by JD Nixon
“No. I usually don’t want him to know what I’m up to. Or more specifically, I don’t want my mother to know what I’m up to.”
“Ah, now I understand. I tell my mother I’m an accountant.”
The detective who finally came out for us looked crumpled and frazzled. I guess spending a night talking to fuzzy-minded teenagers would do that to any person.
In the small interview room, I told him and his partner my side of events much more calmly and coherently than I’d managed yesterday. I tried to recall every detail I could about the place we’d been taken and Malefic’s strange insistence on needing the girls for some ceremony with his own ‘master’. They started at me in disbelief, their pens poised over their notes. “Look, I know it sounds fanciful, but that’s what he said. I think he called it an annunciation ceremony, or something similar to that. But I didn’t get to hear any more about it.”
“Thanks for your time, Ms Chalmers. I’m sure we’ll track down this Malefic man soon.”
“Just make sure you don’t arrest half the town while you do,” Corby said sharply, rising from his chair and leading me out of the room.
“You don’t like cops much, do you?”
“That’s not true. I’m a lawyer. When it comes to a case, I don’t like anyone.”
I laughed, changing the topic. “Does Heller ever tell you where he is when he goes on these special jobs?”
“No.” His answer was quick and decisive. Too quick? “He contacts me if he needs me. Otherwise I just carry on with business as usual. He doesn’t meddle with my work much because he trusts me.”
“He doesn’t meddle with me much these days either,” I said sadly.
Corby patted my shoulder. “Tilly, Heller’s a complex man. I wouldn’t dream of trying to provide a potted analysis of him, but let me say that he’s looked out for you very well in the future.”
“I don’t care about that,” I said, waving away his hand in irritation. “I don’t want any of his money. I’m never going to take any of it.”
“Perhaps that’s why he’s so insistent on providing for you. You may be the only woman he’s ever met that’s cared about the man inside. Not his great beauty or his money, but him.”
“I don’t even know him,” I said with a bitterness that surprised me.
“I bet you know more than anyone else about him.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “And that’s how he likes it. Nobody’s ever going to control Heller. He made that decision long before any of us entered his life and I don’t think any of us will ever know why.”
His words gave me many things to think about during what turned out to be a sleepless night.
Chapter 31
“Any jobs for me?” I asked Clive hopefully a few days later. “I’m bored.”
“None available,” was his predictable reply.
“When?”
“Who knows?”
It was a routine we went through every morning, each of us memorising our lines to perfection, though improvising now and then to keep the other’s interest piqued.
“Are you ever going to have a job for me again?” I demanded one day, after being fobbed off by him five times in a row.
“When you’re better.”
“I am better. Ask the doctor.”
“When you’re better,” he repeated, hanging up his phone.
“Grrr!” I shouted to the dial tone.
As I ate my lunch that day, I watched the midday news. One of the headline stories caught my attention immediately. The black van used in the abduction of the teens had been stolen from the police forensic yard, a matter of high embarrassment to the senior officer forced to confront the media. The station showed grainy security camera footage of the theft, making me really sit up with interest. The police spokesperson cautiously named the two men in the footage as possibly the man wanted for questioning in respect to the abductions and his assistant.
The news presenter went on to say that the van was later discovered in flames, after crashing through a guardrail and over the edge of a steep drop on an isolated, rural road. No survivors were found.
I sat there stunned, the remote in my hand. Was that the end of Malefic? Burned to death after a car crash? Wasn’t the power of his demon magic enough to save him from such a tragic, all-too-human demise?
As I puzzled over these unanswerable questions, the ringing of my phone made me jump out of my skin.
“Tilly, it’s Brian.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, don’t panic. I’m at home at the moment. Can we meet for coffee somewhere?”
“Sure.” We agreed on a time and place and I had to rush around to get there without being late.
Battling to find a space to park, I still ended up being a little late to the patisserie Brian had chosen. He hadn’t waited for me, but was halfway through a flaky, cream-laden pastry that would have constituted half his daily kilojoules and a huge latte that would have taken care of the rest.
I ordered a much smaller skim latte, but no food as I’d just eaten.
“It’s so good,” he enthused, taking another huge bite, covering himself in icing sugar like the first dusting of snow on a mountain peak.
“God, slow down. You’re going to choke yourself,” I warned, smiling at the waitress as she delivered my coffee.
“Gayle won’t let me have things like this anymore. My cholesterol was a bit elevated during my last physical, so she’s cracked down on any sort of treat.”
“She’s being a good wife, caring about your health.”
“I know. But sometimes I need a sugar hit.”
“I’m with you there. Heller’s a health freak. I have to sneak chocolate biscuits into the place.”
“Maybe we need to have a secret assignment each week to stuff our face with chocolate and sugar?”
“There’s no such thing as a secret with Heller around.”
“Or Gayle,” he said glumly.
“So, what’s up?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee.
“I heard something interesting about that Malefic car accident that’s not being released to the public. Thought you might want to know about it. You did see the news about the crash?”
