by Livia Day
‘Nice job, don’t you reckon?’ said Gary. ‘Of course, your mate Xanthippe put him up to it.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘A police officer’s sister. She should know better than to mess around with people like Morris.’
‘You didn’t like someone else stealing your idea, did you?’ I said. ‘Julian Morris was your errand boy, building those traps around Sandy Bay. First the one in the street, then the one under Amy and Danny’s house. You must have given him access.’ Near my house, hell, one of them in my stepsister’s cellar, so when I heard about it, I’d feel involved. ‘But then Xanthippe stole him from under your nose, and he started building a trap for her instead. Tell me, what did happen to Julian?’
As soon as I’d asked the question, I wished that I hadn’t. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to stay in blissful ignorance of how Julian had died. Accidental overdose? Worked for me.
‘He was a drug courier,’ said Gary. ‘Just like dealers, scum of the earth. Even when you get them into the prison system, they always reoffend.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘So, you’re like Batman. You’re out to punish the criminals.’ Except Batman never kills anyone. People forget that bit, but I had it drummed into my head from the time Ceege got into a flamewar about it on Tumblr.
Gary obviously liked the analogy. His freckled face creased into a delighted grin. ‘Yeah. Like Batman. Got to get them off the streets, Tabby. Risdon’s too good for that sort.’ Yes, our local prison was renowned for being a comfy place for drug dealers, all sunshine and Nintendo.‘Too easy. Got to make an example of them.’
‘So,’ I said, going out on a limb. ‘Why am I in a cage, Gary? What are you punishing me for?’
Gary looked at me for a moment, and I half thought I might have won this round. But then he moved to a shuttered wicker basket, opening it up. A cat emerged, purring and cooing.
For one mad moment I thought he’d got hold of Kinky Boots, but when Gary turned toward me I saw a scraggy and toothless old Siamese, who wound her limbs lovingly around Gary’s neck and shoulders.
I’d seen that cat before, in a basket of elderly lace accessories. It was Margarita’s Moonshine.
‘She likes me,’ said Gary, with wonder in his voice. ‘I trapped her in a net, and she still likes me. I’m going to try it with you.’
Not liking the sound of this at all. ‘Bondage and incarceration might be a turn on for some people,’ I said sharply. ‘I’m not one of them.’
Gary’s face fell a little, as he realised I wasn’t going to swoon with gratitude. He put the cat down on the ground, and she wound around his ankles. Huh. She really was a fan.
I moved in for the kill. ‘Why don’t you let me go? No one has to know about all this … silliness. It can be our secret.’ For three minutes until I get to a phone, you utter maniac.
‘If I let you leave,’ said Gary. ‘You’ll just go back to ignoring me. Like before. I did it all for you, Tabby, and you still didn’t notice me.’
‘Of course I noticed,’ I said. ‘I gave you lasagne and your favourite biscuits. Wasn’t I always nice to you?’
‘You’re like that with everyone,’ Gary said. ‘You feed everyone, you smile at everyone. I was special.’
Now I had to to stroke his ego? I wasn’t sure I had the patience to make nice with somebody whose idea of wooing was to lock me in a homemade cage. On the other hand, my life depended on it. Ick. Ick. Ick. ‘I’ve always thought you were special, Gary. But if we’re going to explore this —’ Gah ‘— thing between us, then can’t we find somewhere nicer? I mean, we’re under some old house. It doesn’t scream “romance” to me.’
‘No!’ Gary yelled. ‘This is our place. I made it for you.’
‘Oh,’ I said faintly. Lovely. Just what I’ve always wanted.
‘I did everything for you,’ he added.
It wasn’t the first time that Gary had said something like that, and I didn’t like the sound of it any better. ‘Define “everything”, please?’
Gary smiled, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was a raving lunatic, he would have looked sort of cute. He’d always had that schoolboy Jimmy Olsen thing going for him. Even as my brain screamed ‘Keep back, fiend,’ the rest of me (which hadn’t caught up to recent events) still wanted to give him coffee and cake and ask him about his day.
