by Bob Goodwin
‘Didn’t afford Hartley much protection, did it?’ declared Cochran. ‘This, my friends, is Hartley talking to us. Telling us that he was in danger; in fear of his life. Thanks for that, Johnson. Was there anything else?’
‘Only a warning from the lady not to meddle with things I don’t understand,’ added Cathy.
‘Well, you just keep on meddling. We need answers and we need them yesterday.’
‘Sir!’ said Briggs eagerly. ‘I saw a book in Madden’s drawer about that sort of stuff. Sorcery and black magic it was. I’d forgotten all about it till now.’
‘You forgot about it?’ Cochran shook his head in disbelief.
‘It didn’t appear important at the time, sir.’
The inspector placed his hands on his hips, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Well then, as I said before, this case is ready to crack...’ The door opened and Carter marched in. All heads turned. He stopped halfway across the room.
‘Sorry, guys, but there’s another one. Another murder. In Ward 21. It’s one of the staff. And Stacey’s escaped.’
‘Jesus Christ! That bastard was supposed to be on the way to the security hospital!’ roared Cochran.
‘He passed the officers at the door. They thought he was one of the staff. He had a set of keys attached to a silver chain. A nurse there thinks the keys belonged to the dead guy.’ The inspector walked back to the whiteboard and took pen in hand. He wrote ‘Staff member’ above Hartley’s name, bracketed the two, and drew a line directly to ‘Stacey’.
‘Sarge, do we have a good description of what Stacey was wearing?’
‘We certainly do.’
‘Let’s get it circulated immediately. I also want a watch back on Devlin’s flat and on the Bodytone Fitness Club. We’re going to need more officers. I’ll arrange that after we’ve been to the psych ward. All of you mark my words from before. This case is ripe for the taking. Now let’s do it before anyone else gets killed. No more pussyfooting around. No more forgetting things.’ Cochran glanced in Briggs’ direction. ‘And no more bloody fits of depression!’
Chapter 27
Devilish Creatures
It had taken Simon nearly a full hour of brisk walking to arrive at Kym’s house. It had seemed that everyone he saw was staring right back at him, as if they knew he had escaped from a lunatic asylum. The snake-handled knife, now held in his jeans and concealed by his sweater, had only added to his anxiety and paranoia. His neck was feeling stiff from repeatedly checking his back. He felt sure the police car he had seen outside the hospital was close behind.
The red velour sweater, so nicely cleaned and ironed earlier, was soaked with perspiration. Perhaps that’s why people stared, thought Simon, a man sweating like a pig on a warm morning, wearing a sweater, and almost running up the street while looking back over his shoulder. You stupid oaf! he told himself. What a way to behave!
Stacey felt a great sense of relief as he noted the number six on the letterbox and the row of pot-plants to each side of the three steps leading to the centre of the front veranda. He unfolded the small piece of paper and checked the address. This was certainly the right place, but not quite the modern brick home he had imagined Kym would live in.
‘Of course, you meathead,’ he said loudly. Kym’s home was in an old part of town which Simon knew well. If he’d have stopped to think he would have realised an older-style house would have been more likely. He shook his head, dispirited at both his woolly thinking and fallible behaviour.
The old white chamferboard home was surrounded by a wide veranda closed in by a heavy latticework through which could be seen some cane furniture, an assortment of potted ferns, some garden utensils, and a watering can. There was a certain freshness and peacefulness about the dwelling. A pleasant feeling of déjà vu swept over Stacey as he placed his hand on the paling gate. His parents’ old farmhouse was always covered in greenery. His mother was a strong-minded woman and at the same time caring and protective. Simon thought of Kym — yes, there definitely were some similarities between the two women. He lifted the latch. For the first time in many days he sensed that everything was going to be all right. As he entered the oasis, he failed to notice the metal sign attached to the gate: ‘Beware of dog. Enter at own risk.’
