The night was getting late and the children were ordered back to bed. After being tucked in Jasper fell asleep straight away but Sarah wanted to discuss her upcoming First Confession again. Chandler was more than happy to, as much to distract his mind from the case as to ease her fears.
As he sat on the edge of the bed she skimmed through the stories chosen by the priest for study: Cain and Abel; the sellers in the temple; the Prodigal Son. Typical First Confession fare.
‘I want to get rid of my sins,’ she said abruptly.
‘Honey, you don’t have any sins.’
‘I do,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘For a start I steal food from Jasper at dinner or sneak a cookie from the tray when Nanna bakes them. Also, sometimes I get angry that you’re not here and curse.’
‘You do?’
Tilting her head to the side as if he were slow, she said, ‘I know curse words, Dad.’
Chandler shook his head. He’d assumed she knew curse words. ‘No, not that. You get angry that I’m not here?’
Sarah nodded. ‘But I get angry that Mum isn’t here too,’ she said, sweeping the curtain of jet black from her face.
He nodded and tried to force the next question out. It stuck in his throat. He needed to ask it though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
‘Now you’ve thought about it, would you want to live with Mum?’
‘In Port Hedland?’
‘I guess.’ The alternative he hadn’t considered until now chilled him to the bone. Mitch and Teri living in Wilbrook and having to see them every day as parents to his kids. The idea made him sick to the stomach.
‘And you’re coming too?’ she asked.
‘No, without me.’
‘Maybe if I get rid of all my sins and pray you could live with us too—’
Chandler gave her a wan smile. ‘The fact that your mum and me aren’t together isn’t yours or Jasper’s fault. Plus, it would take more than a few Hail Marys to get us back together.’
‘I’ll pray for it.’
‘You do that,’ said Chandler, kissing her on the forehead.
After a final check that his dad hadn’t slipped a couple of shells into the gun, Chandler left. Even now, late at night, an insistent residual heat from the baking-hot day rose from the tarmac, making being outside and exposed even more sticky and uncomfortable.
He navigated the quiet streets, passing nobody but Mitch’s officers in their unmarked cars. Lights beamed from windows of houses, but no one was framed by them. It was as if everyone in town had vanished.
His unhurried cruise was filled with thoughts about his daughter’s stories. Stories of sins committed and paid for. Of forgiveness and rough justice. Cain attacking his brother Abel, killing him. It got him thinking: were Gabriel and Heath brothers? He shook his head. Surely it couldn’t be. They looked nothing alike, in voice or appearance. There was something else going on . . .
Cain and Abel . . .
The names returned. He recalled seeing them recently, written down. The newspaper? Perp sheets? A list of something?
It came to him as he turned on to Harvey Street and he almost lost control of the car. He had seen them on a list . . . the one retrieved from the shack. He struggled to picture it, picture the names. He recalled some. There had been an Adam, a Seth, a Jared, a Sheila. All familiar and all relatively common, but he could have sworn he had seen them grouped together before. It might have been the lack of sleep scrambling his memory but maybe there was a nugget of truth in there.
He turned on to Prince’s. The names continued to nag him. The list in his head was added to: Adam, Seth, Jared, Sheila. Noah too. Cain and Abel. His memory thrust another vivid recollection to the front of his brain. He had seen the names before. In a book. He was sure of it. A book with a red cover and gold . . .
He slammed on the brakes at the junction leading on to Harper’s. There were no cars around to honk at him.
Chandler remembered.
40
His tyres scraped the kerb as he pulled up outside his house and jumped out. Gabriel had stated that religion was part of his upbringing. He had even noted that the one thing everyone had in common when born was needing their parents and being comforted with some form of religion. And that he had been failed by both.
Skirting around the back of the house, Chandler walked through his never-locked back door and aimed for the bookcase in the corner between the kitchen and living room. The red cover should have stood out amongst the second-hand bestsellers that he’d bought and never read but it didn’t seem to be there.
Next he tried Sarah’s room. He spotted it on the bedside table surrounded by a litany of mobile phone paraphernalia: covers, screen protectors, and spaghetti-string headphone cables. Red cover. Hardback. For some the ultimate read.
Not knowing where to start he flicked to page 55. The number had come up in both Gabriel and Heath’s statements. The page spoke of the parting of the Red Sea. The followers hungry in the desert. Bread falling from heaven.
Did that mean anything? Being able to make the sea part on command? Did that suggest wanting ultimate control? Killing that many people could create that kind of delusion. What about bread falling from heaven? Going hungry in the desert? Had Gabriel been leading followers up there? Trying to convert them to a religion or a cult that he had invented? Did he kill them when they resisted? Or had going hungry up there made him mad? There had been no sign of cannibalism on the victims, even the latest one where the flesh was more intact, but it was a possibility. Still it was nothing but more speculation – nothing to bring him closer to the truth.
Noting the paragraph numbers set in superscript at the side of the page he searched page to page for paragraph 55s.
He found only two. The first was a psalm. A lament about being surrounded by betrayers and enemies. The enemies weren’t named specifically, but it could be proof of a rampant paranoia. But Gabriel hadn’t come across as paranoid at any stage. He seemed much too calculating for that.
