As Chandler expected, a wild theory. An intensive search into Martin’s past and present had brought up nothing, no ostensible reason for him to want to disappear and start a new life. Only the recent break-up with his girlfriend, bad though it might have been according to Sylvia, had caused any ripple on an otherwise flawless lake.
But Mitch’s idea got Chandler thinking. If the teenager wanted to disappear – for good – then out here was the place to do it. Jumping country left a paper trail, at sea his body would float to the surface, but out here, after a while, they would have to surrender to nature and class him as missing, presumed dead – free to start his new life.
‘He never intended on coming back,’ continued Mitch. ‘The car was fucked. No fuel, broken suspension, nothing but a trickle of water in the radiator.’
As tempting as it was to get caught up in them, Chandler decided to shut Mitch’s theories down. It was time to do their job. ‘Let the others do the thinking, Mitch, we’re just paid to search.’
Mitch arched an eyebrow. ‘Whoa, that’s heartless.’
‘If you haven’t noticed this place is heartless.’
‘You still didn’t answer me.’
‘I can’t answer every one of your dumb questions.’
‘You know I’m right.’
Chandler bit. ‘Faking his death is a big leap.’
‘But the correct one. That’s why I’m going to go far in this game.’
Mitch offered a self-satisfied smile. Chandler was glad of the opportunity to burst his bubble.
‘Not if you let the other kid get lost like his brother,’ he said, pointing to Arthur’s youngest veering off at a tangent from the others, his dad too busy reading the earth to safeguard his remaining flesh and blood.
Chandler set off to intercept the boy with Mitch in close pursuit.
19
On the drive back to the station, Chandler reflected on the fact that, once again, his lead had been taken away from him, his chance of stealing the thunder itself stolen. He was back to being an errand boy.
He was sufficiently distracted to not be paying much attention as he pulled into his parking spot. Stepping out of the car he glanced across the road towards the bakery. The Cheesy Chicken special was calling out his name but his eyes were drawn to the alleyway beside it and the hand that flashed into view for a split second. It was an alley the local kids often used to cut through to the football field behind.
His instinct told him to investigate, to send the kids home with a warning to stay indoors. He crept up to the corner and sprang out to surprise them. The shock was all his.
A few metres down the alley, clutching what looked like a long-handled kitchen knife, was Gabriel.
Reaching for his gun, Chandler missed, his draw hand wavering. Gabriel backed up a few steps. Chandler countered by moving forward a few, finally grabbing hold of his weapon and drawing it.
‘Stay right there and put the knife down, Gabriel.’
Gabriel inched back, the knife unsteady in his hand, as if he wanted to let it go but couldn’t get his muscles to comply. His face was twisted in pain or shock, almost as if he had blacked out and woken up to this tense scene.
‘Gabriel, put the knife down!’
Chandler tried to speak loudly and clearly, allowing for nothing to be misinterpreted.
Gabriel looked at the knife and back at Chandler.
‘Put it down, Gabriel!’
Gabriel’s hand shook but the blade remained pointed at him. Chandler’s finger rested on the trigger. What the hell was Gabriel doing this close to the station? It was almost as if he were begging to be caught. Or shot for threatening a police officer.
‘Gabriel, I don’t want to—’
As if suddenly unglued, the knife dropped from Gabriel’s hand to the concrete and his hands shot up in surrender.
Chandler approached with caution.
‘Up against the wall.’
Gabriel obeyed the command, his hands outstretched against the brick.
Chandler remained extra cautious as he whisked Gabriel’s wiry arms behind his back, ignoring the stifled cry of pain.
‘Please . . .’ begged Gabriel.
‘Why did you sneak out of the hotel?’ asked Chandler, not waiting to get back to the station to start the interrogation. ‘Where did you go? And why are you back here?’
‘I don’t know,’ cried Gabriel.
‘And what were you doing with the knife?’
‘I needed protection from him. I kept thinking he was going to burst out from around every corner. I didn’t feel safe.’
Neither did Chandler, alone with his suspect in the alley.