“Yep, but only just before you called. Has his body been formally identified?”
“One of the bodies in the van has,” he said cautiously. “But that one appears to have been one of his disciples.”
“Acolytes. That’s what he called them.”
“Whatever. Bunch of whackos, if you ask me.”
“What about the other body?”
He drained his coffee in one gulp before answering. “Only one body was found in the wreck. That’s what we’re not telling the media.”
“What? How is that possible? Malefic was in the van when it drove away. That was on the footage from the forensics yard. It was definitely him.”
“My first thought would be to say that the other guy dropped him off somewhere on the way. But the weird thing is that the van, with the two men clearly identifiable in the cabin, went through several traffic camera spots. Our forensic guys reckon the timing through the cameras was consistent with the van not making any stops along the way.”
I thought for a moment. “So? The acolyte dropped Malefic off somewhere after going through the traffic cameras.”
“Another reasonable thing to think. But the problem is that we’ve tracked down several witnesses who swear that bare minutes before the crash, they passed the van and it contained the two men. Two of those witnesses are cops themselves, their onboard traffic camera confirming their statements.”
“Is it possible that Malefic still got out of the van after those people saw him, but before the crash?”
Brian shook his head. “That road is windy and barely fits two lanes between a steep cliff face and even steeper drop. There was literally nowhere for the van to stop or for him to go. But the real clincher was a witness who saw the van plunge over the e
dge. She’s a very lucid, reliable witness, a JP in her small town that’s located about ten kilometres away from the crash site. She’s the one who rang us in the first place and set up her car with the hazard lights to warn oncoming motorists.”
“Could his body have completely incinerated from the fire?”
“Not according to forensics. The fire was enough to kill the occupants, but the body of the other guy was able to be identified even though he was badly burnt.”
“Maybe he was flung out of the van. Could anyone have survived the impact if they weren’t burnt?”
“Again, forensics say nope. I’ve seen pics of the van. It was completely wrecked, barely recognisable as a vehicle. And the uniforms searched the surrounding area thoroughly, even bringing in the dogs. It’s dense bush there, so it’s highly unlikely a body could remain undetected. It would have been caught by the trees and stopped from rolling any further down the cliff. Forensics even used crash test dummies once the wreck had been cleared. They were trapped by the bush or trees in each and every experiment, no matter the velocity at which they were flung.”
“So what the hell happened to him?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You can see why the brass don’t want to make it public. A reasonably high profile illusionist and demon-worshipper, with quite a cult following, disappears into thin air? No police service wants to deal with that shit.”
“Wow. I don’t want to think of him lurking out there somewhere. I prevented him from participating in some ceremony that was important to him. I hardly think he’ll be forgiving if we meet again.”
“I don’t know what to say to you, Tilly. The guy should be dead. Unless you believe he had some supernatural powers that saved him, I’d advise you to think of him as dead and gone. Perhaps he was just one of those freak cases we have to deal with now and then. Perhaps he spontaneously combusted at the point of impact, leaving no trace of him. I’m not sure we’ll ever know.”
“Did you discover what the drug he used on me was? My doctor said it was unusual.”
“It is unusual. He used it on the teens too, and God only knows how many other people over the years. It might be a plant extract of some kind, but it’s too exotic for our labs to analyse.” His phone beeped with a text message. “I have to run. Gayle thinks I’m looking at spare parts for the mower and wants me to pick up some groceries.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know all this, Brian. I think.”
Back home I called up my internet to search for any information on annunciation. The first three billion hits related to Christian stuff, but I finally found an obscure link to a no longer active website that detailed a ceremony performed by an archaic demon-worshipping cult religion thought to have become extinct several centuries ago. Not extinct, I thought, but perhaps merely gone deeper underground.
The annunciation ceremony, I read, took a minor master in the religion to a higher level by travail through fire, symbolising rebirth, regeneration and regrowth. Successful completion of the ceremony committed the supplicant to a lower level of hell, something desirable to followers of the religion. This unlocked greater power, elevating the supplicant to independent master status, a huge leap in authority, freeing them from their own master. The website skirted guardedly around how this annunciation could be achieved, hinting it could be either by the ‘offering of innocence into the flames’ or the ‘offering of the supplicant into the flames’. The supplicant would then be ‘reborn’ into a new form with greater powers.
I felt sick skimming this information, believing that Malefic had planned on burning the teens alive. When he was thwarted in this, he’d gone with the second option. Did that mean the crash was deliberate? Had he hypnotised his acolyte into driving off the cliff, or had that man willingly sacrificed himself for the greater good of his master?
I rang Brian, who answered immediately.
Hearing background traffic noise, I asked, “Did you answer your phone while driving?”
“Maybe.”
“Geez, you cops are the worst offenders when it comes to traffic violations, but you don’t mind pulling everyone else over and giving them a fine.”
“Yeah, yeah. Save me the lecture. I can’t pull over because I have ice-cream in the back. I need to get it into the freezer ASAP.”
