Mr Invisible

by Duncan Brockwell

  Wishing the moody sergeant hadn’t overheard him, Coates nodded. “I see, worth a punt, I guess. What does my partner know, eh? Silly pom.”

  “If you want to take a look-see, go ahead. But I’m telling you, even the Urbex lot don’t bother with Waterfall anymore. There’s nothing to explore, so if Peebles is there, he might as well be camping in the woods.”

  Coates bowed his head and took Kennedy’s comment on board. His Australian colleague must surely have more local knowledge than Packard, Coates thought, turning his attention to Willis, who waited until Kennedy had his back to them and leaned into him.

  “Waterfall’s not such a bad shout. Two buildings are all but gone. One remains intact, though.” She put her finger over her mouth signalling him to keep quiet.

  Leaning in closer to her ear, Coates asked, “How do I get to it? If I decide I want to explore the area?” Kennedy glanced at them, then walked away, leaving Coates alone with Sergeant Willis. “Is there a map I can borrow?”

  “If you wait until morning, I’ll drive you.”

  “I can’t leave it overnight. Miss Shaw’s still with him.”

  “I understand, but it’ll be dark soon. You won’t find the remaining building at this time, inspector. All you’ll end up doing is getting lost in woop woop. Nothing but miles of bush around, I promise you. Nah, the best thing to do is wait until morning. She’ll be right; I’ll get you to Waterfall.”

  “Thanks.” He held his hand out. Willis had a strong shake and an attractive smile. He could imagine she scrubbed up well out of uniform with that long red hair and those dazzling blue eyes. “I’ll take you up on that.”

  “Take you up on what, Janae?” Kennedy beckoned them over.

  “Ah nothing, sir.” Willis stopped talking.

  “If you say so. You seen enough now, inspector? You’re attracting reporters, it seems. There are heaps of them outside.”

  Coates cursed quietly. “Let’s go!” he suggested, his colleagues walking down the stairs in front of him. When they reached the door, they all made sure they avoided the bloodstains near the doormat.

  On the driveway, uniforms held back the throng of reporters, who called out to him, asking him if he had any leads. They all seemed to know he was British, and that he had flown over. He didn’t say a word to any of them; he focused on getting from the house to their car, which was parked across the road.

  “Inspector!” a female shouted from behind him.

  Coates turned in the street to find a petite woman stood in front of him, her eyes determined. The woman was attractive with long grey hair; he put her in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. With the journalists waiting behind her, he glanced sideways at Willis. “Ma’am?”

  “This is Mrs Thomas, inspector. Amelia’s mother.”

  Kennedy was enjoying the awkwardness, Coates thought, wanting to punch him.

  “Are you going to find my daughter, inspector?” she pleaded.

  All eyes on him, the journalists didn’t need to ask him questions; all they needed to do was watch and listen. Two cameras filmed him. “We’re doing our best, Mrs Thomas. If you come by the–”

  “Is it true you were called in because Shane’s killer is British?”

  Kennedy was wearing a smug smile that Coates wanted to wipe away. What could he say? His primary objective was to bring Peebles back to the UK quietly. This wasn’t on the quiet, and he was pretty sure Kennedy had leaked the information to Mrs Thomas. “We believe the suspect’s British, yes,” he said, to murmurs from the news people. “Please, come with us and I’ll explain everything.”

  “I’m not a stupid woman, inspector. In all likelihood my Amelia’s probably dead, butchered by that animal, but I have a task for you: bring me my daughter, and catch this mongrel.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Mrs Thomas.” He stepped forwards and touched her shoulder. “If you’ll join us, I’ll discuss this with you back at the–”

  “Just do as I ask, please, Inspector Coates.”

  When she turned and walked away, the journalists barraged her with questions, and after she left without saying a word, they focused on him. They asked him about Elfman, and one reporter asked if the suspect was in fact Arthur Peebles. At this, Coates caught eye contact from Sergeant Kennedy, who shrugged.