‘Get on the ground!’ he ordered.
With the barked command some of Gabriel’s pliant nature vanished. ‘You don’t have to do that, Officer,’ he said. ‘I’m giving myself up. I’m sorry for running but I got scared stuck in that room like I was trapped. Like in the shed again. I couldn’t deal with it so I had to get out, get some space.’
‘I said, get down, Gabriel.’
‘I only wanted out—’
With his suspect refusing to obey, Chandler had no choice but to twist the man’s wrist and force him to his knees. Gabriel yelped and tried to pull away but his knees gave up and he sunk to the concrete. Grabbing the cuffs, his heart pounding, his hands slathered in sweat, Chandler struggled to open the ratchet before finally slipping them securely around Gabriel’s wrists. Only now did he allow himself to relax a little, pocketing his weapon and yanking his captive to his feet.
‘You don’t have to do this—’ Gabriel hissed in pain.
‘You’ve already escaped once.’
Gabriel fell silent.
‘Where did you go after the hotel?’ asked Chandler.
‘Okay, okay,’ said Gabriel. ‘I tried to steal a car but they were locked. I didn’t want to be on the street in case Heath made it into town too, so I just kinda sat in an alley. Dunno where . . . dunno how long. Then I overheard some people saying that they’d captured a guy called Heath. I was so relieved.’
‘Why didn’t you turn yourself in then?’
‘I was building up the courage.’
With Gabriel cuffed securely, Chandler aimed him towards the station. Where he might have expected a fanfare there was nothing but an empty grey street.
‘And you have the courage now?’
‘I don’t want him getting out to murder again. I couldn’t forgive myself if he got free just because I panicked. I want to be a Good Samaritan. So you don’t need the cuffs.’
‘I do,’ said Chandler, reaching the doors of the station. He decided to test the return of the self-proclaimed prodigal son. ‘You were right that we have Heath. But he’s telling exactly the same story you are.’
‘What story?’ said Gabriel, trying to pull away from Chandler.
‘The exact same one you told.’
‘Then that’s good, isn’t it?’ said Gabriel, looking hopeful. ‘It backs up what I said.’
‘No, Mr Johnson, it’s the exact same story. But implicating you as the killer.’
His charge resisted further. Chandler gripped Gabriel’s wrists tighter.
‘That’s a lie. You don’t believe him, do you? Is he still locked up? You haven’t let him go, have you?’ cried Gabriel, glancing towards the doors. ‘I told you the truth. To lie is a sin, Sergeant. That’s how I was brought up.’
‘I can assure you he’s locked up. You’re safe.’
Gabriel stared at him, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
As Chandler eased Gabriel inside the station, Nick’s jaw dropped and he sprang up from his chair, which slammed into the already marked wall.
Chandler allowed himself a small smile. The win felt good, Mitch scouring Turtle’s farm for clues to Gabriel’s whereabouts while he had the real thing under arrest.
‘Where did you find him?’ said Nick, scrabbling for the paperwork to fill in but keeping his eyes on the second poten
tial serial killer they had apprehended today.
‘Fell into my lap.’
He looked around the station for Mitch’s two minions, Bill and Ben, or whatever their names were. Nick anticipated his question.
‘The inspector radioed in and told them to head up to Turtle’s. Said you were on the way back to cover for them. I’m glad you’re here. I was getting lonely.’
‘Where’s Heath?’ asked Gabriel, nerves causing him to shake at the end of Chandler’s arm.
‘In the cells.’
‘Don’t put me in there too.’
‘We have to. For the time being,’ said Chandler. ‘Cell number three, Nick.’
‘And where is he?’
‘Not cell number three,’ said Nick.
‘Oh,’ said Gabriel. Chandler continued to feel the tremor reverberate through his captive as Gabriel looked at him. ‘I’m sorry about earlier, Sergeant. Getting worked up and that. I was just so scared . . .’ Gabriel trailed off.
‘You won’t be in the cells long,’ said Chandler.
‘Good.’ The worry in his suspect’s face seemed to ease. ‘You’ll release me?’
