Not Forgotten

by Camille Taylor

  Natalie put the drawings back in the file and picked up the only two photos in the file that weren’t of dead bodies or of the crime scene. Both were of Hallie. The first was twelve-year-old Hallie, the second as she was now—a seventeen-year-old. In both pictures her red-brown hair was untamed and framed her oval face. The younger photo showed a happy well-nurtured child of loving parents. The other showed serious amber eyes and a solemn expression that broke Natalie’s heart. She wore a light blue shirt with Paradise Valley Rehabilitation Centre emblazoned across the right breast. Here was the orphaned daughter of two murder victims.

  Natalie felt the tears burning behind her eyes. She put the photos down and decided she had enough for the night. She had more than enough information for the interview tomorrow. She got up and went to bed, only to wake up every few hours, her tired mind hearing phantom sounds echoing throughout her house. In her head she kept seeing the photos of Ian and Missy’s murdered bodies, the black and white drawings and the photo of the sad-faced girl standing all alone.

  Chapter 4

  Matt found himself staring down at the mutilated corpse of Marie Stanton. It reminded him of the Jack the Ripper cases in Victorian England. He only hoped they found the bastard soon. Her body had been stripped and washed, revealing the deep stab wounds marring her stomach and chest. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent.

  Matt had never liked being present for an autopsy. The whole thing brought death so much closer to reality for him, which he knew to be ironic since he was faced with death every day. He assumed he never thought of it that way before since when he was at a crime scene he was in cop mode, seeing everything from a detective’s point of view rather than from a man’s. When he was working a case, the people became victims, the facts of the case evidence and that was how he coped.

  Seeing poor Marie on the cold stainless steel table made it so much more real. He could smell the formaldehyde lingering in the air, the solution so strong he almost choked on it. He thought about her family and how they would try to make sense out of the tragedy. He wished them the best. God knows, his family never could understand how one simple trip to the liquor store had cost them their father and husband’s life. Over the years Matt had learned there were no reasons or explanations, just dumb luck at being at the wrong place and at the wrong time.

  Matt looked up from Marie’s body to look at the coroner, a man in his late fifties who had the poor fortune to resemble Colonel Sanders of KFC fame. His hair and beard was white and his thick framed glasses made his eyes bulge. The entire LAC called him Colonel or Sanders behind his back but to the man’s face he was always, respectfully, Doctor Neil Stone.

  Doctor Stone reiterated the facts to Matt, which he already knew since Darryl had given him a brief explanation. Matt was more interested to find out if there had been any fabric fibres or DNA found that had been handed over to forensics with the hope of shedding some light on the whereabouts of the perpetrator. There hadn’t been any, of course. The Butcher had been at this a long time. Long enough to know it wasn’t wise to leave calling cards for the police. That, or he had been watching more than his fair share of CSI.

  Matt felt the disappointment down to his toes. They really needed a break in the case. Something to give them a new perspective to explore. He hadn’t been lying to Doctor Miller when he said the case had gone cold. Try frozen. Even the tip line they had set up was yielding little results.

  The Butcher was still a ghost. There was nothing the body could tell them that they didn’t know already. Marie had been murdered in a parking garage on her way to her car late at night. There was no video footage. The city was too cheap to put up CCTV cameras in the dark structure. Although Matt knew that would all change now. It always seemed to take an unfortunate incident to make the purse strings open. Not that it would do any good now that the damage had been done.

  Matt left Doctor Stone and Marie and made his way to the showers. The horrid scent of decaying flesh and death lingering in his nostrils made him want to gag. He nodded to a few colleagues as he walked past—some giving him a wide berth in the hallway, which only fortified his resolve to scrub down his skin with lemon juice. They all knew he had been given a shit of a case. They all knew the legend of the Butcher and Matt could see the relief in his fellow officers’ eyes when he had been the one to take the lead. No one wanted this case on their record. But for Matt he didn’t care because one day he would find the son-of-a-bitch and take him down.

  He didn’t care if it took the rest of his life to close the case so long as he closed it. He wasn’t one to be concerned about his record. He wasn’t keeping a tally or making bets to beat the quickest closure. He did his job. He closed cases, sometimes fast, sometimes after they’d long been cold. Matt was in it for the victims. For the families left behind and to put the scum who had hurt them behind bars. He wasn’t looking for media coverage or shiny medals and commendations. He wasn’t an ambitious man, completely content to stay exactly where he was for the rest of his life. He felt he was doing more as a detective than he ever could as Superintendent or Commissioner. Besides, he didn’t think he could stomach the duties.

  He stripped off his clothes, allowing them to fall where he stood. Naked, he stepped inside the stall and began to lather himself completely. He took his razor from his shaving kit and began removing his day old whiskers.

  His eyes burned as the water touched them. He knew they were bloodshot, having little sleep the night before. His seventeen hour day had turned into thirty-one hours. After managing a quick two-hour nap, he had awoken less than rejuvenised and wishing he hadn’t tried to rest. He had spent most of the night reviewing the evidence from previous cases, collected back in the nineties when the Butcher had first started in hopes of finding something to nail him—forensics having since become foremost in any investigation. But his time would’ve been better spent elsewhere, learning nothing new or remotely helpful.

