by Diane Hester
‘Across North Terrace from that campus of hers. Around the corner of Pultney Street.’
‘You were waiting there for her?’
‘No, I followed her.’
‘Followed from where?’
‘The hospital.’
‘On foot?’
‘No, in my car.’ He sighed. ‘I saw she was turning the corner onto Pultney so I pulled around ahead of her and stopped at the kerb. When she came past I jumped out, grabbed her and stuffed her in the boot. It was after ten, there was no-one else around.’
‘How’d you know she was at the hospital?’
‘I saw her leave her flat with two other people and tailed the car.’
Mac straightened, disturbed at the thought. He’d been so worried about Lindsay at the time, he’d never even noticed they were being followed. ‘So you’ve been watching her for a while then, casing her movements.’
‘Yes.’
‘How long?’
‘About three weeks.’
‘Is that what you did with the others? Followed them first?’
The man shook his head. ‘I told you, there were no others.’
Mac sat back. He could see what was happening. They had the guy cold for abducting Shaunwyn, but until he was sure they could pin the other murders on him he wasn’t going to admit to a thing.
Just as well Lindsay had had another vision about the factory’s location. Without the evidence they would find there, they might not be able to convict this guy of the first three murders.
Mac heaved a sigh. It was going to be a long afternoon.
Chapter 45
The building’s aged rust-bitten walls left smudges of fine red dust on her fingertips. Lindsay brushed her hands on her jeans and stood staring up at the towering facades on either side of her. She was growing increasingly grateful she hadn’t been able to speak with Mac. It seemed she was going to need more time to work out exactly which of these structures was the one they were looking for. In the three quarters of an hour they’d been wandering among these aging derelicts, she’d got not the slightest impression from any of them.
She continued along the base of the wall, moving further down the windswept alley. ‘It has to be one of the buildings along this stretch, either in this lane or the next.’ She turned to Ikeman, trailing behind her at a measured distance. ‘All of them would have a view of the church from their upper windows.’
‘Relax,’ he encouraged. ‘You’re doing fine. Just stay focused.’
With their circuit of the current warehouse complete, they moved towards the next one. As she stepped into the gap between the two, a swirl of litter blew up the alley stopping her dead. It had carried with it a strange ululation, almost like a woman sobbing, but on turning to look, she saw no-one there. The distorted acoustics of this oversized maze or something more?
‘Did you hear something?’
Ikeman shrugged. ‘Only the wind.’
She nodded and continued on.
The sun made a brief half-hearted appearance as they neared the next building. Lindsay shuddered as she entered its shadow, fighting again the sense that it was more than the cold.
Two steps further something crunched beneath her foot. Broken glass scattered the bitumen.
‘Look there.’ She pointed. ‘A window’s been smashed on the upper floor. There’s no way a vandal could’ve reached it with a rock. And the fact the glass all fell outwards—’ She gasped and jumped back.
‘What is it?’ Ikeman was instantly beside her.
‘I saw somebody in the window. Waving their arms like they were trying to get our attention. But …’
She blinked and took a step to one side. ‘They’re gone. How could …?’ She drew a deep breath and shook her head. ‘No-one could’ve moved that quickly. It was either a trick of the sun or …’
‘A psychic impression of one of the victims trying to escape?’
She swallowed. ‘I think we may have found the place.’
Ikeman squeezed her shoulder. ‘Come on.’
They headed around the back of the building. A concrete ramp rose to a door. She slowed as she neared it, unable to conquer a growing reluctance. Holding her breath, she reached out and took hold of the railing.
On contact, the image burst in her mind … In the headlights of a nearby car, a dark hunched figure, bearing something equally large across its shoulder, labouring up the ramp towards the door …
She tore her hand away and jumped back.
‘What is it? What did you see?’
‘The killer, although I didn’t see his face. Just his back as he carried one of his victims into the building.’
Clutching her hand as though she had burned it, she backed away further and stared up at the hulking monolith. What she’d glimpsed had been disturbing enough, but it wasn’t what had caused her to pull away.
‘There’s something else.’ Yes, something was definitely wrong. Even halfway across the alley she could still feel it. These emanations were simply too powerful. They could not be caused by the residual energy of past events.
Comprehension struck like a blow. ‘Whatever happened inside this building … It isn’t over.’
Ikeman gently turned her to face him. ‘Lindsay, are you sure about this?’
‘I’ve never been surer of a vision in my life.’
He looked back up at the derelict building, took a breath and let go her arm. ‘Stay here.’
‘Why, where are you going?’
‘To check the door.’
‘But—’
He turned and walked off.
She watched him move cautiously up the ramp and bend down to inspect the door’s lever handle. He pushed it down and the metal panel slid aside.
‘It’s open. There’s a chain but no padlock.’ He started back down to her.
Despite her reluctance, she met him at the base of the ramp. ‘So what? So what if it’s open?’
‘Lindsay, I need you to do something for me.’ He took her shoulders. ‘I need you to wait here.’
‘What? No. You’re not going in there. At best it’s a crime scene; you’ll disturb evidence. At worst—’
‘Lindsay, there is no worst. The killer’s been caught, there’s no danger here.’