  “You son of a bitch! You leaked it, didn’t you?” Coates growled when he’d joined the others in the car. Leaning forwards in the rear passenger seat, he saw the stocky officer smiling in the mirror.

  “The Australian public have a right to know, inspector.”

  If he had his way, he would have taken the sergeant outside and smacked some sense into him. In reality, he sat back, unable to vent his anger. He punched the door panel.

  51

  At ten the following morning, DI Coates stood at the back of the room, his arms crossed, listening to the senior officers explain the situation to their subordinates. Sergeants Willis and Kennedy were either side of him. Chief Superintendent Bradley was front and centre, controlling the hundred-strong crowd of cops. “We’re not going to find them here. When can we go?” Kennedy shushed him.

  “After this.” Willis made sure her partner couldn’t hear.

  Bradley mentioned Coates’ name and asked him to step forwards and address the room. He received a phone call only an hour earlier from DCI Morgan, who was less than impressed that the news stations were reporting Peebles’ escapades over here. His cover was blown.

  “I’ll tell you what I know,” he said to eager faces, some young, some old. “Arthur Peebles was released from prison little over eighteen months ago after serving fourteen years for the rape and murder of fellow student, Zoe Evans. He and his co-defendant, Michael Ince tried blaming one another at the trial, but the jury convicted them both and they were sentenced to life imprisonment and sent to HM Full Sutton Prison after being retained at Her Majesty’s pleasure for the first four years at Werrington Young Offender Institution in Stoke-on-Trent.

  “After speaking to the governor of the prison, I believe Peebles committed two murders while in custody. Brutal and bloody, an inquiry was held on both occasions, yet no evidence was ever found against him. Upon early release, and against the recommendations of the governor, Peebles was given a new name and relocated to Brighton. He chose Danny Elfman as his moniker and began his new life working as a customer service representative at an insurance company. According to the company’s CEO, Elfman was a valued employee.

  “Reading the messages between Shaw and Elfman, he started following her a little over a year ago, liking most of her cheeps but never contacting her, until on Friday the fourth of January, when he sent her a message asking where he should visit on holiday in Sydney. By Shaw’s own admission, one of her friends, possibly Mr King, or Mr Tua replied on her behalf as a prank. I think we can assume that he took her confession badly.”

  “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” Bradley said, taking over. “Mr Daley was a registered firearm owner and one of his handguns is missing, a Beretta M9. We’re considering Elfman armed and dangerous. If you encounter him, call for assistance first. We’ve set up a helpline in the next room with volunteers answering calls from the public. I need you all to be vigilant and alert.”

  “If you find him, radio in,” Coates interrupted. “Elfman doesn’t care. He didn’t try to hide his DNA on Tara Henson’s body, which means he’s either too dumb, or getting caught doesn’t scare him. He’s not frightened of prison. He won’t feel guilty about shooting you dead, so please, please, please stay safe. You see him, call for backup before approaching him.”

  Coates walked to the rear of the room and stood between Willis and Kennedy. Bradley continued his briefing, where the map of Sydney and the surrounding area was split up into squares. They were going to fan out and search the city and its neighbouring towns and villages. “Superintendent,” he said, attracting his super’s attention, “Sergeant Willis and I would like to take Waterfall Sanatorium.” Chatter and laughter filled
the room.

  “I thought you wanted to catch him,” Bradley joked.

  “Sir… I–”

  “You’re not from around here, Inspector Coates, so I’ll let you in on a little local secret: the hospital doesn’t exist anymore. The buildings have collapsed, but if you’re suggesting he’s lying out there in the woods with all those bities, go and look for yourself.”

  “My partner over the pond is looking into Elfman’s search history and he looked up Waterfall Sanatorium a bunch of times. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  “I have a list of places far more likely to yield results right here in my hand,” Bradley said, smirking.

  The room laughed at him.

  A man in civvies walked up to the superintendent carrying a clipboard.

  “We’re spreading out the width and breadth of New South Wales, as far north as Lightning Ridge, east as Byron Bay, as far south as Albury and west as Broken Hill. If anyone has any preferences, now’s the time to tell me.”