  He scrubbed at his skin with the rough brush. He felt the slight pain as it glided over his skin hard enough to almost draw blood. He wasn’t fazed, so long as it removed the scent of death from his body. He let his mind drift to the case. Matt had found many things puzzling. The first was his choice of victims. Most serial killers had a pattern, something that was only theirs, an identifying mark or a signature. The Butcher only had one. His victims were all female, with the exception of Ian Walker. So far the cops who’d worked the case—himself included—had found nothing else linking the victims. It was almost as if the man chose randomly. But Matt, with his many years of training, knew that was impossible. There was no such thing as random with these men. There was always something that drew them to their victims, something that was the same with each of them. Matt only had to find out exactly what it was.

  He squirted some shampoo onto his palm and then rubbed it into his scalp. He knew he was taking the time to cover all his bases. Making a real effort to look impressive. Matt thought back to the day before and his meeting with the good doctor. He shook his head in disbelief at the thought of Natalie Miller seeing him so dishevelled. Of course he hadn’t been expecting such a young and undeniable beautiful woman.

  When he had been told to see a Doctor Miller, the foremost expert in psychology in Harbour Bay, he had been expecting a much older and experienced woman. He found himself wondering if the doctor was married then shook his head. During his brief encounter with her yesterday he had noticed several indicators to her single status. There had been no ring on her finger. No pictures of a happy couple or any stick-figured piece of artwork displayed proudly. From the way he had assessed her office no one including the doctor would have noticed his appraisal.

  He closed his eyes as he remembered how his heart beat fast in his chest. At the sudden lack of room in his pants when she had approached him. He swallowed hard at the image of her sitting on her desk, her skirt hem raising that little bit, showing off long, well-defined legs. He only hoped his observation had gone unnoticed and he hadn
’t been staring at her with lust filled eyes. For the first time in his life, Matt had appreciated what heels did to a woman’s legs and her black stilettos were sexy as hell. He was growing hard just thinking about it now.

  It only proved to him that he seriously needed a girlfriend to tend to his needs. Natalie Miller’s face popped into his head, her cobalt blue eyes seducing him, beckoning him closer. It was a nice dream, he thought, as he opened his eyes and stared at the egg-shell coloured tiles covering the LAC’s shower cubicles. It was also a major no-no. Besides, he couldn’t afford any distractions. Who was he kidding? She was the distraction. He would be working with her until the closure of the case, whenever that may be. That was going to be a lot of time spent together. He tried but couldn’t find the downside to that.

  He shifted his mind away from trouble as he turned off the faucet and wrapped a towel around his waist. After picking up his discarded clothes from the floor he opened his locker and pulled out a fresh set. Drying himself quickly, he began to dress.

  He thought about Hallie Walker. A young terrified girl who was his only real hope. He tried to have faith, to believe she would be of help but who knew how screwed up the girl had become over the years. Talking briefly with the hospital’s nurses on the phone hadn’t lifted his spirits. Right now he was relying heavily on Natalie Miller and her ability to get the teenager talking. Since she had pushed her last several psychologists away, he prayed Natalie was as good as he’d been told. Matt knew he was being unfair to Hallie. He could only imagine what she had gone through in her short life, but he kept seeing the bigger picture—the countless other women who would be tortured and killed by the Butcher’s hand.

  The Butcher, Matt sneered at the awful title. He hated the publicity the man had gotten over the years. How Matt wanted to face off with the man, have him fight a man for a change. The image of Marie Stanton flashed across his mind. He gripped the door of his locker hard, enough to leave indentations in his skin.

  The Butcher was a sadistic bastard, whose only pleasure came from pain. He knew where to strike to prove fatal, making his victims survive long enough to know they were going to die and that no one would come to help them. In all his years of killing, he had only ever made one mistake and that was Hallie Walker.

  Chapter 5

  Matt watched as Natalie walked down the long corridor towards him. She was dressed in a form fitting canary yellow A-line skirt that came to just above her knees. Her silk blouse was a peach colour that brought attention to her high breasts, the top few buttons undone. When she moved he caught a glimpse of her lacy bra underneath. Her brunette hair was pulled tight off her face and pinned to her head in a tight chignon, the same as the day before. As she drew closer, he saw her long curved eyelashes were coated with mascara. She wore no eye shadow but her eyeliner highlighted the startling deep blue of her eyes. Her full lips shined with a light pink gloss.

  He realised he was staring at her when she raised one delicate eyebrow as she stopped in front of him and he didn’t move. She was wearing heels—another pair of sexy stilettos, this time in a pale pink—but still stood several inches shorter than him. She smiled up at him and his heart started to pound. Jesus, he thought. The woman only had to smile to send him into a coronary. Matt couldn’t believe his heart was fluttering over something as simple and non-sexual as a smile.

  I’m acting like a sex deprived teenager.

