by J K Nen
“Clive Wittner says Jamie and Greta got into a heated argument just as their soiree ended.”
“Did he say what it was about?”
“Yes, Greta tried to smooth talk Jamie into heading back to her place to get in the sack because her partner’s away in Melbourne.”
“And I take it Jamie didn’t like the idea?”
“She couldn’t get out of there fast enough,” Burns replied “And get this, the argument was so loud, people stopped to stare, especially when Greta called her a, pardon my French, worthless coon.”
“A fact she totally failed to mention,” Logan noted. “So when seducing Jamie didn’t work, Greta threw in racial slurs.”
“I say it’s the perfect motive for murder,” Burns said.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. The same killer killed two people and she’s alibied out for the first one.”
“Jamie, I just caught you in a second lie again,” Logan said.
The wait had been torturous for Jamie as she sweated in her cold sitting room. She had been wrestling with herself, whether she should tell them about Greta’s advances. Now it was too late.
“Greta tried to seduce you yesterday. You knocked her back and she called you nasty names, didn’t she?”
Jamie nodded, spilling hot tears.
“I warned you I would arrest you for obstruction of a police investigation, and you have wasted our time by withholding information,” Logan hoped her harsh tone would rattle Jamie into revealing more. “You will have to come with us to the station.”
“But what about my children?” Jamie cried.
“Do you have any family here?” Steele asked.
“No, and I can’t be separated from them,” she sobbed.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you concealed information,” Steele tone was unsympathetic.
Bridgette and Delilah returned from their bus ride just then. Jamie was crying bitterly as the police questioned her. The girls offered to watch the children while Jamie went to the station.
Jamie regretted accepting Greta’s invitation to the party. She was a now murder suspect because she had been so desperate for her classmates’ acceptance. She waited in a mirrored interview room, her mind a jumbled myriad of thoughts. She had watched enough Crime Investigation to know the room had a one-way mirror. As Jamie sobbed, she could not help thinking of Oma. What Oma would do if she was here? She answered her own question. Oma would never be dumb enough to wallow in self-pity. She would find a way out of her predicament.
The taskforce was locked in a heated discussion. While a few believed Jamie knew who Z was., the rest thought she was an innocent victim.
“I think we all agree she is not the killer,” French declared. “Instead of wasting time, let me talk to her and do an assessment. I’ll let everyone know by the end of the day.”
French found Jamie asleep on the floor, curled up in ball. She gently woke her up.
“Jamie, are you alright?”
“I’m okay,” Jamie whispered. “I’m just worried about my children.”
“Why are you worried, Jamie?”
“I have never been apart from them ever since they were born,” she replied.
“I understand your cousins are taking care of them,” she assured Jamie.
“My cousins are returning to Brisbane tomorrow,” Jamie said.
“Are there other alternatives for you? I understand you have no family here.”
“I have an in-law in Katoomba.”
“In that case, you may call them, “French said. “You do know you are entitled to one phone call and legal representation if you ask for it.”
Jamie shook her head.
Furious at Logan and Steele’s failure to mirandarise Jamie, she gave Jamie the use of her phone and stepped out to the hallway to give her fellow officers a piece of her mind.
The Rowes’ sympathy was such a relief that Jamie burst into tears.
“Jamie, listen to me, do not answer any questions,” Joe instructed. “We’re on our way to collect the children. I’m sending Victor Mollini, he’s a really good lawyer.”
“But I can’t afford a lawyer,” Jamie protested.
“He does pro-bono work,” he assured her. “He’ll take your case for free.”
“Are you sure?”
“He owes me a few favours, I’m calling him in on this one.”
“I’m sorry for dragging you into my problems,” she offered.
“Will you hush?” Anna Maria said from the other extension. “We’re here to help you. The kids will stay with us until this is all sorted out.”
“When did you say they arrested you?” Joe asked
“At ten this morning.”
“It’ four now and they’ve kept you in there without telling you your rights and allowing you a phone call?” Joe raged. “What a shoddy bunch of incompetent fools.”
Joe’s indignation reassured Jamie somewhat.
The taskforce was preparing for their briefing when Victor Mollini swept into the room, expensive cologne trailing in the wake of his flawlessly tailored Burberry. Australia’s top defence lawyer, formerly a Crown prosecutor, had no patience for incompetent police work. No other prosecutor could not top his conviction rate.
“Good afternoon DSS Logan, I’m here to collect my client,” he announced.
“Your client?” Logan echoed.
French had just told her off and now this idiot was harping on about a client she knew nothing about.
“Yes, you do have Jamila Maddox in custody, don’t you?”
“No, she’s a witness,” she corrected him.
“That’s not what I was told, “Mollini retorted. “Do you make a habit of treating your witnesses like criminals and not telling them they’re witnesses?”
“She’s assisting us with our investigations.”