  The chorus of voices drowned out anything Coates was going to say. Instead of shouting above everyone, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms. By the time their search zone was given out, they would be given the dregs. Elfman and Shaw were at Waterfall Sanatorium. Why else would his charge research the abandoned hospital on Google Maps? And the sanatorium was only a forty-five-minute drive.

  “I told you he wouldn’t go for it. But don’t worry, she’ll be right. I’ll ask for a decent place to search.”

  Coates had never wanted to punch a colleague as much as Scott Kennedy before. On the flight over, Coates had wondered what kind of reception he would receive. Apart from Willis, everyone he had met so far seemed to hold him in contempt. “Can we go?”

  “No way, mate. If he finds out we’ve gone behind his back, he’ll bump me down to constable. No, I am sorry, inspector, but I have my limits. You’ll need to convince some other poor mug to drive you.”

  The noise level dropped. Coates tried to identify the reason.

  A couple, a man in his fifties or sixties and an aborigine woman entered the room. He noted the woman had been crying. Bradley introduced them as Mr and Mrs Shaw, Georgina’s parents. In the UK, the relatives wouldn’t have been invited to a police meeting like this. But he was in Australia, not the UK.

  Everyone quietened down and waited for Mr Shaw to speak.

  “Please help us. Find our daughter, I beg you. She’s only a dainty little thing, please bring her back to us.” His mouth crumpled as his wife buried her face in his shirt. “And kill that piece of shit, too. Make him wish he was never born.”

  The room erupted. Coates couldn’t believe the Chief Superintendent didn’t have anything to say about it. After Shaw’s parents left the room, Coates hung around until Kennedy came back with a sheet of paper in his hand. Their search zone: Ambarvale. “What’s this?”

  “A favour,” Kennedy announced. “Ambarvale’s just west of Dharawal National Park. Dharawal blends into Heathcote National Park. And guess what’s near Heathcote? If you’re patient and help us in Ambarvale, I’ll drive us to Waterfall. How about that?”

  Coates didn’t have much choice. He would rather leave now, but without a guide, he would no doubt get himself lost; he didn’t possess the best inner compass. “You’ve got a deal. But I have to ask, why are you doing this? You said yourself I’m wasting my time.”

  “Yeah well, I can be a hothead at times,” Kennedy admitted. “If your partner says Peebles searched for Waterfall a lot, there might be something in it. I meant what I said. The hospital’s gone, nothing but ruins from where the bush has grown through.”

  Willis smiled at him and extended her thumb without her senior partner spotting it.

  Coates held out his hand.

  Kennedy took a few seconds deciding whether or not to shake it. He did.

  52

  Georgina tried to tear the duct tape he replaced around her fingers and thumbs for the eightieth time. Feeling dizzy from lack of food and water, she grappled with the cable ties, desperate to free herself and run away. To her relief, he left her alone for the third day in a row. He would be back soon, she thought, believing it to be late afternoon. “Help!” she cried into her gag, her words nothing more than muffled noise.

  Mosquitos had made a meal of her, being tied up allowing them the chance to sink their teeth into her. Bites littered her legs, arms and neck. Of all the wildlife around her, mosquitos were the cute teddy bears. Earlier in the morning she had to move when a Sydney funnel web, the deadliest of the indigenous spiders, crawled past her. She only wished one would bite Elf Man.

  The sun was beaming outside, not that she had seen any over the last three days. It was dark in her room, and hot, the perfect climate for funnel webs and all manner of other nasty insects that would love nothing more than to take chunks out of her. Georgina had her captor and the elements to be afraid of.

  Straining to break the cable tie, her wrists bleeding from her clawing at it. No use. The plastic was too strong. Giving up, she studied the metal pole. It was screwed into the ground.

  Then she looked down at her taped hands. There was no getting to the screws. Panicking, she screamed into her gag, half out of fear and the rest frustration. Elf Man was due back any time, she thought, sawing away at the cable tie with the metal in the vain hope it would somehow snap. “Help!” The rag made her choke.