The gate clicked shut and Simon ventured towards the plants to the left of the steps. Bending down, he lifted the third pot, revealing a set of house keys. Some movement caught his eye. He had no time to turn his head. The Rottweiler thumped heavily into his head and shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Simon instinctively drew his knees up, pulled his head onto his chest, and covered his face with his arms. He lay curled and motionless on his side, straddled by the snarling animal. The dog didn’t bark but hovered above him, hackles raised, while snarling through a fierce display of teeth. Simon parted his fingers slightly to see the dog. The eyes looked like shiny black holes. There was a silver chain around the neck with a metal name tag swinging from it. As the dog continued growling but moving little, the tag slowed sufficiently and could be read. The name Satan sent a shudder through Simon’s body.
‘Satan, good doggy. There, boy. Good boy, Satan.’ The dog maintained its position. Stacey began to slowly unwind and turn onto his back — the position of surrender.
‘Satan’s a good doggy. He doesn’t want to eat poor Simon.’ As he turned he felt the animal’s heavy panting in his face.
‘Oh, my God, Satan, what the hell did you eat for breakfast?’ said Simon, keeping the tone as friendly as he possibly could. Satan moved backward. Stacey turned until flat on his back with his knees slightly bent. The dog pushed his moist nose into Simon’s groin.
‘Satan, please, not that!’ He reached forward with his hand to discourage the personal invasion. The dog snapped at his fingers and barked twice.
‘Okay, that then. Just no teeth, please.’ Simon settled himself back down and let the animal proceed with its nuzzling. He prayed for two things: one, that his manhood be left intact, and two, that no one was watching. After a couple of minutes Satan sat down, seeming to have accepted the intruder’s presence. Simon moved slowly. He collected the keys, stood, and unlocked the veranda door, never taking his eyes off the dog. Once on the veranda, he promptly closed the door, turned to face the house, and dropped to his haunches. The dog moved quietly to the top of the third step and poked its nose partly through the lattice on the door. Simon took a few deep breaths then turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of a black, moist nose.
‘Fuck off, Satan! Shit!’ snapped Simon. With that the dog quietly moved away and disappeared. After taking a moment to compose himself, he pushed himself upright, stood, and entered the house.
The interior was a delight, with numerous scatter rugs strewn over the highly-polished floorboards, finely carved, high archways joining the lounge, dining room, and kitchen, and several vases of strategically placed freshly picked roses. Simon slipped off his shoes. The home was so neat and clean it seemed the right thing to do. Sliding his socks along the smooth floor, he noticed each join in the flooring. It felt nice. He breathed in deeply through his nose and took in the fragrance of roses — a personal favourite.
A picture of Alison with dirty knees tending her cuttings formed in his mind. His thoughts started to wander. Fleeting images of his wife and son began flicking through his mind, and now familiar sensations of discomfort began rising from his stomach to his chest and throat. While there remained some element of self-control, he forced himself to focus intently on his surroundings and began chatting with himself.
‘Keep the brain in first gear, Stacey,’ he said out loud. ‘No more getting lulled into a false sense of security. It’s not good for you. Be observant and objective, and watch out for the man-eating black cat. There’ll be plenty of time for your emotions later, but you’ll need to be alive if there is going to be a later.’ His personal pep talk was sincere, but not sufficient to override his exhaustion. Now inside Kym’s house there seeme
d to be some comfort and security, a place to rest, and perhaps even a cold drink in the fridge.
The spacious kitchen was also spic and span. With the scalloped, lacy curtains, the fresh flower arrangement near the sink, and the variety of Weight Watchers cookbooks stacked on the microwave, it was definitely a woman’s room, thought Simon. He opened the fridge. The large carafe of what looked like freshly squeezed orange juice sat up boldly on the top shelf. He reached out with his foot to the pedal waste bin. Sure enough, there were the skins of the bisected oranges.
‘Kym, you are a honey, and a bit of a mind reader, too.’ Simon lifted the tumbler from the mouth of the carafe and quickly downed two full glasses of juice. It was most refreshing, but with a slight tang. He suspected there was possibly a grapefruit mixed in there somewhere.
It only took a moment for Simon to shuffle his way into the lounge and discover the sofa. He sank down into the olive-green duffel fabric and dropped his head onto a small cushion.