The other was Isaiah 55: an invitation to the thirsty. It talked of the grace and power of God and ended with the transformation of life. There was one basic transformation that Chandler could think of: the transformation from life to death. Was this what Gabriel meant? Transforming these people from their hell on earth to God’s side? It was possible but it was a big jump and still vague. The paragraph ended with a powerful collection of words: an everlasting sign that will endure for ever. Was it a statement? That Gabriel would endure for ever. The notoriety of a serial killer? Destined to be discussed and studied for years to come? The chance to live for ever.
Stalking into the kitchen Chandler skimmed through the case notes on the table looking for some inspiration. Though there was nothing that would stand up in court he remained convinced that the Bible had something to do with all this. One of those paragraphs held the key, both were too portentous to be coincidence. Thinking that it might come to him if he immersed himself in the details, Chandler reviewed the causes of death; the names of the suspects; the summary of their lives; an inventory of items found in the cabin and what was retrieved: blood, hair, clothing and significant markings. He went through the statements of Gabriel and Heath again, the list of names, the note that declared ‘named at the Beginning’. Still any sense of clarity or link eluded him.
If he had been getting somewhere, all that disappeared as a shadow flashed past the front window. The handle of the front door turned cautiously, stopping after a few centimetres, the door locked. Someone was trying to get into his house.
Gabriel had returned.
Sliding into the kitchen, Chandler raced to the back door.
Easing outside, he closed it gently behind him. Around the side of the house, he heard Gabriel coming. With no time to do anything else he ducked to the other side of the path and pressed up against the high brick wall of the shed, affording him the perfect place to stalk . . . and, if needed, attack.
He listened to the steps shuffle quick
ly across the uneven path. Gabriel would find the back door open but Chandler wouldn’t let him get inside. As soon as the moment was right he would jump him and force him to the ground.
He slid his gun from the holster. He didn’t want to use it but had to assume Gabriel was armed. As a last resort only, he reminded himself.
A shadow edged towards the back door. Chandler curled up, ready to pounce.
The dark shape stepped into the glare of the porch light.
‘Teri?’
The shock in his voice startled her and she leapt forward, bouncing off the screen door almost back into his arms. Regaining her balance she turned to him. It had been nearly three years but she still had the beauty to force him to pause, her Greek skin tinted a beautiful caramel, the two dark, round beauty spots on her cheeks only accentuating her overall attractiveness. Her face was as he remembered, like a cherry blossom tree in spring. A face that was spectacular in full bloom but which remained susceptible to any sudden change in the weather. From the look on her face it was early spring, an overcast day that could swing in either direction.
‘What are you doing in the fucking bushes?’ she spat. Age hadn’t tempered her language.
‘What are you fucking doing here?’ he yelled back at her. ‘I almost shot you.’
Though she only stood five-foot-four in heels her voice filled the backyard, insistent.
‘The Camry ran out of gas. I had to hike a couple of kilometres. I tried to phone . . .’ She paused. Chandler assumed that she had tried to contact Mitch and had failed. ‘Cops stopped me a couple of times on the way. As if I look like a serial killer?’ she said, offering a thin smile.
She went to enter the back door. ‘I want to see the kids.’
‘They’re not here. They’re at my parents.’
‘What?’ said Teri. ‘You’re telling me there’s a serial killer on the loose and you aren’t even looking after them. This, Chandler, is the kinda shit I left you for. Trying to save others and sacrificing your own kin.’
‘I don’t need this right now. The kids are safe.’
‘They will be.’
‘Leave them alone, Teri.’
‘No. I’ve taken a back seat too long on this. I’m taking you to court for Sarah and Jasper if you don’t hand them over.’
‘They’re not hostages, Teri. And this isn’t a negotiation. You can’t force them.’
‘No, this isn’t a negotiation. This is their decision. But all this – ’ she said, waving her hand in the air, ‘this is the type of shit I want to get them away from.’
‘This type of shit doesn’t happen regularly.’
‘Leaving them with your folks?’ smirked Teri.
‘No,’ said Chandler, shaking his head, ‘having a serial . . . a murder suspect loose around town.’
‘But yet I hear they’re always with Pete and Crazy Caroline.’
Chandler let the insult pass. ‘Something better not happen to them ’cause you distracted me here.’
‘If something happens it’ll be because you let the killer go.’
Chandler glared at her. False information she could only have garnered from her boyfriend. Trust Mitch to sell him out, even now.
‘The advantage of an inside contact,’ she continued, flashing the thin smile again and tapping a nose that had always been a little too large for her face, prominent and sharp.
‘He’s welcome to you,’ said Chandler pushing past her and into the house. All he wanted was to pack up his notes and leave.
As he shoved the notebook and other scribbled pages into a backpack, she poked around the house. ‘Bit messy in here. The kids will be better suited having two parents, don’t you think? Me and Mitch.’
Chandler didn’t respond. He had larger fish to fry. Bundling his notes into the car, she went to get in the passenger’s side. Chandler kept the door locked.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Going with you.’
‘This is police business. You can walk. It’s not far.’
Chandler felt a puerile but pleasing inner glow at his response.
