by Tara Moss
She nodded eagerly. “Thank you so much. Thank you…”
Debbie watched him walk away, and feared for a moment that he would not come back. What if this man, her only hope, decided not to help her after all?
But John did come back, just the same, only now he was loaded up with the most beautiful meal that Debbie had ever seen. There was mashed potato, venison and roast pumpkin and beans and big cloves of garlic. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There were little sourdough dinner rolls and everything.
“Oh my God,” she blurted out at the sight of it. “Oh my God, thank you. Thank you so much!”
“I think we’ll enjoy this, Debbie,” he said and smiled.
She reached out for the food, and tried to grab a piece of meat, but John slapped her hand away angrily.
His smile was gone.
“No, Debbie. No, that’s a bad girl.” His face changed; his mouth turned down and he furrowed his brow. “You can eat it properly or not at all, do you hear me? Where are your manners?”
“Oh yes, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Debbie apologised.
“I’m very disappointed, Debbie,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh no! Don’t be disappointed! It will never happen again. I’m so sorry,” she said.
“That was very greedy, Debbie. Very discourteous. After I went to all this trouble to present you with a nice meal…”
Oh, God, what if he takes it away? What if he takes his food and goes away and leaves me to starve?
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I was greedy. I’m sorry.” She was dizzy from hunger.
“Okay, Debbie. I’ll forgive you, but you have to be a good girl now, okay?”
“Okay,” she promised.
He busied himself with aligning everything on the table. It was agonising waiting while he straightened the napkins and each piece of cutlery. Debbie sat on her hands to prevent herself from reaching for the food again. She kept her eyes down. She could not watch.
“Would you like some wine?” he finally said.
She remembered the drink she had had at the bar, and wondered how she couldn’t recall anything after that point. How she had ended up in that godforsaken room was a mystery to her.
He must have noticed her hesitation. “It’s okay. You have nothing to fear. It’s just a shiraz. Do you like shiraz?”
He uncorked the bottle with his wine opener, and the cork slid out with an audible “pop”. With just a touch of the shiraz in his own glass, he sniffed at it, tasted it, and then swilled it around in his mouth. He thought about the taste for a while, as she sat there starving.
“I think you’ll like this,” he said, and filled her glass halfway, and then his own. “Napkins first.”
She raised her hands and forced herself not to look at the plate in front of her. Not yet. It all smelled so incredibly delicious. She fought the urge to grab it greedily. She knew that would anger him, and then she wouldn’t stand a chance.
He reached across and placed her napkin in her lap for her, and said, “A toast.”
She nodded.
“To us,” he said.
To us?
She picked up her glass and clinked it against his.
He took a sip of wine, and she followed suit. She looked to him briefly for approval before launching into her meal. It was okay now, she could eat. It was as though all her senses, all her thoughts had been overtaken by the need to still her hunger.
“Now, just one more thing, Debbie.”
“Yes?” she said between mouthfuls.
“I want to ask you something, but you have to be honest with me.”
“Yes…yes I will be honest with you.” She couldn’t afford to anger him…She knew he could take away the food if she did.
“You have to be honest. You can tell me anything, okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbled as she tried not to stuff too much food into her mouth.
“Do you find me attractive?” he asked.
A sick feeling settled on her. Though she continued to eat she started to sense the price she would have to pay.
“You want me, don’t you?” John said.
What do I say to that?
“Go on, Debbie. You can tell me. You want me, don’t you?”
This could be my chance to escape, she thought. This man is crazy. If he is the same man who caught me and brought me here and fed me potato chips then he is a complete lunatic and I need to get out of here and this is my only chance…
“Yes,” she answered.
“Say it,” he said.
Debbie suddenly felt ill. Her stomach had shrunk over the past few days without food. The gnawing feeling had stopped and in its place was a feeling of complete helplessness. She didn’t understand why he was asking her such a thing. She was confused. And scared.
“Saaaaaaaaaaay it!” he shouted.
“I want you,” she said obediently.
“Say, ‘I want you, John’.”
“I want you, John.”
He came around the table and pushed her to the ground. At first she lashed out with her arms against the weight of his body, but it didn’t take her long to realise this was a fight she wouldn’t win.
CHAPTER 29
Makedde came home from the conference worn out. She was greeted by the flashing answering machine. She had promised to meet Roy and it was probably him calling. At the thought of his company, she perked up a little. Should she just invite him over? Talk and watch videos or something? Eat some takeaway?
She pressed “play”, anticipating his voice, but it wasn’t a message from Roy she heard.
“Hi, Mak.” It was Andy. “I missed you at the conference today. Look, I need to speak to you. I don’t know what you have planned, but perhaps we could catch up over a bite of dinner tonight? Please give me a call as soon as you can. The number is…”
How did he get my number? Bloody hell.
There was no way she was going to just drop everything for dinner with Andy. No way at all.
No. I want to spend time with Roy, not Andy.
She called Andy back at his hotel and was relieved when the hotel voice mail picked up.
