Poison Orchids: A darkly compelling psychological thriller

by Sarah A. Denzil

  “How long has he been awake?” she asked.

  “It started two hours ago apparently. He was pretty out of it to begin with. But the docs say he’s come around a bit and seems to understand his surroundings. The family are with him now.”

  “We’re going to have to rudely interrupt,” Bronwen said. She rubbed her eyes and tried to prepare herself to question the guy. For some reason, she couldn’t get the sleep from her eyes, but the thought of drinking more coffee didn’t appeal.

  “You look a bit…”

  “What?” Bronwen let out an exasperated sigh. She wasn’t in the mood to be reminded that she looked tired.

  He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Nothing.”

  It wasn’t often that they snapped at each other. After all they spent long hours together in difficult, life-threatening situations. They’d become pretty comfortable with each other over time, but today the atmosphere was heavy with something unspoken. Since Bronwen had fallen asleep at Llewellyn Farm, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Joe didn’t trust her anymore. He had a right not to trust her. Bronwen wasn’t sure she trusted herself.

  She walked into the room on shaking legs. The bright lights hurt her eyes and she didn’t feel at all like herself.

  “My name is Detective Bronwen, and this is Detective Kouros—”

  “Detective McKay,” Joe corrected.

  “Right. I’m Detective McKay. We’re leading the murder investigation and wanted to ask Mr Johnson a few questions.”

  “My dad has only just woken up,” a young woman about twenty years old pleaded. Her eyebrows lifted, and Bronwen could see the red rings around her blue eyes. The girl’s hand gripped hold of her dad’s. Next to her stood an older woman dabbing her eyes with a tissue, mascara stains left on the white surface of the material.

  “I realise that, Miss Johnson. We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Bronwen folded her arms and tried to concentrate. The folding of her arms probably appeared to make her stronger and more formidable, but in reality it was a poor attempt to stop herself from falling apart at the seams.

  “We’ll be back soon, Dad.”

  “Love you, Adam,” said the older woman who must be the wife.

  Bronwen stared at the floor as the two women stepped out of the room. Of course this bothered her, she would have to be a sociopath to not feel guilty about throwing loved ones out of the room to conduct an investigation, but it was more important to find out the truth. Jones was a pretty straight-up supervisor, but even he muttered the words sometimes the ends justify the means on occasion.

  “How are you feeling, Mr Johnson?” Bronwen sat herself down on the chair nearest the bed.

  “Like I’ve been in a coma,” he replied.

  Joe flopped down in the seat next to her. “We’re sorry you’ve been through that. Can’t have been pleasant.”

  “I woke up in hospital with tubes sticking out of everywhere,” he replied. Then his voice dropped. “Not to mention the burns.”

  Bronwen tried not to focus on the bandages covering almost all of the man’s skin.

  “We’ll let you rest soon, Mr Johnson. We just need you to help us establish what happened the night your tanker caught fire. Can you talk us through what you remember?”

  “I can,” he said. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “If you’ll bear with me. Talking isn’t easy with these bandages.”

  “Take your time,” Joe said.

  “All right. Well, I was driving along the Stuart Highway heading towards Kakadu. It was late, sometime around midnight, and the road was dark. I came over the peak of a hill when I saw these two girls standing in the middle of the road, waving their arms like mad things, with some guy running behind them. There was no time to brake; they were too close. I swerved sharply, and the tanker flipped.” He paused. “Water, please.”

  Bronwen reached across to the table, lifted a glass of water, and held it closer so that he could suck through the straw.

  “Thank you,” he rasped. He cleared his throat and continued. “I was upside down, and the tank was on fire. I remember pressing my seat belt and falling onto the roof of the cabin. That was when I hit my head, but I didn’t pass out. The heat was terrible.” He closed his eyes. “I could barely breathe.”

  “Take your time,” Bronwen repeated. “There’s no rush.”

  “I’m all right,” he said. “I’d just rather forget all of it.”

