Night Realm

by Darren G. Burton

  “I didn’t say that,” Shultz replied in a firm tone. He made notes of the lesions on a body chart, then proceeded to examine every inch of Amanda’s body, searching for any other wounds. He came up dry. There were no other injuries of any kind. All the while the SOCO filmed every aspect of the procedure, as well as jotting things down on his pad.

  Shultz then went to work on the interior examination. With the help of the technician he made various cuts around the body, peeling back the skin, removing the ribcage and placing it on a tray. Connecting tissues to organs were severed so the organs could be removed for dissecting and closer examination. Samples were placed on slides for close scrutiny under the microscope. Shultz took urine samples and collected samples from the stomach and intestines.

  “That’s odd,” the doctor said after a while.

  “What is?” Marks quizzed.

  “Was there any blood at the crime scene?” Shultz asked.

  “Not where she was found, no,” said Marks. “The SOCOs also went over her bedroom where it’s presumed she was killed, and they came up with nothing there, either. Why?”

  “Because there is very little blood in this cadaver.” Dr Shultz shook his head in confusion and closely examined the puncture wounds again.

  “Do you think the killer drained her blood somehow?” It was Richards who posed the question.

  “Maybe we’re looking for a killer who works in pathology?” Marks mused. He asked Shultz, “Is that what killed her?”

  “A lack of blood will lead to death, yes,” the doctor concurred, “but we can’t rule out another cause of death just yet. The removal of the blood could have been posthumous. Although, judging by the appearance of the deceased’s skin, it would had to have been very soon after the girl’s expiration.” He was probing the lesions with his fingers, eyes bulging behind those glasses as he studied them. “I don’t think this is the work of anyone who works in the pathology or medical field. These wounds were not made by any instrument I’ve ever used to take blood.”

  “Why would someone want to take her blood anyway?” Richards sounded bemused.

  “Maybe she was a forced donor?” Marks speculated.

  Still looking at the wounds, Shultz added, “They kind of look like the puncture wounds you see from a dog bite, from its canine teeth.”

  Marks was taken aback. “Are you saying a dog bit her?”

  Shultz shook his head. “No, merely stating a similarity to that kind of a bite, only a dog bite would produce puncture wounds from both its upper and lower jaw, so there would be at least four lesions. As would be the case with most bites, human included. They do very much resemble puncture wounds from two very sharp teeth, though.”

  The autopsy continued for some time. When the gruesome procedure was finally over, everyone stripped out of their protective clothing and gloves and washed up in the sinks. Marks was feeling more confused than ever. He needed to locate this suspect and get some definitive answers.

  Shultz said to him, “We’ll get toxicology reports done and tests on the little amount of blood I managed to collect. Even though all tests have yet to be concluded, so far I’ve discovered nothing else to indicate the deceased’s cause of death.”

  “So it could be the blood loss after all,” Marks stated, a hunch telling him that’s what the final conclusion would be in the end.

  Shultz nodded and dried his hands. “It could be. But let’s just wait for all the test results to come back first, Detective. By the way, I don’t want to release the body to the family until the results are in, in case we need to run further tests on the organs.”

  Marks nodded his understanding and immediately wasn’t looking forward to the call he’d have to make to Amanda’s parents. They wanted their daughter released sooner rather than later, and in one piece.

  Marks left the morgue a few minutes later and stepped out into a downpour.

  The storm had arrived.

  Fourteen

  Night had come early with the thunderstorm.

  Ryan was sitting out on his balcony in the gloom with a beer. Chelsea hadn’t come home yet. The wind was howling from the opposite direction, blowing the rain away from the balcony rather than towards it. Every now and then sheets of hail would fall from the heavens and hammer to the ground below. Lightning flashed every few seconds, followed by booming claps of thunder. Ryan quite enjoyed storms so he was relishing sitting out there watching the light show.

  He wanted to call Selena and talk to her about his experiences with Gordon Wells today, but he was waiting for the worst of the storm to pass first.