‘No. We need to question you again.’
The worry returned. ‘Why? You already have my story. It hasn’t changed.’
‘We’ll need it again. In more depth.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Gabriel, frowning.
‘We’ll clear that up later.’
‘Okay. You’re sure he’s secure?’
‘As secure as you’ll be in a minute,’ said Chandler. His prisoner shivered with nerves. ‘Can’t we do the interview somewhere else, like back at that hotel?’
‘Not after last time,’ said Chandler, sternly. He wasn’t going to fall for that again. If he did he may as well resign on the spot rather than wait for Mitch to kick him out of town.
‘I won’t run.’
‘Doesn’t matter. All our recording equipment is here. And so are you,’ said Chandler, adding, ‘Relax. You’re under no threat now.’
Gabriel winced, the deep wrinkles ageing his face in an instant. ‘When you’ve been drugged, captured, chased through the outback and told to your face that you’re going to be murdered, there’s threat everywhere, Sergeant. A killer in every shadow.’
Gritting his teeth, Gabriel closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply through his nose. ‘But I’m ready to face him if I need to.’
‘You won’t need to face him,’ said Chandler, leading him towards the door to the cells. ‘Just answer a few questions.’
As he was about to enter the cells he shouted back over his shoulder. ‘Nick, prep the interview room.’
‘What about the roadblocks, Sarge? And should I inform the inspector that we have him?’
Chandler paused. He should call off the search immediately but there was no harm in it continuing for a little while. The danger was off the streets. Both Gabriel and Heath.
‘Gimme half an hour,’ said Chandler.
With a hesitant nod, Nick returned to the front desk. A feather of mistrust caught in Chandler’s throat. Would his young constable obey him, or run off and tell Mitch and the others? At his age, Chandler would have followed every command given by his superior but Nick didn’t seem to suffer from that kind of blind loyalty. Given Chandler’s current conduct that might have been a good thing.
As they closed in on cell number three, Gabriel started trying to squirm from Chandler’s grasp, directing his body anywhere but towards the waiting cell.
‘Is he in here?’ whispered Gabriel, his voice so soft Chandler initially thought he’d imagined it. Chandler didn’t answer but kept pulling him towards the cells.
‘Don’t,’ said Gabriel, the colour in his tanned face almost washed out. His eyes darted over his shoulder at Chandler, his captor. His voice was soft like a summer breeze, barely perceptible but scorching all the same. A voice that contrasted with his scrawny beard and mien of fear.
‘Who’s that?’
Compared to the softness of Gabriel’s voice, Heath’s angry demand crashed around the cells, causing Gabriel to freeze, his eyes darting towards the sound, trying to pin the source down.
‘It’s me, Mr Barwell,’ said Chandler, aiming Gabriel towards the cell. ‘Now keep the noise down and get some rest,’ he added, ushering Gabriel inside number three before undoing his cuffs. He swiftly backed to the door and closed it. He had them both. Locked up. Where they couldn’t hurt anyone.
At the sound of the closed door, Heath became even more curious. ‘Who are you putting in a cell, Sergeant? Is that him?’ The sonorous voice stuttered, the power swiftly vanishing from it.
‘Is that him?’ repeated Heath.
Chandler didn’t answer the question. He had two prisoners who seemed equally frightened of each other. But neither of them seemed to display the cold nature of a serial killer. At least according to the books and television he had seen.
That thought stayed with Chandler as he returned to the office. Nick was waiting for him, literally on the edge of his seat.
‘Did he say anything?’
‘No. One of the men in there is a very good actor.’
‘Or both are,’ noted Nick. ‘The interview room’s ready.’
‘Good.’
‘You know most serial killers are good liars. Ted Bundy was—’
Chandler was almost glad that another one of Nick’s morbid biographies was interrupted by Heath yelling from the cells.
‘What is it?’ asked Chandler as he opened up the slat of Heath’s cell.
Immediately Heath pressed up close to it.
‘I’m hurt. I think one of my ribs is busted.’
‘You didn’t complain about it before.’
