Murder in the Outback

by Anisa Claire West

  Questioning my own sanity, I remained quiet for the remainder of the boat ride as Clive raved about Roxette. I calmly nodded my head in agreement as he praised the band, but inside I was an absolute wreck. As the ferry docked, I stood up, eager to return to the hotel room and bury my face in a pillow.

  “Did you drive here or take a taxi?” Clive inquired.

  “I drove.” My voice was almost inaudible.

  “Then let me walk you to your car…unless you’d like to grab that drink?” Hopefulness flooded his sea-deep eyes.

  “Let me take a rain check,” I said sincerely. “I spent most of the day driving, as I’m sure you did, so I need to get some shut-eye.”

  “Totally understand. Let me walk you to your car, though. It’s dark out,” Clive said chivalrously.

  I led the way to the lemon-shaded Jeep as Clive walked an intimate but appropriate distance beside me. With its sunny color, the vehicle was easy to spot, even as night crept up on the midnight hour. Some sort of paper was sticking out from the windshield. I groaned, anticipating an expensive parking ticket. “Was I parked illegally?”

  “I don’t think so,” Clive murmured. As we got closer to the Jeep, he determined, “That’s not a ticket, though. That looks like a sheet of paper. Probably some rubbish advertisement!” He chuckled as I laughed along with him, relieved that I hadn’t been slapped with a parking fine.

  But my laughter quickly faded into prickly fear as I snatched the paper off the windshield and read a sinister message written in jagged black ink.

  Chapter 9

  My whole body trembled uncontrollably as I read the threatening message:

  Rita, why are you still here? How stupid are you? You should have flown home already like the scared little chicken you are. This is not a game, Rita. This is deadly serious. You don’t belong here. You’re not welcome here. GO HOME! If you don’t go home by tomorrow, the next message you receive will be delivered in person…in red ink…if you catch my drift…

  Clive, who had been peering over my shoulder and reading along, exclaimed, “What in the world?! Do you know who wrote that?”

  Unable to speak, I shook my head no. The only consolation I felt in that moment was that I was not insane, not by a long shot. Not only had someone been following me with malicious intent, but that person intended to hurt me…maybe even kill me…if I didn’t flee the country. But who was it? The erratic, pointy handwriting made it difficult to decipher whether a man or woman had penned the note. And the suspects were numerous: there was the anonymous neon-clad guy, Paul the peculiar hotel clerk, the American girls from the park, Clive, and now my ex-boyfriend Roger as well. Who among that motley crew of suspects could I positively eliminate?

  I glanced over at Clive who wore a sour expression on his face, as though the note had offended him personally. Maybe I couldn’t positively eliminate him, but I was 95% sure he wasn’t my stalker…or was that just wishful thinking? How easy would it have been for Clive to stick that note in my windshield before cruising over to the concert? He seemed like the most logical suspect, the one who would have had the easiest opportunity to pen and place a threatening epistle. But my creep radar just didn’t register with this guy. Maybe I was being naïve, but I still felt in my gut that Clive was an innocent party.

  “You need to take that note to the police!” Clive urged as I looked up at him gratefully. That comment sealed it. If Clive were the perpetrator, he would never suggest that I call the police! “Are you okay? You seem like you’re in a daze.”

  Feeling safe to confide in the man, I confessed, “No, I’m not okay. Someone’s been stalking me ever since I found Corinne Foster’s body.”

  “And have you gone to the police?” He demanded.

  “Not exactly…I wasn’t sure up until now what I should say…”

  Searching his front pocket, Clive produced a cell phone and dialed triple 0. Reality misted over as I distantly heard Clive’s refined British voice barking into the phone that the police needed to come immediately. I felt numb and disconcerted waiting for the Sydney cops to show up. A squad car arrived on the scene in a matter of minutes.

  “Is that the note?” A scratchy-voiced cop asked as his carrot-colored hair appeared metallic under the moonlight.

  “Um, yes,” I said absently, handing him the paper.