“Andy, it’s Mak. I got your message. Sorry, but I’m busy tonight.” It gave some minuscule sense of accomplishment to tell him that. “Perhaps we can meet tomorrow? Take care.”
Makedde hung up and frowned.
Part of her really wanted to see him, and she hated that.
Roy Blake came round at eight, right on time.
“Now here’s a man after my heart,” Makedde remarked with a smile. He stood patiently on her doorstep, waiting to be invited inside, balancing a couple of rented videos, two bags of takeaway, a bottle of wine and a bunch of pastel-pink baby roses.
Wow.
“Come on in,” she said. “Thanks for this. You really went all-out.”
He smiled and gave her a kiss as he stepped inside. “My pleasure,” he said. “It’s great to see you.”
He stood beside her and she was struck once again by how exquisitely tall he was. He wore a leather jacket and blue jeans with casual boots. When he took his jacket off she noticed the way it clung to his wide shoulders, a feature she found incredibly attractive in men.
Roy was “just her type” as Jaqui had pointed out. And he had that handsome, boyish face.
Mmm, and he was wearing cologne again.
They settled on the couch and she laid out the takeaway with some placemats and plates. He had brought Indian food—butter chicken, lamb korma, some curried vegetables and naan.
“This looks wonderful. Thanks.”
“No problem at all. It’s kind of you to invite me over,” he said.
“So what’s in the video cases? What did you pick out?”
He grinned mischievously.
“What…?”
“From Russia with Love and To Live and Die in LA.”
She squealed with delight. “From Russia with Love!”
“You said you love Bond. And let’s face it, S
ean Connery is the only Bond, right? I only hope you haven’t seen it too many times.”
My God, he has been paying attention. Dr No was still her favourite, but From Russia with Love was a close second. Her mood had completely lifted. She was truly impressed. The previews rolled for their video, they clinked glasses and began eating. The meal was delicious and so was the full-bodied red wine he had chosen. What a treat.
They watched as 007 kissed a beautiful bikini-clad woman and whispered sweet nothings in her ear.
“Did you get most of your studying done?” Roy asked.
“Well, not really,” she admitted, still watching Sean. She was way behind on her thesis, and this sort of thing wouldn’t help.
“Oh! Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said. “I’ll let you work. Or better yet, maybe I could help you?”
She laughed. “It’s boring stuff, really.”
Too boring, it seemed. Perhaps she should have chosen a thesis topic about psychopaths instead of eyewitness testimony?
“It’s psychology, isn’t it? That’s my pet topic,” Roy said.
“It is?” Makedde had seen the movie ten times before, so she didn’t mind that Roy wanted to talk. In fact, she soon found that the film made a nice background atmosphere for them.
“Yes,” he said. “It was always my favourite subject. I’ve read a number of the textbooks and I have experience with people who suffer from psychological disorders. No, not any disorders I have.” He laughed. “In fact, I wanted to pursue psychology as a profession for a while there, just like you are, but, um,” his face dropped a little, “circumstances made it impossible. I had to start work right away to support my family, so the idea of a degree took a back seat.”
He has a family!
He must have read her face, because he said, “Oh no, I don’t have a wife and kids or anything. No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve never been married. It’s just that my father isn’t well and my—”
“Oh,” she said. “You had me going there for a moment. Not that there’s anything wrong with having kids,” she insisted. “But you know…”
He leaned over and gave her an affectionate hug. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “You aren’t about to become a surrogate mom. I’m single and I don’t have any kids.”
And you’re tall and gorgeous and you are not Andy Flynn.
She brought one hand up to his chin and ran her fingertip along the line of his jaw. She could feel the stubble waiting just beneath the surface. He had probably shaved before coming over. She felt the urge to kiss him, and she didn’t resist it.
She parted her lips slightly, and they kissed. She liked his taste, she liked the warmth of his mouth and the newness of his touch as his hands moved to caress her shoulders.
Yes. Jaqui was right. I have been waiting too long.
She pushed him down on the couch and kissed him hard.
CHAPTER 30
Sergeant Rothstein of the RCMP Polygraph Division stood in the doorway and quietly eyed Evan Rose up and down. The subject was sitting in the waiting room, flanked by officers, busily filling in the paperwork Rothstein had given him. His lips moved noticeably as he read.
Steroid user? Rothstein wondered, noting his overdeveloped muscles.
Evan wore dirty jeans that strained to fit around his bulging quadriceps. His boots were slightly muddy, his T-shirt rolled up at the sleeves to show off tattooed biceps, and a flannel lumberjack shirt was tied around his waist. A real bruiser. He’d been told the guy worked as a bartender at the Blue Fox.
Rothstein had him fill out some standard medical forms to ensure that he was physically capable of being tested and could produce adequate physiological tracings for recording. He certainly looked fit enough, but there was always the concern of drug taking before the test. Hopefully he was clean, otherwise they’d have to postpone.
Having completed the medical forms, Evan signed the consent form for the polygraph, stood up and said, “Alright, let’s get on with it.”
Rothstein smiled. He was eager.