  Matt mentally shook his head to clear it. He had to get a grip on himself before he did something stupid.

  “You haven’t been out much lately, have you, Detective?” she asked, her tone teasing him.

  “Why would you say that?” he croaked. Surely he wasn’t that transparent and resisted the urge to look down to make sure nothing was protruding, announcing to the world his need for womanly companionship.

  “Well, let’s see. You’re very rusty with subtly if the once over you just gave me is any indication. You’re as bad as my teenage patient.” She shook her head and smiled ruefully.

  Matt glanced away from her. “Let’s just say I’ve been preoccupied.”

  Natalie nodded. “Well, you may need to make a little ‘you’ time.”

  Matt could feel the embarrassing blush rise from the collar of his dress shirt. If only she knew just how much me time I’ve had lately, he thought. Maybe if he told her the numbers she might be sympathetic. Images of satin sheets and naked skin flashed in his mind. Good God, was she right? Had he reverted back to being a teenager who has just discovered sex? He hoped not, because those years were the worst in his entire life.

  “You may be right, Doc. You ready to meet your patient?” he asked, prepared to move along to why they were both here. He watched as she raised herself to her full height and looked at him. He saw confidence in her steady gaze and was comforted by it.

  “I am. But before we go inside I would like to ask for the police file on the Walker double homicide. The information in the hospital file is limited. I want to understand more of what Hallie experienced. To see what she saw. Can you make that happen?”

  He frowned. He knew what was in those files and the idea of Doctor Miller reading them had all his male protective instincts rearing up.

  “I can but is this really something you need to do? Those photos aren’t for general viewing. It can give you nightmares if you let it. I wouldn’t recommend them for light reading.”

  “Your concern is noted, Detective. But I can hardly be expected to help someone with whom I can’t empathise. Please allow me access to the file.”

  Matt let out a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He noted Natalie following the motion and wished he’d had time to have his hair cut. With his free hand he retrieved his mobile from his pocket and hit a speed dial.

  “Donovan,” was the almost instant answer.

  “Hey, it’s Murphy. I want you to get a copy of the Walker file over to Doctor Miller’s office as soon as you can,” he told her.

  “Oh, so now I’m your secretary?” was Amelia’s huffy reply.

  Matt imagined her eyes narrowing and her back stiffening. Damn, she could be so prickly at times.

  “Just do it, Donovan, and don’t argue. You can take it out of my hide later.”

  “With great pleasure, Murphy, I assure you,” Amelia purred and he already felt the bruises. “I’ll have it couriered over.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up and said to Natalie, “It’s on its way.”

  “I appreciate it. I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with your colleague?”

  He grinned. “No, Donovan’s bark is worse than her bite. She just doesn’t like being treated like a woman.”

  “Really? I kind of enjoy it, on the rare occasion. Although I can see how in her career it can be difficult.”

  “It’s more difficult on us than it is on her, I assure you. Shall we begin the interview?”

  He motioned for her to precede him as he opened the door to the interview room. He followed her into the small, almost claustrophobic room that gave him the chills. Matt had seen more accommodating cells. The walls were covered with a soft white protective padding and the room was sparsely furnished with only one rectangle table in the centre and three chairs. Two had been placed side by side opposite the third which was currently occupied.

  Hallie Walker sat quietly at the table, her hands neatly clasped together in front of her. She was a delicate girl, the table almost swallowing her up as she stared sightlessly at the wall. Her red-brown hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail and she was dressed in the blue uniform of the hospital.

  Matt’s heart sank. She had been his last hope. Every other avenue had run dry. He tried to think of what this meant to the case but all he could see in his head was twelve-year-old Hallie—feisty, determined to live and get justice for her parents. He had wanted better for the girl and felt responsible for not making more of an effort to see her over the years. Maybe he could’ve done something to help prevent this.

  “Maybe w
e should—” He started to tell Natalie they should just forget about it when he was interrupted by a feminine voice not belonging to the woman beside him.

  “You must be my new psychologist,” Hallie said, before turning her head. Her shrewd amber eyes assessed Natalie before they moved over to him. She gave him a quick look and seemed to discount him as unimportant.

  He was extremely relieved. He looked over at the waif of a girl, who had not quite grown into her teenager body. She was too thin, her skin much too pale and her eyes full of pain and internal suffering. If there was anyone in need of help it was Hallie Walker.

  Natalie stepped forward. “I am. Natalie Miller. This is Detective Matt Murphy.”

  “I remember,” Hallie said coolly as he took the seat beside Natalie. “Unfortunately I haven’t been lucky enough to get amnesia and all the drugs in the world can’t make me forget, Detective. You were younger then.”

  “As were you,” he added.

  “But never young again,” she said sadly. “It’s amazing at the things you take for granted until they’re all gone. What your life revolved around once ceases to exist now. What once seemed important isn’t even a blip on the radar.”

  She glanced at each of them in turn. “But you’re not here to talk about philosophy.” Her voice hardened. “Let me save you some time. You’re leaving with nothing. I told you all that I know five years ago. I did my part and now I’m done.”