  Bronwen passed him more water, and he accepted.

  “I started to wind the window down in the cab so I could crawl out. The girls got to me just as I managed to get it down. They pulled me out and took me away from the tanker. Where are the girls? I’d like to thank them for that. I don’t blame them for being in the road. That man obviously scared them. What happened to him?”

  Bronwen ignored the man’s questions. “Can you give us a description of the man?”

  “Big,” Johnson said. “Tall and wide. I couldn’t offer you much detail about his facial features, but my mind went straight to ugly when I saw him. That’s all I remember: that the guy was big and ugly as sin.”

  “What happened when you got out of the tanker?” Joe asked. “Where was the man then?”

  Johnson thought for a moment. “I didn’t see him, but by this point I was in and out of consciousness. I just remember the girls dragging me away. One of them leaned down to me, and I remember her taking my pulse, so I guess I wasn’t with it at that point. After that, all I remember is waking up in the hospital.”

  Bronwen’s mind finally sharpened, and she realised why Joe had asked that particular question. When they’d first questioned the girls, they’d claimed that Adam Johnson had fought off Rodney to save them. This version of the story was different again. She shook her head very slightly. What if Johnson wasn’t remembering properly? He had just woken up from a coma.

  “Can I confirm that you didn’t see this man,” Bronwen held up a photograph of White, “after exiting the vehicle?”

  “That’s correct,” the man said. “But I sure saw him before. He’s definitely the guy who was chasing the girls. Did he hurt them?”

  “Thanks so much for your time, Mr Johnson,” Bronwen said.

  33

  Megan

  She’d been up since five in the morning painstakingly going through the stacks of secret files that Leah Halcombe had left behind, fuelled by coffee and a desperate race to find out more. She had papers spread from one end of her dining room table to the other.

  There was one file in particular that had her interest—what it contained was nothing like the usual psychologists’ notes. It wasn’t a client file but a file about the place where the client had worked—which in Clay’s case was the farm.

  Leah had described an event called Harvest Friday. She’d called it mind programming. Psychologists tended to shy away from such terms. Many didn’t even believe in mind programming, or brain washing, at all. This file contained a page of frenzied scrawl—with heavy red marker underlining some terms and circling other terms:

  Chanting, isolation from friends and family, a sense that the past no longer exists. Charismatic leader. Loyalty to the leader at all costs. Drugs used for dependency or to alter perceptions.

  Megan chewed absently on the end of her pen. Leah obviously considered the farm a cult. But could a mango farm that employed seasonal workers really be hiding a cult?

  She flipped through pages of speculation about cultlike activities at the farm, finally stopping on a page about Clay. The page contained a mind map of circled sentences, with links drawn between the circles. She’d repeatedly circled one line about Clay:

  Nightmares of frozen dead people. Scientifically correct details. Is it real or just dreams?

  Everyone knew now that it was real. From Leah’s notes, it was evident that Clay had seen the cold room at several points before he died. But why did he think he was just dreaming about it? Perhaps it was an avoidance device—his mind making him believe that t
he cold room didn’t exist.

  The thought of Tate’s experiments with the lab rats jumped into her head. If there was a connection, what was it?

  She flinched as a pair of hands landed lightly on her shoulders. Jerking around, she looked into Jacob’s face—his expression a mix of bemused and concerned.

  “Hey.” He kissed the top of her head. “You were up until midnight with this stuff, and now you’re into it again? It’s Saturday.”

  She sighed, relaxing and squeezing her bleary eyes shut. “I know. I just… I just need to understand what’s really going on here. This is big—in all directions.” Her eyes blinked open. “Hell, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be sharing this stuff with you. It’s kind of confidential.”

  He massaged her shoulders, glancing down at the files. “Hey, so this is about Llewellyn and his farm? Well, I can be your friendly microbiologist consultant. I’ve got lots of contacts who can dig a bit further into what he’s been up to. You need to know anything? I’m your man.”