“You have a strange way of treating your witnesses,” his tone dripped acid. “If you have no further questions for my client, we’re out of here.”
A handsome, swarthy man walked into the interview room with Lisa Logan. He introduced himself to Jamie as Victor Mollini, her lawyer.
“Jamie, please accept our apology for the misunderstanding,” Logan began.
“From now on Mrs Maddox, every time they want to talk to you, you call me,” Mollini brushed Logan aside. “Any kind of harassment and I will expect a call.”
“We didn’t harass her,” a chastised Logan tried to explain.
“You’re right, you just took advantage of her fear and ignorance and bullied her into God knows what,” Mollini turned on her. “She’s been a cooperative witness so far. I suggest you change your attitude if you want her continued assistance. ”
Jamie stole covert glances at Victor Mollini, as he schooled her on the finer points of dealing with the police. He reminded her of old school movies of mafia dons, with his olive skin, thick black hair and eyebrows and sharp cheekbones.
“They will try to trip you up,” he said. “You’ve had a long day today so I will let you rest today. Let’s meet tomorrow morning.”
The taskforce, frustrated by the latest setback, met in the Command Centre. Jamie Maddox was the key to unlocking Z’s identity. Either she had a guardian angel or she was somehow involved with Z. They would never know now that she had lawyered up. After today’s fiasco, Mollini was unlikely to give them leeway with his client.
“How on earth can the woman afford Mollini?” Sedgwick wondered aloud.
“She’s probably a pro bono client,” Steele guessed.
In the end, that team agreed unanimously that they would watch Jamie Maddox and through her, trap Z. She was the bait they would use to lure the shadowy predator.
CHAPTER 19
Mollini made sure the public knew of the police snafu, taking Jamie Maddox straight out of the police station into a flurry of waiting media. The legal eagle revealed his softer side, covering her with his Burberry as he escorted her to his car. Once he had her s
afely in the car, he turned to the waiting media and flogged the police, accusing them of hounding his client and wasting precious time they could have used to catch Z.
The brass summoned Logan to explain how they had botched the cooperation they would have had from a potential witness had they not used strong-arm tactics in the first place. With a warning ringing in her ears, a dejected Logan returned to her team.
The team was even more disheartened when Sedgewick told them the warrant she got for Facebook to release account details of the victims would take a few more days.
“I got a couple of things here that I’ve been working on during the briefing,” Sedgwick continued.
A collective groan rose.
“Hey, would I waste your time if it wasn’t important?” she replied good-naturedly. “Give me a little credit here, people,”
“Okay, what’s your big discovery?” Steele asked.
“I suspect the women were picked through membership of a Facebook or Instagram page. Maybe a page for single parents or some other online platform that gave Z access their personal info. I want to look at every computer they ever used, including those issued by their employers. Lilo, be on standby to get a warrant in case we hit a roadblock.”
“Excellent work, Sedgie,” Logan told her.
Sedgwick blushed. Steele raised an eyebrow.
“You’re beautiful when you blush, Sedgie,” Naidu teased.
“Oh shut up, Naidu. Do you want to know what else I found too or not?”
“Hey, it’s your show wunderkind,” Naidu threw up her hands in mock horror.
“There were no breather calls for Jamie Maddox probably because she’s been online every single day.”
French had Sedgewick project Z’s updated profile onto the screens. Much of the information stayed the same.
“Based on current information Z has a religious bent from the way he stages the bodies. The victims represent a powerful female figure in his early life he resented. Murdering these women was his way of striking back at that figure, be it mother or sister. That person would have been bi-racial or from a darker complexioned ethnicity, and had two children.
“Frenchie, I’ve done the wound entries and MO on the ASIO but nothing matches,” Sedgwick offered.
“He takes his time, carving up the victims. The measurements of the wounds are exact. The length of the carvings on the skin, the depth of the wounds and the way he posed his victims. It’s all very measured and controlled. That suggests that he’s had practice somewhere before,” French maintained.
“On animals?” Davidson suggested.
“As a child, he would have practiced on animals,” French answered. “But my guess is that he moved to Australia after perfecting his gruesome art overseas.”
“Is he a flight risk?” Logan asked.
“I doubt it,” French speculated. “He likes to finish what he started. Remember, he gave us seven poems.”
French thought Jamie was a potential victim Z had been watching. It explained the rage-fuelled murders of Alfonso Stevens and Greta Szachs.
“Although I need further tests to confirm, I believe Jamie Maddox is the classic avoidant personality. She is keenly sensitive to the possibility of social rejection and humiliation, and so she has very few friends and meaningful relationships. Such personalities yearn for closeness and for the affection and acceptance of others. She’s easily intimidated by authority, lacks self-confidence and ranks at the lower percentile when it comes to self-assertiveness. She appears to be dismayed by her own personal shortcomings and has a tendency to devalue all her achievements. Her only area of confidence is where her children are concerned. She’s focussed on her children and her studies. Yell ‘Boo!’ at her and she’ll jump.”