He was special—he’d always been one of my favourites. In a puppy dog kind of way.
‘I wasn’t hurting anyone,’ said Gary, sounding delighted with himself. ‘I just wanted to get your attention. It would have worked, too—but then Xanthippe had to go and interfere. I should have known that a loser like Morris couldn’t be trusted to keep my secrets. I should never have trusted him with my plans.’
Kevin Darrow’s plans, I thought about reminding him. I managed to restrain myself, though. See, Bishop? In dire circumstances, Tabitha Darling can actually keep her big mouth shut.
‘If Bishop’s sister could find out who built the traps, anyone could,’ said Gary. ‘Paying him to be discreet wasn’t enough. I had to make sure he stayed quiet forever, didn’t I?’
Put like that, it sounded perfectly reasonable… No, hang on a minute. ‘So you found out that he was cheating on you with Xanthippe. Building a trap for her.’
‘Exactly,’ said Gary, as if he genuinely thought he was explaining something sensible and normal. ‘When I spotted him sneaking around your building with his tools, I knew what he was up to. Couldn’t trust him after that.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘So, you didn’t trust Morris after Xanthippe corrupted him. And you decided to … teach him a lesson?’ I stopped short of accusing him of murder. We were having this civilised conversation and everything. I didn’t actually know for certain that Gary had…
Gary laughed out loud. ‘You think I was scuttling around, switching insulin for heroin? I’m a police officer, Tabby.’
‘Okay,’ I said, breathing just a little easier. ‘So you didn’t kill Julian Morris?’ Things might not be as bad as I was imagining.
‘No,’ said Gary with a soft smile. ‘But I let The Vampire know that Morris was screwing his wife. Within twenty-four hours, Morris mysteriously died of an accidental overdose, injecting pure heroin instead of insulin into his own veins.’ He paused. ‘I suppose he could have done it himself, but it doesn’t seem likely, does it?’
Huh. That actually made sense. It didn’t make me feel a whole lot better about being kidnapped by Gary, but at least he wasn’t technically a killer. I might still talk my way out of this, if I kept my cool. ‘If you knew who The Vampire is, why didn’t you simply arrest him?’
‘No evidence,’ Gary said, sounding almost normal. ‘Most of the cops in Hobart know who he is. Keeps his nose pretty clean, though, and we’ve never had an opportunity to bust him. He’s a dentist,’ he added with a sneer. ‘Respectable as you like.’
Dentist. So Julian’s Nat was apricot-haired Natasha Pembroke, and … her husband Dr Shiny Teeth was The Vampire. It was vaguely reassuring to find out he was a villain. Those blinding teeth were way too disturbing to belong to an innocent person. ‘So she knew what she was doing when she shot you with the bow and arrow.’ Not a random drug-related freak out after all.
‘Natasha Pembroke,’ said Gary in a biting voice. ‘That woman. Completely flipped out after Morris was found dead. Like she couldn’t find some other deadbeat toyboy to replace him.’
‘Weren’t you worried she would tell the police about your deal with Morris?’ I asked.
‘She did. After we arrested her for the siege. She told Bishop and half a dozen other police officers that she shot me because I arranged for her lover to be killed. And you know what? They laughed at her. Bishop said it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.’ Gary’s mouth twisted a little. ‘They never believed I could do anything like that—not good old Gary, the one everyone can trust. Mrs Pembroke changed her mind about accusing me when it came to making a formal statement. She couldn’t prove it, and she’s not stupid,
so she claimed to be acting irrationally under the influence. It would have been her word against mine.’
Why was he was telling me this now? I couldn’t help but worry about that. If I knew all his dodgy secrets, what was he planning to do to me?
I clung desperately to the idea that he wasn’t a murderer. Maybe this was semantics, but since I was going to be caged by a raving madman with a crush on me anyway, I would prefer it to be one who didn’t go around spiking people’s insulin with heroin.
‘They didn’t take me seriously,’ said Gary, and it occurred to me that he wasn’t all that happy that Bishop and the others had so easily dismissed the idea that the Trapper was a criminal mastermind. ‘They didn’t think I was capable of killing one scummy little dealer.’