  She felt an awkward pause after he spoke the words, I’m your man. Because it was seeming like he was her man. He’d come to see her as soon as he’d flown in. It was starting to feel like they were a couple. She glanced down at the masculine shape of his fingers as they clasped the top of her right arm. She loved his hands, especially his beautiful knuckles and clean, square fingernails.

  I just don’t know if I’m ready to jump into a relationship with you, Jacob.

  Leaning over her, he touched a page that was lying on the table. “Leah thought the farm was running a cult?”

  She nodded, looking up at him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Wow.” He picked up a transparent plastic folder. The name Clayton Durrell was written on the front of the folder in permanent ink. “What’s in here?”

  “Not sure. I haven’t even gotten to that yet.”

  He sat on a chair beside her, taking a sip of her coffee.

  “I’ll grab you a coffee,” she said, half rising.

  “No. I’m fine. This has gotten my interest. I can see a list of chemicals inside it—that’s my field.” He opened the folder and slid out a creased piece of paper. “These are some very unusual chemicals. Zeta interacting protein?” He browsed the internet on his phone. “Why on earth would Llewellyn be keeping stuff like this at the farm? In large quantities too.”

  “What is it?”

  He inhaled deeply as he read the information on his screen. “It’s a protein synthesis inhibitor.”

  Megan shook her head in disbelief. “That kind of inhibitor would interfere with memories…”

  “Yep.” He kept reading. “These enzymes were apparently used in experiments with rats. The rats were made to forget a painful memory, of a series of noises that led to their foot being shocked. The protein synthesis inhibitor is injected, and then a single memory can be isolated and wiped out—such as just one of those sounds.”

  Megan’s forehead pulled into a worried frown. “You know, Bronwen said the lab he has at the farm is pretty big for a hobby perfume operation…”

  Jacob chewed on his lower lip for a moment, as if thinking. Picking up the folder again, he carefully drew out the remaining item—a small glass vial. The vial was empty, a crack running along one side of it. “Damn, whatever was in here is long gone. I could have taken it away and tested it.”

  She sighed in frustration. “Clay must have been stealing these items to show Leah.”

  “I bet this vial contained at least some of the chemicals on that list.”

  “So… if he has no lab rats at the farm—and I don’t think he does—then how is he testing his drugs there?”

  For a moment, they held each other in an anxious gaze.

  “Megan,” Jacob said carefully, exhaling a slow breath. “This might have just gone a few steps further past the crazy cult thing. If it was dangerous for Clay and Leah to know what they knew, it’s dangerous for you too.”

  She met his gaze. “I know…”

  “Get these files down to the police station,” he said. “Now. I’ve got a couple of hours of field work to do today, but I’m not leaving you here with dynamite on your hands.”

  “Okay. I’ll go. You make yourself at home. Have a coffee. Make yourself some breakfast. Whatever strikes your fancy.”

  He smiled. “The thing that strikes my fancy is just about to walk out the door.”

  She hoped she wasn’t blushing. But she was pretty sure she was.

  Glancing down at her watch, she checked the time. “I thought it was later. It’s only seven. Bron won’t be at the station yet.”

  “Call her.”

  “I can’t. She and Joe are barely getting any sleep as it is.”

  He sighed. “Well, I’m not leaving here until you do.”

  “No. Go. You’ve got work to do.”

  “Come here.” Gently, he guided her from her seat and into his arms. “I’m serious. I’m not going anywhere. I can get my stuff done anytime today.”

  He kissed her again.

  Within minutes, they were in bed.

  It was different to every other time she’d been with Jacob. He was so… tender.

  Afterwards, when they were lying naked and wrapped up together, he began drifting into sleep, and she realised how exhausted he must have been with the long days in the heat with his fieldwork. But he’d come straight to her. He hadn’t even stopped for a rest.

  She snuggled on his chest. It felt natural, being here with Jacob. It occurred to her for the first time that she could be happy with him.

  How did this even happen? How did I go from not knowing how I felt to knowing this?