  She heard voices!

  Georgina stopped moving.

  Rustling bushes; she heard the wind tickling the leaves.

  Her raised hopes dropped.

  She screamed into her gag as loud as she could for as long as she could until she coughed. A mosquito bit her on the arm. “Help!” she spluttered for a third time.

  The voices grew fainter.

  With a sense of hopelessness consuming her, she let out a sob. Elf Man would come through that doorway any moment. The previous nights she’d avoided his advances, but she wasn’t sure about this evening. In keeping up the appearances, she had not flinched when he kissed her cheek goodbye. She’d let him kiss her, for Christ’s sake. If she had any chance of getting out of this alive, she had to free herself now.

  The voices came back! Two guys.

  Her throat dry, she screamed into her gag until she coughed.

  They continued, only louder.

  Desperately yanking on her wrists, she yelled again.

  “Did you hear that, mate?” a faint voice said.

  Georgina did all she could to scream again, her voice hoarse.

  “Hello? Is someone here? If you can, call out.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Georgina kept calling between coughing fits. The guy’s voice grew louder with each attempt at drawing their attention. Still yanking on the cable ties, her wrists bleeding, she held her focus on the doorway until a man’s silhouette stood before her.

  “Holy shit!” The first man entered and walked up to her. “She’s that girl, the one from the news, mate. That surfer chick. Quick, call the police.” He squatted before pulling the rag out of her mouth. “You’ll be right. We’ve got you.”

  Watching the second silhouette on his mobile, she glanced at the doorway, expecting Elf Man to enter. “Please help me. He’ll be back any minute. Cut me loose, I beg you.”

  The silhouette stood and reached into his jeans pockets. “I don’t understand, I had my pocketknife on me when I left.”

  “Shit! No signal, mate,” said the second shadow.

  Georgina looked up in desperation at her supposed rescuers. “Quick, find something to cut these ties with, please. He’ll be back soon.”

  “I had my knife on me, I know I did.”

  When one of them laughed, she understood why. “Are you high?” They were here getting stoned, she thought, pulling on the plastic. “Please, you have to listen to me! Find something to cut with. There must be something you can use.”

  “Like what?” one asked, putting his mobile away.

  “Like glass, anything, somet
hing sharp,” she snapped. “Use your imagination. It has to be strong enough to slice through this cable tie.”

  “Oh holy shit! It is you! I remember now, Georgina Shaw,” the phone silhouette said, seeming to forget the seriousness of the situation. “You’re a badass bitch! What’re you doing here, babe?”

  “Sunbathing, what does it look like!” she hissed, staggered that he couldn’t understand she had been abducted. “Are you kidding me? I need rescuers, and what do I get? A couple of space cadets. Please look for a cutting implement.”

  “Right.” He slapped his forehead. “Like what?”

  Space Cadet’s friend laughed.

  “Listen up, drongos, a psycho pommie who’s already murdered my boyfriend and four of my friends kidnapped me, do you get it? He’s on his way back, and if he finds you here, he will kill you. Do I need to spell it out for you? Now please, please, please find something to cut me free.”

  They both got to work scouring the floor for a cutting tool.

  “Hey! Did she just call us drongos?”

  53

  Sat in the back of Kennedy’s police car, Coates was sweating. He had wet patches around his armpits and one starting on his back. Being British, he wasn’t acclimatised to the intense heat, and he had been out in the sun all day, searching for Elf Man and Shaw in a tiny place called Ambarvale, going door-to-door with photos. Of course they’d left empty-handed because their suspect was at the sanatorium. “How far is it?”

  “Keep your pants on, mate, we’re coming up to Waterfall now. We’ve just passed Heathcote. Should be there in a few minutes. She’ll be right.”

  “Should we discuss arming him?”

  Kennedy regarded his partner, he noted. Were they seriously thinking about handing him a gun? He didn’t want one.

  “Not on your life! No way! Uh-uh. He can come along, but I’m not giving him a piece. And besides, they won’t be here, Jan. I’m doing him a favour by taking this detour.”