  Briefly skimming the message, the cop nodded and gestured to his partner. “We’re going to need to get this down to forensics.” Turning to Clive, he asked, “Are you the one who placed the call?”

  “Yes, and as I said on the phone, this woman is being stalked. She could be in real danger!” Clive spoke passionately.

  “How so?” The redheaded officer asked.

  “I’m the one who found Corinne Foster’s body in Warrumbungles…” I began as the officers looked flabbergasted.

  “And someone’s been stalking you since you found the body? Alright, you need to tell us every detail.” The redhead’s husky partner commanded.

  As the three men listened with almost hypnotic attention, I painted every bizarre detail of every heart-stopping incident that had taken place since I found the poor lady wrapped in burlap. While the particulars unfolded, I was taken aback to see pleased smirks on the cops’ faces. “Are you taking me seriously?” I asked pointedly. “Because I feel like you’re mocking me.”

  “No, not at all,” the carrot-top brusquely assured. Exchanging a knowing glance with his partner, he continued, “It’s just that this is very good news from a police standpoint. Don’t get me wrong…we don’t want any harm to befall you. But you could hold the key to solving Mrs. Foster’s homicide.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, baffled.

  “If you’re willing to cooperate, which I do hope you are, then you could lead us directly to the killer. We’ll lay a mousetrap and you’ll provide the cheese, so to speak,” the second officer said slyly.

  “I’m not following you,” I said, feeling unraveled by the crude analogy.

  “From our standpoint, we want the stalker to come face to face with you. We want this person to find you alone and have a confrontation with you…not a physical one, of course. And you won’t really be alone,” the gravelly voiced cop explained.

  “We’ll have you bugged,” the larger officer piggybacked. “You’ll be wearing a recording device and we’ll be right behind you to swoop in if things take a turn for the worse. Ideally, you’ll have wrangled a confession out of the person by then.”

  “But you’re assuming that my stalker is Corinne Foster’s murderer. What makes you so sure of that?” I queried as an image of Roger’s smug face surfaced in my mind.

  “It’s not a guarantee, I suppose. But based on your story, I would bet a lot of money that the person stalking you is Foster’s killer,” the flame haired cop said as I glanced at the name tag clipped to his uniform.

  “Officer Beck,” I said solemnly. “I think I should tell you that my ex-boyfriend may have followed me to Australia. He could be the one stalking me.”

  Clive’s face noticeably darkened at the mention of my ex-boyfriend, but the police officers seemed unaffected. “What leads you to believe this?” Officer Beck asked patiently, although it was clear that he wasn’t buying it for a second.

  Awkwardly, I explained the unhealthy dynamic of my relationship with Roger and how angry he had been when I finally dumped him. Finishing up the demoralizing story, I sighed, “And so, when my friend Amy said he might have flown to Australia to find me, I believed her.”

  The policemen looked momentarily pensive but unconvinced. “I appreciate your frankness, Miss Stanford, but this one really has ‘murderer’ written all over it. If your ex-boyfriend flew all the way from the States, I don’t think he’d be acting like a ghost. He’d be at your hotel room door serenading you with a love song,” Officer Beck chortled.

  “Roger doesn’t do romance,” I said coldly.

  “Well, he doesn’t have to be Valentino. Either way, he’d be trying real hard
to spend time with you, I’m quite sure of that,” Officer Beck insisted as I considered the logic of his perspective.

  “You’re probably right,” I admitted. “So what exactly do you need me to do?”

  “You’re on board, then?” The other officer, whose nametag read Lieutenant Bruno, asked.

  “Yes, as long as you guys will be close by…”

  “And I will be too,” Clive vowed.

  “Nice boyfriend you have,” Lieutenant Bruno remarked as I stayed mum. There was no time to explain the undefined relationship between Clive and me. I could just hear how the explanation would go: Yeah, he’s this random guy I met in the wilderness and now he keeps popping up all across the country and asking me out on dates…

  “Okay. Perfect,” Officer Beck stated as he guided us over to the police vehicle. “We have some equipment inside the car. You’ll need to store it somewhere underneath your dress. Under the bra strap would be a good place.”