Across the room, mounted on a long, two-metre metal frame was a huge aquarium. Inside, the black tiger snake slowly uncoiled, stretched upward, and twisted itself around the thick grey branch under which it had been resting. The diamond-shaped black scales shone as it moved with an effortless grace. Finally, the tail, too, became mobile as the reptile’s head, tongue flickering, extended toward the top corner of the enclosure. The heavy glass lid was firmly in place. The snake casually returned to the rocky bottom of the aquarium. It glided into the cluster of greenery at the opposite end of the confine where it disappeared.
Simon breathed deeply. It started happening again. While he recognised the sensation, he was powerless to prevent it. His eyelids seemed to close by themselves and he was once more drifting into a land of vivid and frightful fantasy.
Through a slowly clearing smoky haze he could see Robbie dressed in a white bathrobe. He was smiling, arms outstretched and running towards his dad, yet not getting any closer. Alison was there, too. She was dressed the same. She stood still, with tears streaming down her cheeks. The tears fell to the ground where they formed shining pools of blood. Simon could neither move nor make a sound. His son began to cry. Robbie stopped running and threw his little arms tightly around his mother’s legs. The ash covered swimming pool materialised between Simon and his family. The quagmire bubbled excitedly — almost expectantly. It seemed to be alive. Long arms from the water stretched out towards his family. The smoke closed in once more. Silence fell.
Chapter 28
Return of the Lust Busters
The first of the four Wednesday afternoon aerobics sessions was over and the sweaty bodies filed out of the room. Some were going home, but most headed toward the showers, sauna, or pool. It was Deborah’s class and a record attendance, breaking the old one for the third time in as many weeks. Charlie Madden was delighted. There had been some concern that recent events and newspaper stories might have had a damaging effect on both the club’s cash flow and reputation, but the reverse seemed to have been the case.
Charlie and Wendy stood behind the reception desk, checking through the members’ book. The club manager had specifically timed this activity to coincide with the end of the aerobics class. He had not seen Deb since the debacle on Monday night and was eager to arrange another intimate evening. She had taken yesterday off to help look after her ailing mother, and for Madden her one-day absence had been a mental marathon.
‘Five new members so far this week, Charlie,’ said Wendy, pointing to the dates alongside the last few names. ‘Membership renewals are up from 45 to 62 percent this year. It’s marvellous. We’re going from strength to strength.’
‘We are indeed. I’d still like to see a further increase in renewals. Perhaps you might like to think about some incentive scheme. Good ideas are worth money.’ Charlie was looking away. His mouth was on automatic as he focused his attention on the glass doors leading to the aerobics room.
‘Are you saying you would pay me for my ideas, Charlie?’ Wendy put her hands on her hips, noticing Madden’s preoccupation. His neck was outstretched over the counter.
‘If club profits are up, Deb, Stacey will certainly be agreeable to award a quarterly bonus.’ Madden prattled on, oblivious of his error. Wendy restrained her laughter. ‘It makes good business sense to encourage staff to become part of the affair with management.’
‘So, I can expect a healthy bonus then?’
‘Certainly,’ said Charlie. Deborah was still out of sight.
‘Could I expect, say, $20,000?’
‘Certainly, my girl. Certainly,’ continued Madden, much to Wendy’s amusement. ‘It’s all about motivation and job satisfaction. Management needs to be flexible, and when they consult properly with all workers…’ Charlie paused. Deborah finally appeared. ‘It’s such a beautiful, wonderful thing.’ He shook himself to attention and turned quickly to Wendy.
‘What I’m saying is... well, it’s simply good for everyone you see. Excuse me.’ Charlie skipped around the reception desk with a surprising degree of acrobatic elegance. Deb’s hot-pink leotard with a stripe of white lightning down the centre clung like a second skin. There was a light glow on her cheeks. She smiled. Charlie took her hand in his.
‘Hi, Charlie. Look, I’m really sorry about Monday. I feel terrible about it. I really had no control…’
‘Hey, hey.’ He placed a finger over her lips. Her mouth slowly opened. He drew his finger away sharply and looked around. Wendy was leaning on the counter, her chin cupped in her hands and head tilted to one side with a ridiculous grin. Madden scowled. She giggled and turned away.
‘Deb, it turned out to be a bad night for both of us. Let’s try again, shall we?’