  He ran a lock of her hair through his fingers. “Smells nice,” he murmured drowsily. “I love your hair. I love everything about you…”

  Her breath caught. She raised her head, astounded by the sincerity in his tone. His words were sleepy and his eyes closed, but she was in no doubt that he was serious about what he’d just said. She was trying to find a reply when he spoke again.

  “Tonight, I’m taking you out to dinner,” he said. “No ifs or buts. I won’t get in the way of your work, but you have to eat sometime. May as well be with me.” He grinned, still without opening his eyes.

  “Sounds great,” she said, breathing easier now. “I’m paying though. You bought the Chinese last night.”

  “Hmmm, in that case, we’re going to the most expensive restaurant in town.” He winked.

  His breaths began drawing out longer and deeper, and he fell asleep.

  She watched him for minutes then rested her head on his chest again, listening to his steady heartbeat, growing drowsy with him. A bubble of warmth grew around her. It was just Jacob and herself, floating on this small island together.

  Abrupt thoughts shook her from the peaceful lull she’d been in.

  Leah’s files.

  The farm. The memory drug.

  The girls.

  Tilting her wrist, she eyed her watch. Bronwen would be arriving at the office soon. She wished she could just stay where she was, but she had to go.

  Leaving the bed, she went to take a quick shower then dressed and headed down to the station.

  Both Bronwen and Joe were in Bronwen’s office, looking decidedly more groomed than they usually did.

  “Meggie,” said Joe in his booming voice. “You got something? You look like you’ve got something.”

  Megan nodded, her right shoulder weighed down by the mass of files in her carry bag. “Yep. A whole lot of something.”

  “You’d better pull up a seat, then.” Bronwen indicated towards an empty chair. “But I’ll warn you, we’re rushed for time. We’ll be in a meeting with the superintendent from ten a.m.”

  “Okay, that explains why you two are looking so damned smart.” Flashing a grin, Megan took a seat with them. “Does a meeting with the super mean that you’ve had a breakthrough? Any news of the girls? Or… did something turn up during the search of Tate’s farm?”

&nbs
p; Bronwen and Joe eyed each other hesitantly before Bronwen spoke.

  “We’ve still got no trace on the girls,” Bronwen said. “The search turned up sweet nothing. Tate’s as clean as a whistle. Or if he’s got anything incriminating there, he’s managed to get it off the farm before we got there.” She paused, toying with the cuff of her shirt. “The search wasn’t my finest moment, all told.”

  “Oh?” said Megan.

  “Bron’s the best detective in the NT,” Joe cut in. “But sometimes she lets others get to her and she forgets how damned good she is.”

  “You are looking tired,” Megan told Bronwen with concern. “I mean, underneath the sleek hair and crisp clothing. So, who’s been getting to you?”

  “It’s just everything,” she replied quickly, giving Megan the impression that she wasn’t telling everything. “When all this is over, the three of us have got to go out and have a meal together. Like we used to.” She studied Megan’s face for a second. “You, my dear, are glowing. Something you want to tell us?”

  “Jacob,” Megan said.

  “Mr Incommunicado himself?”

  “Yep.”

  “What happened?” Bronwen’s eyebrows pushed upwards.

  “I don’t know.” Megan exhaled. “I don’t even know. Things between Jacob and me just suddenly got… special.”

  “Nice.” Bronwen shot Megan a grin.

  “Glad to hear it,” said Joe. “I like the guy.”

  Megan was sure she was beaming like she had a schoolgirl crush. “So, the search turned up absolutely nothing?”

  “Nope,” Joe answered. “And we went over the place with a fine-toothed comb. Can’t say it doesn’t have a weird feel there though. All those happy fruit pickers. Some of them seemed a bit spacey.”

  “Well, you know, that’s just what I wanted to talk to you about.” Megan pulled out the stack of folders and placed them on the desk. “These are Leah Halcombe’s files. I’ve spent two days going through all this—and I’m still not done—but there are some things in here that you two need to know.”