‘But that’s a good thing,’ I said. ‘You’re a hero, remember? A police officer. Not a bad guy.’
‘Oh,’ said Gary, sounding a little far away. ‘But you don’t know what I’ve done.’
I tried not to look worried about that ominous comment. Delaying tactics were called for. ‘Gary, I’m starving. What time is it?’
‘Nearly lunchtime. You slept most of the morning.’
‘Well, I had a late night. Plus, chloroform.’ I tried not to think of Nin working away in the café without me. If I survived this, she was going to kill me. Or worse—she might quit.
Yes, I was still thinking about ordinary, everyday things. It was the only way to keep from screaming.
Gary left the cellar. He came back a while later with a doorstop dark rye sandwich on a plate, looking pleased with himself. ‘I know you like pesto, and smoked salmon, and semi-dried tomatoes, not sun-dried. There’s some baby spinach in there, too.’
Hipster food. My stomach gurgled anyway. Talking about murder raises an appetite.
The sandwich was so big that I had to turn it on its side to get it through the bars. I managed to eat some of it, my brain spinning away at top speed. Lunchtime. That meant I’d been in Gary’s custody for about ten or eleven hours. Holy hell. Where was my rescue team?
I had never suspected Gary. Had anyone else? Would Stewart and the others go to Bishop when they found me missing?
Dad always joked that he should use a tracking system, so he could locate me when I was running around giving him grey hairs during my teen years. I suppose it was too much to hope that Bishop’s paranoia had led him to secretly microchip me?
Yeah, that probably was too much to hope.
I was on my own. I was going to have to use all my skills to get out of this cage, out of this cellar and out of this house, to safety.
Most of my skills involved cooking and accessorising, and it was hard to see how that would be helpful, unless Gary suddenly got an insatiable craving for cannelloni, or needed to choose the perfect pair of earrings.
So, cross off all of Tabitha’s skills that require a kitchen or her handbag collection, and what are we left with?
Feminine wiles. Fuck.
‘Wonderful sandwich,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘Best I’ve had in ages. Really hit the spot. How did you know just what I would like?’ Best not mention that I hate the combination of smoked salmon and semi-dried tomato. Could have been worse. Could have been capers.
‘I know you, Tabby,’ said Gary. ‘I watch you all the time. Haven’t you figured that out yet?’
I sighed, and leaned my head against the bars. ‘I think I’m starting to. Any chance of a cup of tea?’
‘Wouldn’t fit through the bars,’ he said.
I looked down, as if surprised that I was still in the cage. ‘Oh. Do we still need this? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Gary agreed, and sidled away. Moonshine gave me a dirty look and stalked after her new master.
Out of the cage. That would be a damn good start. A cuppa wouldn’t hurt, either. And then—freedom.
All I had to do was figure out how to get from A to B.
* * *
When Gary returned with the cup of tea, he unlocked the cage. I unwound myself from the confined space, carefully not thinking things like ‘I could hit him over the head right now and run away.’
For a start, I had nothing to hit him over the head with except for a warm (but not hot) cup of tea. Also, despite his casual clothes, I could see his police issue handgun holstered under his jacket.
I sat on a wobbly stool and drank my tea. He had put sugar in it, which annoyed me. I only take sugar in coffee. For a stalker, he sure hadn’t been paying much attention to my actual likes and dislikes.
‘Right,’ I said finally. ‘You’ve got my attention. What do you want now?’
‘I want you to respect me,’ said Gary. He hadn’t brought a cup of tea for himself, probably because he wanted to keep his Glock within easy reach.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Respect. Well, I’m pleased to hear you haven’t been running around killing dealers and dumping them in my building, net or no net. But how exactly are you going to make up for all this? Because I’ve got to tell you, most successful romances do not start out with one of the participants locking the other in a cage.’
‘I know,’ said Gary. ‘I’m sorry about that. But I needed to talk to you. Properly. Without any of those—people around you.’
‘You mean my friends?’