French cast a meaningful glance at Steele, who had the grace to look embarrassed.
“How would you rank her in her ability to kill someone?” Sedgwick asked.
“Least likely,” French was firm in her conviction. “If she has deep seated issues, only therapy will unlock those and help her deal with it. Right now, I can’t detect any deep-seated rage, except feelings of despair. As far as I can tell, she’s a pliant people pleaser who thrives on learned helplessness.”
“So if we ask her outright to play sitting duck, she’ll agree?” Steele asked.
“Sure, if you lock Victor Mollini up in a dungeon and throw away the key,” Naidu’s riposte elicited a collective groan.
“Unless she takes me up on my offer, we can still get our foot in the door,” French continued, taking in the team’s expectant look. “I offered her therapy whenever she needs it.”
“The situation is such a paradox,” Burns pondered. ““I mean the other victims Z chose were Hillary Clinton’s clones – highly empowered and successful women. Jamie Maddox is a single student mum struggling on a student scholarship. I don’t get it.”
“That’s why we keep looking at their stories,” Logan rejoined. “I’ll ask Commissioner Castle to reach out to Interpol for similar killings elsewhere.”
French offered to email her counterparts in Europe and the US. Most had consulting jobs with law enforcement. They would know of similar cases in their jurisdictions.
Naidu and Davidson had the use of an apartment on the fourth floor of the building opposite Maddox’s apartment. A team of four manned a non-descript van in the street. Naidu handed the binoculars to Steele. It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 20
Jamie woke up, exhausted. Alone in her apartment, she had tossed and turned all night. Anna-Maria’ warned her against calling her children until the end of the week to allow them to establish a routine. She had an appointment with Mollini this afternoon.
From yesterday’s events, she knew her being a witness could change at the drop of a hat. Worst case scenario, she could be charged as an accessory. Someone out there was watching her and killing anyone who mistreated her. Voicemail messages from her friends assured her they did not believe she had anything to do with the murders. Her case officer from the Scholarships Office left a message, asking her to return his call. The first whiff of criminal activity usually had students deported, disgraced and dumped from the program. Dr Maggie French had been kind enough to inform them of Jamie’s role as a material witness in a crucial police investigation. Jamie liked French. She would see her again.
Jamie was returning from the corner shop when she noticed an older man across the street. He looked familiar. When she stole a furtive glance at him, he appeared to be engrossed in picking something off the sole of his shoe. She broke into a run. At the corner, she almost collided with a red-haired woman walking her dog.
Then it hit her. She had seen the man and the woman at the police station. Jamie was certain she was under surveillance. That meant she was a suspect. She debated her options. Call Victor Mollini, spend the rest of the day thinking about it or call Dr French to tell her to call off her team. Jamie lacked the courage to pull off option three. If she called Mollini, there would be hell to pay. He could be quite scathing, and she did not want French thinking badly of her.
As Jamie pondered her next move, she felt like a cornered animal. The odds were stacked up against her. She had no way of proving her innocence. It would be a matter of time before the police slapped the cuffs on her. Unless they found Z first. They were even useless at that too. Alone and far from home without Oma’s wisdom, Jamie started to cry. Then it hit her with startling clarity. The old crone who outlived four husbands, all her children and most of her grandchildren would not be crying like a weakling. Jamie dried her eyes. She knew what needed to be done.
First, she called Mollini to defer their appointment to the next day. Then she ordered leafy spices, sawdust, a bag of charcoal and a metal planter online. The communal fire pit in the recreational area had the ashes she needed.
When the goods arrived, Jamie drew the curtains and locked the door. She transformed her dining table into a makeshift altar with a red cloth, placing Oma
’s photo and a piece of bush twine wrapped around a piece of bone. The old woman had given it to her when she first left to go to school.
“If you ever need me, use this to call me,” Oma, eyes moist with tears had told her. “It does not matter where you are in the world, I will come to you.”
Jamie had never had any use for it until now. She removed the batteries from the smoke detector and lit a fire in the metal planter. With the ashes and charcoal in separate bowls, she added water to mix them into thick pastes. She warmed a bottle of specially prepared coconut oil Oma had given her in the microwave and poured it into a small clay pot. To prepare for the sacred ritual, Jamie stripped naked, then daubed the ashy paste all over her body in the strategic pattern Oma taught her. Although she could not remember the words of the ancient hymn, she hummed the tune as she methodically drew on herself. As the patterns took shape, Jamie grew lightheaded. She threw a handful of the herbs she had bought at Katoomba into the flames. A blue smoke filled the room.
Soon the words of the hymn poured out, an ancient long-forgotten language spoken from the beginning of time, when the Great Mother created Earth, a song as old as time itself. As the words bubbled up from her spirit, Jamie felt the restraints of her modern education, her Christian faith and life in the physical realm breaking away.