  Lightning shot down from the black sky and struck the ocean just offshore. More hail swept through on the wind, peppering cars parked down on the street and those that crawled slowly along the highway. Thankfully they were only small stones and wouldn’t cause any real damage.

  Half an hour later things started to settle down. The wind had died off, the rain had eased to a steady drizzle and the thunder and lightning were moving out to sea. Ryan figured it was time to give Selena a call, so he pressed her name in the Contacts list on his iPhone and waited for her to answer. She never did. Instead, he got some impersonalized voicemail message, after which he left a brief message asking her to call him back when she had a chance.

  Chelsea arrived home not long after the rain had all but stopped. Ryan went inside when he heard the front door open and cornered his sister in the kitchen. When she saw him she raised her eyebrows in some semblance of a greeting gesture.

  “Work again today, I see,” Ryan said and put the kettle on to make a coffee.

  “Yep.”

  “Have you thought any more about school?”

  “Yep.”

  “And?”

  “And, nothing. I told you the other day I was quitting and taking on this job fulltime.”

  “What does Emma think about you quitting?”

  “Same as you, that I’m crazy.”

  “Has she tried to talk you out of it and finishing your HSC?”

  “Not recently. I haven’t even seen her since Monday night.”

  He considered pushing the issue, but refrained. He’d give Emma a chance to talk sense to her. Obviously she hadn’t had an opportunity yet. Or maybe she wouldn’t bother because he’d rejected her yesterday? Time would tell.

  His mobile phone rang just when the kettle reached its boil. Chelsea took a container of chicken and a Coke from the fridge and disappeared to her room. To avoid further awkward conversation, no doubt. Ryan stepped out on the balcony and answered the call. It was Selena.

  “Any developments?” Selena quizzed once the mandatory pleasantries had been taken care of.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I have a hunch about something. I should know more by the end of tomorrow. He’s definitely up to something in my opinion. Just his body language today, the way he kept telling me how he likes to work alone. And, he sent me home an hour early, insisted I leave at four.”

  “That does sound odd,” Selena agreed.

  “What does Gordon do with the invoices when they come in from deliveries?” Ryan asked. “Does he pass them onto you? Do you pay them, or do you have an accounts manager that takes care of that?”

  “I pay them. Why?”

  “Say an invoiced delivery came in today. When would you see it?”

  “He brings them up to my office at the end of the day - his day - on Mondays and Thursdays.”

  “Okay. So today’s would be in your office at the end of tomorrow. I might not have to wait that long. I should be able to get a look at them tomorrow.”

  “Ryan? What exactly are you thinking here? What’s with all the interest in the invoicing?”

  “I think he might be pulling a scam there somewhere, but I need another day to confirm it,” Ryan said, feeling quite upbeat about the assignment now. “As soon as I know anything for sure, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay. I’d appreciate that. Just note, though, that I won’t be contactable tomorro
w before six in the evening. Call me then.”

  The conversation ended on that note and Ryan went back into the kitchen to make that coffee.

  * * *

  The very first thing Gordon Wells did when Ryan arrived for work the next morning was offer him a cigarette, which Ryan refused. The pair stood out in the morning sun while Wells chugged on his smoke. Ryan was content just to inhale passively.

  In the aftermath of the storm last night the temperature had cooled a little and today was a lot less humid. The sky was clear and blue with just a few white fluffy clouds to break up the monotony.

  “We’ve got a busy day today,” Wells commented as he puffed. “There’s a few deliveries comin’ in this morning and around lunch time, then this arvo we have a lot of stocking up to do upstairs. Thursday nights get quite a crowd, or so I’ve heard. Not into clubbin’ myself. Too old for that shit.” He flicked a stem of ash onto the pavement. “How bout you?”

  Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I like clubs.”