‘I’d like that, Charlie. Friday night is fine for me.’
‘The night club will be open then. I’m barman until nine. We can go to Pluto’s first. Then I’ll take you out,’ said Madden, quick as a flash, as if he already had everything planned. ‘I have a special place in mind. A secluded, candlelit place. I know you’re just going to love it. What do you say?’
‘I say yes, but on two conditions.’ Her mouth opened once more and the tip of her tongue rested on her top lip.
‘Two conditions?’
‘Yes, two, and no questions or debate. Do you agree?’
‘Why do I feel I might regret this?’ Madden paused as if considering the answer he already knew. ‘Okay, yes I agree.’
‘Firstly, there is something I want to show you on Friday night. There is a very special and secret part of my life that you are going to be privileged to see. And after that we will celebrate in fine style at whatever place you choose.’
‘What secret part of your life? Is this some sort of elaborate joke?’
‘Uh, uh! No questions, Charlie. But I will say that it’s certainly no joke.’
‘Sounds a bit mysterious. Okay, then, you’ve hooked me. I guess I’ll have to suffer with the suspense till Friday. And what’s number two?’
‘You are to work out in my aerobics class tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Hey! That’s a bit tough. I don’t know whether I can — ’
‘I’m a fair person, Charlie. You have a choice; either aerobics, or you can help my brother out tomorrow afternoon with his landscaping down at the Bribie Island beach house.’
‘Now, I think we need to talk this over.’
‘No,’ said Deb, shaking her head. ‘No debate. You’ve already agreed. The matter’s settled.’
‘Dear oh dear. I knew I was going to regret this. You do realise that I could end up with serious muscle fatigue and physical exhaustion, which could jeopardise my potential for Friday night.
‘If that’s so,’ whispered Deb, ‘you will have to assume a passive role, won’t you, and let me work my magic.’ She quickly drew one finger up his inside leg, turned, and left the foyer for the staff room. Charlie lowered his red face, pushed at the carpet with his shoe as if studying some imperfection, then hurried into his office and closed the door.
He dropped into the chair at his desk, stretched himself out and gave a long, manly groan through a smile. After completing a very satisfying stretch he grabbed a piece of foolscap from the desk, rolled it into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. It ricocheted off the wall behind him and landed neatly in the waste paper basket.
‘All right! A bit of gardening never held such huge rewards. What a manager you are, Charlie!’ He raised his clenched fist. There was a short, sharp rap on the door. Schliemann entered, not waiting for the customary come in.
‘Oscar!’ announced Madden brightly. ‘You shouldn’t barge in like that. Who knows, I might have been in a delicate position with a young lady.’
‘Yeah, and Joh Bjelke-Peterson will be our next prime minister,’ replied Oscar, without cracking a smile.
‘Now, now, behave.’ Madden raised his index finger. ‘My chances might not be as remote as you think. And I must say, it is comforting to know that you don’t know everything that goes on around here.’
‘You mean your lusting after Deborah’s body? The whole club knows about that.’
‘You bastard, Schliemann,’ muttered Charlie light-heartedly. ‘What’s up, anyway?’
‘You’ll know soon. We can expect a knock on the door at any moment. The cops are here.’
‘Shit, not again. What now?’
‘They probably want to find out more about Stacey. I’d like to stay and hear what they’ve got to say. Any objections?’
‘Certainly not. Would it matter if I had?’
‘No. But it’s polite to ask first.’
* * *
Both Dempsey and Hogan were wearing white shirts, ties, and dark trousers. If they had been a little more particular about their ironing and adjustment of their ties they may have passed for two Mormons doing the rounds. They sat across the desk from Madden. Dempsey was armed with pen and notebook and was sitting forward in his chair while Hogan reclined back, crossed his legs, and threw a piece of gum into his mouth. Oscar, hands in his pockets, remained on his feet, leaning casually against the wall near the door. Charlie wasn’t the least bit impressed to see the same two faces that had deflated his plans for an endless night of passion only two days earlier. Glad that he agreed to let Oscar in on the meeting, he sat back in his seat and folded his arms in a mild gesture of defiance.