‘I did to the other two. They didn’t bother to check me over. I get that you can lock me up without any evidence – that kinda shit you’ve been doing for years – but I’m finding it hard to breathe in here.’
His plea was bracketed by a hand clasped to his side, against his bloodied clothes, pain riddling his voice. Chandler couldn’t tell if it was an act or not.
‘Leave it with me,’ said Chandler.
‘Are you gonna get someone?’ barked Heath.
‘I said leave it with me, Mr Barwell.’
Chandler turned to leave. He passed cell three. Despite Heath’s outburst there hadn’t been a peep from it. Curious to witness the reaction of his new guest and overtaken by an odd foreboding that somehow Gabriel had disappeared again, he opened the slat and peered in. To his relief his prisoner was curled up on the bed, staring at the wall in the direction of cell number one as if he expected Heath to burst through the reinforced brick. A pathetic creature, stricken with fear. He too looked injured but hadn’t complained.
Chandler was torn. If he allowed them treatment he would lose valuable time for questioning but denying medical help might invite a lawsuit against the force and prejudice any eventual murder trial. There was only one choice.
‘After you call Doctor Harlan, call off the roadblocks,’ he told Nick, weighing up whether he could leave him to escort the doctor in to treat Heath while he questioned Gabriel. He quickly decided it was too much of a risk to leave an elderly doctor and a rookie officer alone with a potential serial killer.
Chandler left a message on Mitch’s answerphone, informing him that they had Gabriel in the cells. It took less than five seconds for Mitch to call back.
‘Don’t do anything with the prisoner, Sergeant Jenkins. Hold him until I get back. Don’t let him out of your sight.’
There was a fury in the voice that Chandler remembered well, a rage at being beaten to the punch, at being outmanoeuvred. Chandler thought of himself as a morally upright, do-unto-others kind of guy, but hearing Mitch suffer provided an intoxicating burst of energy.
Mitch was a good twenty minutes away. Doctor Harlan Adams showed up in little over two. His house was barely two hundred metres from the station, but still the local physician was out of breath on entry, leanin
g on the reception desk, his gut heaving as if it were one huge lung.
‘So what we got?’ he asked between rasped breaths.
‘Sure you don’t need a few minutes?’
The doctor waved this off as nonsense so Chandler carried on.
‘We have two men, mid-twenties or thereabouts, both exhibiting a series of cuts and bruises, one complaining of shortness of breath and self-diagnosing a cracked rib.’
‘Self-diagnosis,’ squinted Harlan, shoving the glasses back up his nose to sit in the well-worn crevice near the bridge. ‘Self-diagnosis is for hypochondriacs and the weak of mind, my friend. I’ll bet that there’s nothing wrong with him.’
‘You can go see for yourself.’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘But I have to warn you not to approach too closely.’ Raising one bushy eyebrow, Harlan asked, ‘And why might that be?’
Chandler knew that he should warn the doctor but he also knew that Harlan would react in one of three ways: with intrigue, horror, or by treating him like a celebrity. The jail-bound patients Harlan typically dealt with were drunks and down-at-heels sporting nothing but the most superficial of wounds. And though Gabriel and Heath’s injuries seemed to be of the same inconsequential level, their crimes certainly were not.
Before they entered the cells Chandler ushered him aside.
‘You have to promise to keep this quiet, Harlan. Once you leave here.’
The doctor’s eyes loomed large in his strong-lensed glasses.
‘I mean it, Harlan. I’m telling you this for your own security, but you must keep it secret.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
Chandler could only hope against hope that Harlan was telling the truth. Things had a habit of leaking out with Harlan Adams, especially after he’d had a drink, his Hippocratic Oath conquered by the temptation of sharing gossip. But he was the only medic the town had. It was hard to get a young doctor to come and live in the middle of nowhere.
After a few seconds of forced silence, Harlan’s brain couldn’t cope with the intrigue and charged his mouth with saying something.
‘Who’s been fighting, then? Someone we know? Miners? Locals? A domestic? There’s so little to do around here domestic violence counts as a hobby.’
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