‘They’re no good for you. I mean, who have you been hanging around with lately? That Xanthippe—she has trouble written all over her. An internet hack. That cross dressing freak you live with.’
Now was not the time to give him a lecture about respecting the gender identity of individuals, and that men should be able to wear the occasional frock without being labelled by close-minded arseholes. I was really good at that speech, and it was painful to swallow it down. ‘You brought me here and locked me in a cage—making me miss half a day of work, by the way—to tell me you don’t like my friends?’
‘That café,’ said Gary. ‘It’s no good for you, either. It’s made you forget about us—the ones who look after you. You changed your menu to try to get rid of us all, but we’ll never walk away. It’s time to clean up your life, Tabby. I can help you.’
Now he was speaking for the whole police force? As if. Dad would smack him silly for that arrogance. I almost forgot about the gun. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do? Go back to working in the police canteen like a good little girl? You want me to waft around in a Mad Men frock with a tray of pies, playing the perfect housewife? That’s not me, Gary.’ Okay, the frock part does sound like me, but I was on a roll. ‘I don’t think you know me at all. The café is my dream—my true love. And thanks to you, I’ve been screwing my staff and customers over for nearly a week. Well, that’s it. I’m done. I want my Prada boots right now, and I’m going home.’
I slammed down the cup, marched across the room and searched a beaten-up chest of drawers, opening and closing each drawer with a bang. Then I went under the work bench, scrabbling through boxes of crap.
Gary sat there, and let me do it. He let me walk to the wardrobe as well, and sat unmoving when I flung open the doors.
There was something in there. Not my boots. A large, bulky shape, wrapped in garbage bags. I backed up a few steps. ‘Gary, that had better be another mannequin.’
‘I told you it was time to start cleaning up your life, Tabby,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’ve made a start for you. You’re bloody welcome.’
I hyperventilated, and my vision went black around the edges. ‘I’ve already seen one dead body this week, and I’m still a little bit freaked out by it. Please tell me that there isn’t another one right there in that wardrobe.’
‘See,’ said Gary, walking towards me slowly and steadily. ‘You have to understand the lengths I’m prepared to go to, to save you from yourself. You’re too nice to everyone. You allow the wrong people to stay in your life, even when they’ve used up all their chances. It’s important that you see how much I care about you.’
I backed up so far that I hit the cage, and
hung on to the metal bars to keep myself upright. My brain ran through a list of horrors, as I considered who might be dead in that wardrobe.
Gary dragged the bags out of the way, and for a moment I just saw a mess of a dead person. And then I knew who it was. Numbness set in. Crying would have been nice, but I couldn’t get there yet.
‘I bet you gave him lasagne too,’ said Gary, with something like triumph in his voice.
‘Coffee,’ I said quietly. ‘Too much sugar.’
It was Locks. And sure, I’d known for a long time that he wasn’t going to live to a ripe old age. Too damn thin, too much sampling his own dodgy merchandise. But that was different to seeing him slumped in a wardrobe, cold and stiff in that stupid old coat of his.
My legs went from under me. I found a grubby wall to press against, and closed my eyes for a minute. ‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked when I could breathe well enough to speak.
‘I’ve got a couple of weeks personal leave,’ said Gary. ‘They were pushing me to take it after the siege and everything, and I finally agreed. Thought we could go away for a while, just the two of us. Somewhere nice, away from all the —’
‘Bad influences in my life?’ I was so damned tired.
‘That’s right,’ he said, as if it was obvious. ‘I’ve got your phone. I can send texts to your Mum, and Nin, and Bishop. Anyone who might come looking for you.’
‘You’ve still got Bishop’s mobile,’ I said.
Gary shook his head. ‘Dropped it off at his place this morning. After I erased your message.’
‘Okay.’
‘What do you mean?’
I lifted my eyes and stared at him from under my eyelashes. ‘Okay. I’ll go away with you. Might be nice.’
His face lit up in a genuine grin. ‘That’s great. I knew I could convince you.’
My stomach felt like there was something hard and spiky living in it. ‘Sure. I’m going to need my boots, though.’