  “You’re young, see. All those big-titted bimbos go for guys like you. Doubt they’d look twice at me.” He grinned a little wickedly. “Not unless I pulled out a big wad of cash. That seems to change their minds some.” His expression went serious again. “Not that I have big wads of cash...Not yet, anyways.”

  Ryan was itching to get into the office and see if his theory was correct. Finally Wells finished his cigarette, and just when Ryan thought they were about to go in, the man lit another one.

  “I’m going in,” Ryan said and took a step towards the storage room.

  “Can’t. Door’s locked.”

  Ryan tugged at his ear. “Well, can you open it for me?”

  “When I’m done smokin’ this.” He held up his cigarette and shot Ryan a look filled with obstinance. “What’s ya hurry, anyway? Nothing’ much to do in there just yet.” Wells fished a twenty from his pocket and nodded across the mall at McDonald’s. “Why don’t you go grab us a couple of coffees from McCafe. My shout. I’ll have a flat white with two sugars.”

  Feeling like an apprentice, Ryan went to McDonald’s and bought coffee. He decided he might as well go a flat white himself. When he got back Wells was inside, stuffing papers into the filing cabinet. He locked it and slipped the key into the pocket of his shorts.

  They sat on alcohol boxes with the roller door up, drinking coffee while awaiting the first of the day’s deliveries. Ryan had just drained the last of his coffee when they heard, rather than saw, a truck pull up in the loading bay.

  “Can you drive a forklift?” Wells asked Ryan.

  “No.”

  Wells reluctantly put down his unfinished coffee and climbed aboard the little Toyota. He fired it up, adjusted the tines, then zipped out through the open doorway and disappeared to the right.

  While Wells was busy unloading the truck, Ryan ducked into the office and made a quick search of the desk. Yesterday’s invoices weren’t there. He then tried the filing cabinet. Even though he’d seen Wells lock it, the thing was old and he thought he might be able to shake the drawers loose. That wasn’t the case. The cabinet may be old, but it was built like a safe. When he heard the cellarman returning with the pallet, he went back into the storage room.

  Wells brought the forklift to a stop just inside the room, cut the motor, then got off and lowered the door.

  The pallet was a mix of different products, none of which was alcohol. It was all stock like glasses and straws and other bar accessories. The pair spent half an hour unloading the pallet and stacking the items in their appropriate locations on the shelves. No sooner were they finished and another delivery truck arrived.

  Once more Wells went out with the fork to collect a pallet stocked with boxes of various spirits. When these were put away, they took a lunch break before starting on the task of restocking the night club.

  Throughout the day Ryan never got to sight the new invoices, but he made sure to keep a mental total of all the alcohol that had come in on that second pallet. He had no proof yet, but his instincts told him his theory would be proven right come tonight.

  * * *

  He called Selena Thorne about two hours after he arrived home. Once more Wells had insisted he leave at four instead of five. Ryan didn’t bother arguing the point this time.

  “Did Gordon leave the invoices in your office?” he asked her the moment she answered her phone.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Mind if I come in and take a look at them?”

  “By all means.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Ryan took a shower, had a shave, sprayed on his best cologne and dressed smart-casual in designer jeans, white long-sleeve shirt and brown boots. As he walked down the hallway and passed his sister’s open bedroom door, he wondered where Chelsea was. Working again? He hadn’t seen her since he got home. Maybe, hopefully, she was hanging out with Emma and having her mind set straight.

  As he strolled into town he relished the fact that the night was considerably cooler than it had been in recent times. Not much chance of working up a sweat on the walk in.

  He arrived at Bliss just after seven. The doors were open but no one was outside. Too early. Inside he nodded at one of the security staff. So far only one customer patronized the place. Bar staff were getting things ready behind the bar for a big night ahead, and waitresses were busy making sure tables were stocked with fresh coasters. The DJ was playing music at a low volume. He had his headphones on and seemed to be experimenting with a bit of ad-lib mixing.