‘I thought you said there was a killer out here?’ she said, standing back from the door, looking vulnerable and alone.
Chandler felt the warm glow turn into anger. She had him again. He couldn’t let the mother of his kids walk around with Gabriel out there somewhere. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open.
‘Get in. But don’t talk.’
Teri offered no promises and slid inside.
As he drove to his folks’ place, she talked about how much the piece-of-shit town hadn’t changed, throwing up her hands in anger and frustration that she had to be here at all, a primeval, instinctual mannerism to make herself look bigger than she was, her green eyes flashing, teeth bared for action.
He dumped her off with his parents, both sides affronted at this turn of events. As ever, Teri couldn’t modulate the volume of her voice, waking the kids who sprinted into her arms for a hug. Chandler listened as Teri promised that she would protect them. When Jasper asked from what, she said from the tickle monster and chased him around the kitchen. Chandler’s mum and dad looked at him for an explanation, his dad not making an effort to hide the gun. Chandler merely told them that he had to go.
41
Despite the numerous orders to disperse, the reporters remained outside the station, trying to work their way inside like semi-sentient zombies. Mitch had returned, conducting the symphony, running through leads phoned in by his team and by locals, more in charge than Chandler ever had been. He even had Nick and Luka working efficiently.
Chandler entered Mitch’s office.
‘Mitch?’
Mitch flinched at the informal addressing but didn’t retaliate.
‘I need to talk to you,’ continued Chandler.
Grabbing another set of papers from the cluttered desk Mitch pretended to read them.
‘I have a theory about the victims,’ Chandler said, undeterred. Mitch turned another page, disinterested. ‘The names of his victims: they’re all linked to the Bible, somehow. Some religious angle he’s following,’ said Chandler. ‘Something he mentioned earlier about being let down as a child – by his parents and religion.’
For a moment Mitch continued to pretend to read before he finally acknowledged Chandler’s presence – by waving the bunch of reports in his face.
‘Forget your theories, Sergeant, and check these out first.’
‘You’ve got a team for that,’ said Chandler.
‘Which you’re part of.’
Chandler stifled a laugh. ‘I’m on the bench, at best. Where you put me. And by the way Teri’s made it to town in case you were wondering. The Camry ran out of juice and she hiked to mine. She said she was trying to get in touch with her boyfriend.’
Leaving Mitch with his unchecked reports Chandler went to the cells and sat outside Heath’s, hoping to confirm something with the victim.
‘Mr Barwell?’
There was no answer. No one wanted to talk to him it seemed.
‘Did Gabriel seem like a religious man to you?’
Still no response.
‘Think back to when you were captured. Was anything said that seemed out of the ordinary? Completely out of the ordinary. Did he pray at any time? Say a prayer? Cross himself? Did he mention God, or anything like that?’
A weary voice replied, ‘What more can I tell you?’
‘That’s what I want to know.’
There was a long pause. Heath let loose a dry cough. The voice croaked in again. ‘He mentioned something about God. I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Please, Mr Barwell . . . Heath. It would be helpful.’
A frustrated sigh blew through the slat in the door. ‘I recall him saying something about the land out here being so dry God must have forsaken it, as if he was angry with it in some way. But he also said that it was beautiful. Like it was in the beginning, like everything was.’
‘In the begi
nning?’
‘Yeah.’
There was that phrase again – in the beginning. What beginning? The beginning of his murder spree? Was it something that he felt he had to do? Or – did he like the beginning of the process only? Capturing and getting to know his victim. The killing was merely something that had to be done and which he didn’t even enjoy.
‘Did he mention anything else about the beginning?’
Heath sighed again. ‘Like his childhood, you mean? Given what he’s done I’d say it wasn’t good, don’t you think?’
Heath stopped there. Chandler had hit another dead end.
‘But he did mention a place, said it was the beginning.’
The alertness in Heath’s voice made Chandler jump.
‘What place?’ asked Chandler, now equally alert.
‘I don’t know.’ Heath’s voice faded away, the moment of clarity quickly lost.
‘Please try,’ said Chandler.
‘I am,’ said Heath, sounding flustered and angry.
Chandler backed off. Silence descended over the cells. He felt tense, wondering if he had just hit upon another dirt road to nowhere.
‘Singleton,’ said Heath.
‘Singleton?’
‘Yes.’ The voice was shaky, unclear. ‘He mentioned it a couple of times in the car. I thought he was just pointing out somewhere he’d been or a farm that might have some solid work available, but I suppose it did seem a little out of place. He always said the word with passion. It was about the only thing that stirred him.’
‘And he said it was the beginning?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘And what did he say this Singleton was?’
‘Again, I don’t know. A place, a farm, a person . . . And before you ask, I don’t know what it was the beginning of.’
Chandler didn’t know either. But it was something.
Using Tanya’s computer he looked up Singleton. The search brought back a bevy of results: a software pattern, a whiskey, a few famous people with the surname Singleton and other links inviting him to social media and dating sites to meet up with singletons. Removing all references to dating sites and famous people he was left with a town in New South Wales, a few others in England and the United States, plus a vast number of Australian suburbs, buildings and institutes.
55 Page 24