  Embarrassed, I merely nodded and followed the officer’s instructions, disappearing behind a shaded bush to stuff the apparatus in my bra. Rushing back to the vehicle, I asked, “What next?”

  “I want you to drive back to your hotel on your own. Not with the boyfriend,” Lieutenant Bruno specified. “We’ll be tailing you the whole time. Once you get back to your hotel, don’t go inside. I need you to wander around outside. Go to the darkest place you can find. Make yourself appear vulnerable. Unless your stalker is taking a snooze, you’ll make the perfect bait.”

  “Bait?” I gulped. “But what if something goes wrong? You saw what the message said. The person said that they would write me a new note in red ink if I didn’t go home. That means blood!”

  “I need you to put a little trust in us, Miss Stanford. We’ll have undercover backup officers surrounding the hotel as well. You’ll be completely safe,” Officer Beck promised.

  “Can’t this be done in the morning? Wouldn’t that make more sense?” Clive asked.

  “No. We can’t risk that the suspect gets frustrated and tries to flee. We can’t lose any time. Plus, Miss Stanford will be an easier target, in the stalker’s eyes, while it’s dark out. The stalker might feel that it’s too risky to confront your girlfriend during the day.”

  “Okay, let’s do this,” I said with a jolt of confidence. “I’m ready.”

  The officers spent a few more minutes briefing me on exactly what to do, how to act, and what to say. They also offered a contingency plan should something go wrong. The code word was “kangaroo.” If at any point, I felt my life was in imminent danger, I would simply have to whisper “kangaroo” into my mouthpiece and the cops would come rescue me.

  “Rita, are you sure about this?” Clive asked apprehensively.

  “Yes.” I nodded adamantly. “I wanted adventure when I came to this country and man I really found it.”

  Chapter 10

  My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I death-gripped the steering wheel. Knowing that the officers---and Clive---were following me back to the Pacific Cove Hotel was mildly reassuring. But mostly I just felt terrified. The mysterious identity of the stalker somehow made him even more intimidating. My imagination ran wild with the shadows of the night as I envisioned coming face to face with a grotesque monster. What if the police didn’t arrive in time? What if the stalker had already seen me with the police and planned a sinister punishment? What if? What if? I could ask the questions to infinity, but I needed to concentrate on accomplishing the critical mission. I needed to be on autopilot and react swiftly to every curveball that came my way.

  Pulling into the hotel parking lot, I deliberately stationed the car in a remote corner far away from the main entrance. Breathing erratically, I closed my eyes and mentally steeled myself for whatever was waiting for me in the darkness. Standing tall, I meandered across the property towards a dead end side road. Was I being too obvious? Maybe the stalker would figure out that I was leading him to a booby trap if I walked down a dead end. Changing directions, I strolled towards a little fountain in the rear of the hotel. Taking a seat on a bench, I waited like prey practically volunteering to be food for a shark.

  Folding my hands in my lap, I tried to appear casual as I gazed upon the shimmering fountain waters and relaxed under the moonlight. In the distance, I heard light tapping footsteps coming towards the fountain. Bracing myself for a confrontation, I tightened my lips and balled my hands into defensive fists.

  The pace of the footsteps accelerated rapidly as I squinted in the dark to distinguish the approaching figure. But the person was obscured behind a maze of trees. Breathlessly, I waited until the person came into clear view and loomed just a few hundred feet away. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me as the slender feminine shape ran towards me.

  In the dim light, her red hair appeared like fire and her voice spewed hotter flames as she cried, “I told you to go home!”

  “Karen? That’s your name, right? Or is it Jenna?” I asked in confusion. Either way, it was definitely one of the fashionable sisters I had encountered at Warrumbungles.

  “Karen,” she seethed.

  “You killed Corrine Foster?” I demanded, immediately cutting to the chase so I could extract a confession and get away from the unstable woman.

  “Damn right I did!” Karen declared proudly as though she had won the Pulitzer Prize.

