You’re here as a public relations exercise. The way I hear it, this guy, Peebles, your lot released him early, and your ministers want to save themselves embarrassment. So, instead of handing this case over to one of our guys, your government talks ours into calling you in. I tell you, what a load of crap!”
“Is that right, inspector? Are you here to brush all this under the carpet?”
“Hey, I don’t care what you’ve heard,” he snapped. “I’m here to bring Peebles in, to stop him hurting anyone else, and I will, with or without your attitude. If you have a problem with me being British, then you need to sort it. Your super’s instructed you to help me apprehend him, so either help me, or drop me off here and I’ll make my own way. Is that all right with you, sergeant?”
Kennedy tutted. “Well, go on, tell him the rest,” he ordered Willis.
“Wait! There’s more?”
“You could say that,” Kennedy replied. “Peebles, or Elfman, or whatever the hell his name is, he’s been busy while you’ve been up there.”
Waiting on Willis to elaborate, Kennedy pulled up outside a gated house.
“Are we here?” Coates stared at the gates. From what he gleaned from Shaw’s Chatter account, she and Daley lived in luxury. He’d read up on Point Piper, the most affluent suburb of Sydney. The house behind the walls consisted of mainly glass.
Mr Invisible Page 20