“I don’t think ice-cream’s part of a low-cholesterol diet.”
“Shut up. Did you ring for any other reason than to needle me about my food choices?”
“I’m going to send you a very interesting web article I found on annunciation. It might make the detectives handling the van crash rethink their theories. Just out of curiosity, was there any evidence of heavy braking, swerving or anything indicating the driver tried to prevent the accident?”
“That’s one thing I forgot to mention to you. There was nothing to show any avoidance of the accident. It was as if they deliberately drove over the cliff.”
“Maybe they did,” I said enigmatically. “Don’t forget to check your email when you get home. And perhaps you better use your siren and lights to get the ice-cream home safely.”
I hung up before I heard his caustic response.
Later, he rang me again. “That’s a very interesting article all right. What a ceremony. Burn some virgins to death or yourself. Your choice. Nice religion.”
“It’s pretty crazy, that’s for sure.”
“The article doesn’t say what happens after this ‘annunciation’.”
“It just says something vague about being reborn.”
“Just for laughs, let’s say this is even remotely possible, does that mean he’ll now look different? Be a baby again? Have disappeared back into hell?”
“How would I know? I’ve sent you everything I found. Maybe those detectives should contact some professor of the arcane or something.”
“I can’t mention this to any of them. They’d all think I was nuts.”
“But the innocents and the self-immolation – it all fits. How can you not mention it?”
“It’s the police service, Tilly. We deal with facts, not superstitions.”
“But even if none of this annunciation stuff happened for real, the fact that Malefic believed it would happen provides the motivation for a possible murder/suicide. Wouldn’t the detectives be interested in that?”
“Facts, Tilly. Not superstitions. It’s just too whacked out a theory to convince anyone. Especially based on one small article on the web.”
“So that’s it on Malefic? He’ll just become a cold case to join the thousands of others?”
“Yep, I’m afraid so.”
“I’m depressed now.”
“Try working here for fifteen years.”
I searched for more mentions of that religion, but there were no other hits. It had been very effective at removing all traces of itself. Wanting to scrub all remnants of Malefic from my life, I shut down my computer, deciding it would be a better use of my time to visit Mum again.
I was just heading out when Daniel delivered a letter addressed to me in careful childish writing.
Dear Tilly
I’ve started at the academy and it seems okay. The teachers are very nice and I’m getting lots of practice. Mother and I are living in a small flat near the academy and Daddy visits us there.
I’m really sorry we didn’t go to the zoo, but I play with my dinosaurs every chance I can.
Agatha
I suppose I should be grateful Mrs Namoy had new interests to pursue in her life, not following up on her complaint to Clive. But I deeply regretted that Agatha and I hadn’t had that day of fun together. It wouldn’t surprise me if her ‘lots of practice’ equalled long days of piano playing. I put the letter to one side so I could answer it later.
I took Mum shopping and we spent a pleasant afternoon working in her garden, followed by a comfortable evening in front of the TV, Puddles nestled on Mum’s lap. She seemed more resigned to living without Dad, telling me her friends were keeping her busy with
social engagements.
At nine-thirty seeing her hiding a yawn, I realised I’d overstayed my welcome, letting myself out.
At my car, I fumbled my keys, dropping them on the ground. Berating myself for my butter fingers, I reached down to search for them in the dark. I froze when something hard dug into my back.
A smooth voice said lowly, “Nice and easy. No sudden moves.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. If it was a mugger, I’d give him my handbag. If it was someone worse . . . I tried to calculate how fast I could retrieve my capsicum spray.
“We’ll ask the questions. Now, slowly, slowly, we’re going to walk down the road to that car.”
“And if I refuse?”
The hardness dug into my back more. “This isn’t a toy and I’m not a patient man. If you cause us any trouble, I will kill you and I won’t even blink while I’m doing it. If you do what we ask, no harm will come to you. We just want to talk.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s no concern of mine if you do or don’t. Move down the road now. And don’t try anything stupid like screaming. You don’t want your recently widowed mother to find your bullet-ridden body in front of her house, do you?”
Whoever he was, I hated him for saying that. One thing I knew was that I wasn’t getting into that car with him. Heller had drilled into my brain the importance of never getting in the car. At that point, he stressed over and over, a person often lost any control of the situation. Those poor teens had been a prime example of that in action.
Despite what the man threatened, I struggled at the door of the car, resisting his efforts to force me in. He didn’t bother arguing with me, but socked me one in the face. That shut me up real fast. His big meaty fist caught my nose, lips and chin, leaving all bloodied and bruised.
Little groans of pain escaped from between my split lips, blood dripping onto my clean shirt.
“Get in,” the man said, roughly pushing me into the backseat. I fell hard on the upholstery, probably smearing some blood on it. He shoved me over, climbing in next to me. I had my first glance at him, but there’d be nothing I’d be able to tell Clive about him or the driver and front seat passenger – they all wore balaclavas.