  “And you and your sister dumped her body in the park?” I recalled the one photograph I had seen of Corinne Foster and how fragile the woman had appeared. Although svelte, Karen and Jenna were also fit and possibly had enough combined strength to carry a 95 pound body into the wilderness. Or maybe they had simply dragged the body in the burlap sack and that’s how the foot had popped out.

  When she failed to answer my question, I persisted, “And you stole my phone and my camera too, right? But why?”

  “I didn’t want anyone to see the pictures you took on that stupid camera after you found the body!” Karen screamed.

  “And how did you even know that I was the one who found the body?”

  “Jenna and I were watching you with binoculars. We stayed in the park for a little while. You should have just gone with us to dinner! Then you wouldn’t be in this situation!” She taunted. “I was trying to save you from being a witness!”

  “You were trying to save yourself,” I countered. “But what about my cell phone? Why did you steal my cell phone…and how?!”

  “Easy. I just had to flirt with the sleazy front desk guys a little to get them to open your room for me,” she bragged as I wondered if pervy Paul had let her in. “And I had to get your cell because you had my phone number programmed into it. I meant to give you a fake number, but I accidentally said my real one,” Karen explained as the truth became crystallized.

  “Why did you kill that old lady? For money? For jewels?” I prodded.

  Dismissing my question with a hideous sneer, Karen reached into her leather purse and cackled, “Time for some red ink!”

  “Kangaroo!” I cried pathetically as Karen retrieved a silver tipped blade and pointed it at my chest. “Kangaroo!!!!”

  “Are you out of your mind?” She asked disgustedly.

  As she barreled towards me with the knife, a baritone voice shouted through a megaphone, “Drop the weapon! Put your hands behind your back! Now!”

  Shocked into acquiescence, Karen jumped as the knife fell out of her hands and onto the grass. Lunging forward, I bent down to grab the knife as she clobbered me and punched several hard blows into my gut. With strength I hadn’t known I possessed, I fought back, clawing at her and forcefully pushing her body weight off of me.

  “I said put your hands behind your back!” The police officer yelled furiously as he flipped Karen over onto her belly.

  She didn’t resist any more as the officer handcuffed and led her towards a waiting police car. Clive dashed over to me and gently pulled me to my feet. Giving me a spontaneous hug, he asked, “Are you alright?”

  “Yes,” I said.
“Just a little muddy.” I tried to hide the terror in my voice, but Clive seemed unconvinced.

  “You need an ambulance,” he determined.

  “No, really, I’m fine,” I insisted, but to no avail.

  A crew of paramedics was already heading towards me along with Officer Beck and Lieutenant Bruno sporting triumphant smiles. “Well done, Miss Stanford!” Beck praised.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled as the paramedics cleaned and bandaged my superficial wounds.

  Swarms of photographers and reporters seemed to emerge from nowhere as I felt totally overwhelmed. Clive stood stoically by my side as I struggled to answer the journalists’ probing questions. A sizable group of hotel guests also gathered around the fountain and gawked at the tabloid spectacle. Feeling lightheaded, I extricated myself from the crowd and walked on wobbly feet towards the hotel.

  “You need some rest,” Clive said with a tinge of regret as though he didn’t want to say good night.

  “I really do. Thanks for being there for me tonight,” I said softly.

  “Well I guess I better be going.” He turned away from me reluctantly as I watched him go.

  Some strange emotion stirred in me as Clive walked away. I wanted to call after him to stay, but I just felt too weary. The best medicine for me would be a full night’s rest…and a huge hug from little Pouf.

  The Next Morning

  Feeling Good After a Refreshing Night’s Sleep

  Kakadu woollybutt. Gympie messmate. Ghost gum. No, I’m not a babbling madwoman; those nonsensical sounding words are actually the names of different types of eucalyptus trees in Australia. Now that the murder was solved and my stalker had been identified, I was ready to have some fun Down Under! And of course, fun for me meant taking pictures all day long of eucalyptus trees with bizarre monikers. But first I had a little errand to run…

  Strolling through the doors of the opulent Sydney Regency Hotel, I breezed over to the front desk and politely asked, “Which room is Clive staying in?”