She shuddered anyway. ‘That’s not what my senses keep telling me.’
‘I understand. But you need to understand something too. If you’re truly convinced this isn’t over—’
‘I know it isn’t. You have to believe—’
‘I do believe you. But the image you saw before, the girl in the window.’
‘What about it?’
‘What if that wasn’t a psychic impression? What if there’s still a victim inside? One the police don’t know about?’
Oh god. ‘But if the door’s unlocked, they could get out.’
‘Not if they’re locked in some other area. We can’t wait on this. They might be injured. I have to check.’
The thought chilled her through. But she could see his point. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you stay here.’
‘But you might need me to help you find them.’
‘There’s only so many places they can be. If they’re here, I’ll find them, don’t worry.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll be out as soon as I’ve had a look around. I won’t touch anything, I promise.’
She swallowed. ‘All right. Please be careful.’
***
At the end of the alley, beside the dock, Lindsay finally got enough reception to place her call. Knowing Mac wouldn’t answer his phone, she called the station directly, hoping someone would put her through to him. A woman answered on the third ring. ‘Adelaide police. Constable Natalie Probost speaking.’
‘I need to talk to Detective Macklyn, please. My name is Lindsay Cavenaugh.’
‘Detective Macklyn is currently taking a—’
‘Yes, I know, but I need to speak to him.’
‘I’m sorry but that
won’t be possible.’
‘Can I speak to Officer Gifford then?’
‘I’m afraid they’re both tied up at present. Would you like to leave a message?’
‘Yes. No. I mean …’ Lindsay put a hand to her brow and looked up at the building beside her. She’d already left Mac one message, did she need to leave another? How much had changed really? Except now she was certain—
‘What seems to be the problem, ma’am?’
With a fortifying breath she launched her appeal. ‘There’s an abandoned factory at the old marina. I’m there now and … Well, there may be something going on inside. I think you should send someone.’
‘What do you think is happening, ma’am? Is someone in danger?’
Yes. ‘Possibly. I don’t know.’
‘Why do you think there’s something wrong?’
She closed her eyes. She already knew how this was going. Ikeman might believe her claims, even Macklyn would, but a total stranger?
‘I’ve been working with Detective Macklyn on a case. Right now I’m getting a really bad feeling from the place I’m at. You need to send someone to check it out.’
Silence issued from the other end. ‘You want a patrol sent out to you because you have a bad feeling about a place?’
She hung her head. The doubting tone was so familiar. She could almost see the woman’s face. ‘Look, if I could just talk to Macklyn directly …’
‘As I said he’s in conference right now. So unless this is a real emergency …’
She blew out a sigh. ‘All right, look, just get him to call me as soon as he can; he has my number.’
Lindsay disconnected and for a moment stood unmoving. She knew how pathetic her words had sounded. They’d sounded pathetic even to herself. She would’ve pushed it, made something up to get the cops there, but for once the woman’s doubts seemed reasonable.
There was still the chance Ikeman was wrong and the girl she’d seen in the upstairs window was just what they had thought at first—a lingering phantom. For the moment therefore, as strongly as she felt about this, they had absolutely no proof of anything. Mac had promised to get back to her as soon as he could, so for now that meant they were on their own.
She turned and headed back up the alley, back to the ramp and the door through which Ikeman had disappeared.
When she reached it she checked the time on her phone. He’d been inside for twenty minutes. What was taking him so long? Surely he’d know to begin his search on the top floor. Even if there was no-one there, his reconnaissance was the chance to find the clues they needed. But would Ikeman know what to look for?
Slowly she started up the ramp. Unwilling to touch the railing again, she hugged the wall as she climbed the slope. Wind-blown rubbish trapped in the alcove around the entrance rustled and whispered against her boots.
She stopped at the door, staring at the chain that hung from the handle. Damn it, she had come this far.
She slipped through the gap and stepped inside.
Chapter 46
‘Martha Daniels was last seen alive leaving the university library at ten fifty-five on the night of Wednesday, June eleventh.’
Mac laid his case notes down on the table and hooked an elbow over the back of his chair. They’d been at it for over two hours now and so far his suspect had given him nothing.
‘How’d you get her into your car?’ he said. ‘It rained that night. You drive past and offer her a lift?’
Slumped in his chair, the prisoner gave a feeble shake of his head.
‘So you ambushed her then. Hid somewhere along her route. A route you’d have known from having followed her on previous occa—’
‘I never followed her.’
‘You saying you picked her at random.’
‘No! I’m saying I never picked her or any of the others. How many ways do I have to say it? I don’t know who those other women are and I didn’t kill them.’
Mac watched the transformation with interest. In the time they’d been talking, the man had vacillated between despair, denial and murderous rage. He now seemed headed towards the latter again.
‘So the names Martha Daniels, Bethany Willas and Jennifer Dawson mean nothing to you?’
‘Well, yes, of course I know the names. They were on the news. In all the papers.’
‘That give you a thrill? Seeing your handiwork on national television?’