He led him into the office and closed the door behind them, leaving the officers in the waiting room with their arms crossed.
Evan was a big boy. Pretty tall and very beefy. But his cocky attitude seemed to deflate a notch once Rothstein had him alone. He was confronted with a carefully assembled scene—a thick folder marked “Evan Rose”, a recent photograph of Susan Walker, and another of Petra Wallace spread out on the desk, and of course the polygraph instrument, with all its wires and tubes.
“Please sit down,” Rothstein said, and Rose sat, his eye on the photographs.
Rothstein always made sure he had recent photographs of the victims in cases like these. The killer may not have known the girls’ names when he attacked them, so it was conceivable that the name would mean little to him unless he could associate it with a face. This way there could be no mistaking who the girls were.
Rothstein got his attention by leaning forward and slapping his open hand on the desk. “My job here today is to find out whether or not you are the person who did this,” he began. “I want you to know that I presume that all examinees who come here for a polygraph examination are innocent and thus truthful regarding the issue for which they are being polygraphed. And I maintain that presumption of your innocence throughout the entire examination until all of the polygraph charts have been collected, analysed and scored for a determination of truth or deception.”
Evan nodded, somewhat nervously. His wide-eyed gaze rested on the thick folder bearing his name, then shifted to the pneumo tubes. In eleven years as an examiner, Rothstein was well used to this slightly awed response, and the truth was, he was guilty of playing it up a bit from time to time. The subject wouldn’t know this, but the folder was topped up with blank sheets. The subject would feel like it wasn’t worth trying to lie, because they already had everything on him.
“First off, I will explain in basic terms how a polygraph works, so that you understand fully what we are doing today. A polygraph is simply an instrument that records changes in the physiological activity that is driven by your autonomic nervous system.”
Evan seemed dumbstruck.
“Autonomic means automatic or involuntary, so it deals with those aspects of the body that cannot be controlled,” Rothstein went on. “There are two branches to your autonomic nervous system. The first one deals with growth and development whilst the second one is an emergency response system. These two parts operate in opposition to one another, which means that only one system, usually the part that has to do with growth, is in control at any one time.”
He watched Evan’s expression. He seemed to be following fine.
“The emergency system becomes dominant only when there is some threat to an individual and he or she becomes fearful. For example: if you are walking down the street and someone suddenly approaches you and produces a knife, you will become afraid. That message will go to the brain and the brain in turn will send a message back to the autonomic nervous system to put the emergency system into control. When that happens a series of physiological changes takes place that helps you cope with that situation.”
Evan crossed his arms. He was becoming defensive, or perhaps a bit bored of the lecture. Still it was necessary, and Rothstein continued.
“Your heart contracts more quickly which sends more blood throughout your body to provide it with nourishment so it can function more effectively. Your liver secretes sugar giving you more energy and the pupils of your eyes dilate so you can see better. The palms of your hands will also perspire so that you can grasp things more effectively.” He raised his palms to make the point. “Just as a baseball player spits on his hands to get a better grip on a baseball bat. These and other changes occur allowing you to run faster, hit harder or lift more so that you can get out of that dangerous situation.”
Evan swung his foot up to rest on the opposite knee. He was definitely impatient now. “Are we going to get on with this thing, or do I have to s
it through a whole Grade Three class on biology here?”
Rothstein leaned forward. “Listen carefully, Evan. I want you to understand exactly how this works.” Evan unfolded his arms, and Sergeant Rothstein went on. “The polygraph test measures a similar response. If you tell the truth you will function at your normal level. If you come to a question to which you are going to lie you will become afraid of being caught in that lie.” He emphasised that point, looking Evan straight in the eye as he said it. “As soon as you become afraid your body automatically shifts into the emergency system. There is no way that you can stop it. All of these changes will take place and I will be able to see them on the polygraph chart.”
Evan squinted.
“Any questions?”
“But what if someone is…nervous?”
“Don’t worry. The state of being nervous as a result of your anxiety about taking this test is constant throughout the test, whether you are very nervous, nervous or just mildly nervous. I expect that all people who undergo a polygraph test will be nervous, but that will not affect the accuracy of the test. Your pulse rate is usually around 70-80 beats per minute depending on your age and state of health but now may be around 90-100. That is the baseline that we will be functioning from. If you’re telling the truth you’ll stay at that level, but if you lie to a question your pulse will probably jump up to 120. Do you follow?”
Evan grunted affirmative.
“The test that will be used today is called a Zone Comparison Test. Are you ready for me to conduct the test?”
“Yeah, let’s get on with it.” The bravado was back.
Sergeant Rothstein got up from his seat behind the desk and placed the pneumo tubes around Evan’s upper chest and lower diaphragm to measure his breath, explaining their function as he went. “Just breathe normally throughout the test. I will detect if you try to hold your breath, or anything unusual like that. This clamp goes on your fingertip to measure the tiniest changes in your perspiration.” Finally he pulled out the arm cuff of the sphygmomanometer aneroid gauge. “This goes around your arm to register any cardiovascular changes.”