  Selena was dressed in black again. When she spotted him she came out from behind the bar and asked him to follow her to the office. Ryan tailed her behind the bar and through a storage area full of cartons. They passed a cold room, then entered an open door. The club owner closed the door behind them and seated herself at a desk. Ryan took a seat on the opposite side of the desk and glanced about.

  There wasn’t much to the room, apart from the desk and chairs, a filing cabinet and a laptop computer. At the end of the desk were a couple of plastic trays stacked one on top of the other. In the corner behind him was a decorative artificial palm tree, the fronds hanging over him and tickling the back of his neck. He moved his seat forward just a little and out of its reach. From one of the trays Selena took the invoices from the past three days and handed them to Ryan. He rummaged through them until he found the two from yesterday. A huge grin split his face.

  “I was right,” he said and slid one of the invoices to the centre of the desk so he could point some things out to Selena. She studied it with her dark eyes. “How closely do you keep an eye on these?”

  She shrugged. “I just glance them over briefly and pay them.”

  “You don’t take notice of the unit price? Or the number of items ordered?”

  “Not really.” She leaned forward with her elbows on the desk and clasped her gloved hands together. Ryan caught a whiff of her delicious perfume. At the same time he idly wondered why she always wore gloves. Did she have scarred hands or something? “So what exactly is Gordon doing?” she asked.

  “He’s creating new invoices, passing them off as the originals. And doing a good job at it, too. He’s even doing the folds the same way the originals were when sealed in the plastic shipping envelopes.”

  “Explain it to me,” Selena said, still not seeing it. “What’s he changing?”

  “This was the first delivery yesterday,” Ryan said enthusiastically. He always got excited when he felt like he was getting somewhere with a case, no matter how small the case may be. “There were sixty-four cases of VB on the pallet when it came in. I helped Gordon unload it and I counted them. This invoice says there were only sixty cases delivered, yet the grand total down the bottom is the same amount as the original.”

  Ryan showed her the second invoice, the one for Smirnoff Vodka. “This one says ten boxes were dropped off when it was actually twelve. Once again the grand total is the same as the original invoice.” He sat back in his seat, sa
tisfied. “He’s siphoning off alcohol from each order, redoing the invoices so that the amounts match up with the stock that’s left on the floor down there. So what he’s doing is decreasing the number of items delivered, then increasing the cost per item so it all adds up to the original invoice amount.”

  Selena frowned and let out a long sigh. “So he’s selling off my alcohol as a sideline business for himself?”

  “It sure looks that way. Either that, or he’s a very heavy drinker.”

  “So that’s why he’s been sending you home an hour early. It gives him time to change the invoices.” Surprisingly she smiled then. “That’s quite clever, actually. Not that his exploits deserve praise. Quite the contrary.”

  “So, what do you plan to do?”

  “Get rid of him. I’d like some proof first, though.”

  “That’s easy enough to get. Just call or email the liquor companies and get them to email through copies of the invoices.”

  “Do you want to take over his job?”

  “No. Thanks anyway, but it’s not for me.”

  Selena smiled again. “I was only kidding. I have a more important assignment for you, which I will talk to you about in a couple of days. But right now I need to pay you.”

  She opened a drawer in the desk and withdrew a bundle of fifty dollar notes that was held tightly together with a rubber band. Selena peeled off twenty notes and handed them to Ryan, who immediately slipped them into his wallet. It always felt good to get some cash.

  When he got up to leave, Selena said, “Tell the barman to pour you a drink. I’ll call you in a couple of days about that other job I have for you. Right now I’m going to send some emails, then sit here and stew for a while.”

  Ryan stepped out of her office and silently closed the door. He’d really like to see her outside of this club.

  Fifteen

  Four uniformed police officers converged on Orchid Avenue from different directions. Patrol cars blocked off access to each end of the street. They had just received a tip off from a member of the public that someone fitting the suspect’s description was standing outside a popular night spot. He was smoking a cigarette and looking at something on his mobile phone when the officers approached him.