The man leapt up. ‘I didn’t kill them. Don’t you see, in my own way I was trying to avenge them.’
‘Avenge them, how?’ Somehow Mac managed to keep his tone neutral despite his contempt. It never ceased to amaze him the twisted logic some minds came up with to justify their unspeakable acts.
‘By killing her. The one responsible. That bitch Cavenaugh.’
Mac went still. The words had touched a nerve in his spine. After all this time, after all he’d come to feel for Lindsay, had she actually been involved after all? Whatever the answer, if this man believed she had been …
‘Just a minute.’ Mac leaned towards him. ‘The woman we found at your house this morning—’
‘That’s right, Lindsay Cavenaugh. She’s the only one I intended to kill.’
Phillips lowered himself into his chair, his eyes still wild. ‘Have you any idea how long I’d been searching. Eleven years. The internet. Social media. Obituaries. Tracking every member of her family. And nothing. Not a single lead. It was as though they dropped off the face of the planet.
‘And then finally I saw that article in the paper. About her helping police with their case. As if she could. As if there’d ever been any truth to her ludicrous claims. Still, I knew my search was over.’
‘So you recognised Lindsay from her picture in the paper.’
‘No, not recognised. She was just a kid when I knew her; she’s changed since then. Beside the picture wasn’t real clear. But the name. I will never forget her name.’
He closed his eyes, tears starting to stream down his face. ‘I came so close. First in the recital hall. Then in the art gallery. And last night finally … After all these terrible years of waiting I finally had her.’ Phillips opened his eyes and glared. ‘And you had to get in my way.’
Mac sat reeling, fighting to process all he’d been told. ‘How did you know the woman you picked up last night was Lindsay?’
‘Her coat and hat. Same ones she was wearing when she went to the hospital. Same ones she always wears.’
Mac felt his fears burrow deeper inside him. So Shaunwyn had been grabbed by mistake. Simply because … Suddenly the pieces all fell into place. Which left one final fact to confirm. ‘And why would you want Lindsay Cavenaugh dead?’
Phillips bowed his head. ‘For killing my daughter. My precious Adelle.’
***
The atrium yawned three stories high and as wide before her. Shafts of sunlight slanting through windows high in the walls stabbed the dust haze like driving rain.
The floor was littered with assorted rubbish—bits of metal, lumps of wood, machinery parts, overturned benches. But even combined with the stench of decay, they couldn’t account for her overriding sense of dread.
Lindsay forced herself to step forward. No sign of Ikeman. Surely he’d be on the top floor by now. Or on his way down. To her right was a door. There hadn’t been one on the building’s exterior so it had to lead to other rooms. Had he gone that way?
As she stood debating, the door flew back and a woman burst through. Filthy, sobbing, her clothes in tatters, she got but a short distance into the chamber before stumbling over a length of pipe.
Lindsay cried out and dropped to the floor, the pain in her knee instant and searing.
When she looked up again the woman was gone. It didn’t matter, she knew what she’d seen—Martha Daniels fleeing the killer. Just like in her very first dream. The dream that had started this whole awful mess and reawakened her dormant gift.
The pain began to subside at once and she got to her feet. Experiencing
Martha’s terror a second time hadn’t been any easier than the first. But if she’d had any lingering doubts she was in the right place they’d been swept away.
Beyond the door through which Martha’s phantom had just appeared lay the corridor down which the frantic woman had run in an effort to escape her killer.
Lindsay edged slowly along the passage, at times feeling that she walked her own dream. Here was where Martha had stopped to wipe spiderwebs off her face, scratching herself with her own jagged fingernail. Here was where she had stumbled again and paused, sobbing, to catch her breath.
In unconscious mimicry Lindsay reached up and touched her earlobe. Here was where the terrified woman had first noticed her earring was missing. And here—two steps further—the spot where she’d heard her killer’s voice calling out to her from behind.
Lindsay stood trying to slow her breathing. Lingering flashes of Martha’s ordeal continued to buffet her. It was all she could do to keep from turning and running from the building.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. These images are serving no purpose. I choose not to see them.
Her mind grew still.
She opened her eyes.
The darkened passage stretched before her. Silent. Empty. Free of ghosts. She continued on.
At the end of the hall she climbed a rusting iron staircase to the next floor. Office and storage rooms lined yet another ramshackle corridor. A few doors were locked, others were boarded, but she sensed nothing from the rooms beyond.
Around the next corner the passage took on the look of a war zone. Garlands of wire and insulation hung from the ceiling. Sections of gyprock leaned from the wall. Lindsay ducked and weaved through the snarl. Stepping over a coil of hose, she stopped just short of banging her head on a broken pipe.
Amazed, she reached up and touched its end, then felt the remnants of the wound on her temple. This was the cause of the crescent-shaped cut on the second girl’s head. Bethany Willas had run this way.
A short distance further the passage opened on a wide empty area, the purpose of which she couldn’t imagine. Huge chains hung from a vertical shaft that rose and descended into darkness. Greasy light from a grime-covered window was all that illuminated the staircase beyond.
