by Chris Taylor
Evelyn Ward shook her head. “No, his shift wasn’t going to finish until eleven. He couldn’t possibly be back in time to pick her up. It was one of the other reasons we suggested she stay home last night.”
Ellie frowned. “So what arrangements were made to collect Josie from work?”
“Harold had arranged with Josie’s supervisor to send her home in a taxi. There’s a taxi stand right outside the store.”
Ellie scribbled in her notebook. “What’s the name of Josie’s supervisor?”
“Jason Warner. He’s been very good to Josie.”
“So, what happened last night?” Luke asked.
The woman clenched her hands again and gave a shaky sigh. “I was still feeling quite unwell, so I hadn’t been paying too much attention to the time. When I noticed it was ten thirty and she wasn’t home, I started to worry. We only live about seven minutes’ drive from the supermarket. She should have been home.”
“Did you call the store?” Ellie asked.
“Of course I did, but the phone just rang out. They actually close at ten.” Her lips tightened. “I guess there was no one there. I called Harold. He couldn’t get away from work. That’s when I called the police.”
“Have you spoken to anyone at the store today?” Luke asked.
Josie’s mother sighed. “Yes, I spoke to Jason. He said he asked one of the other staff, Drew McNeill, to walk with her to the taxi stand. He didn’t see her after she clocked off.”
“Did he say what time that was?”
“Yes. Right on ten o’clock. It’s recorded on her time card.”
“The store should have security cameras,” Ellie stated. “We might be lucky and catch them leaving the shop. It could give us some idea where she went.”
Josie’s mother stood abruptly. Hope flared in her eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for? You’re wasting time asking me all these questions. My baby’s out there somewhere and she’s in trouble. Soon it’s going to be dark and she’s going to spend another night on her own.”
Ellie and Luke stood and gathered their things. Ellie looked across at the other woman.
“Mrs Ward, where is your husband now?”
“He’s out looking for Josie.” She stared down at her hands where they lay twisted together. Her voice dropped even lower. “He’s been out searching ever since he arrived home last night. It was his idea for her to catch a cab. H-he’s taking it hard.” As if a button had been pressed, the woman’s face suddenly crumpled. “Oh, my God! Maybe that’s it? Maybe there weren’t any cabs? Maybe she started walking? Maybe someone came along and took her…”
The woman’s thin shoulders hunched forward, quiet sobs wracking her body. Ellie’s heart ached. Painful memories of Jamie’s death swirled in her head. She fought off the impregnable wall of panic that had become a familiar companion ever since they’d told her about her son. She knew firsthand how useless well-meaning reassurances from strangers were, but offered them anyway.
“Mrs Ward, we don’t know anything about what happened, yet. Who knows? She could have met up with a friend after work and gone out.”
“No.” The denial was swift and strong. “She wouldn’t have done that. Not my Josie.”
With nothing left to say, Ellie and Luke followed the woman into the entryway. Brightly colored artworks adorned the walls on either side of the foyer. Evelyn caught Ellie looking at them.
“They’re Josie’s.”
“They’re very good,” Ellie murmured and moved in for a closer look.
Pride flickered in the woman’s eyes. “Yes, they are. She’s been taking art classes up at the University. The theory is a bit of a struggle for her, but she blows them away with the practical.”
“That’s the University of Western Sydney, is it?” Luke asked.
“Yes, the Penrith campus. She goes there three times a week.”
Ellie looked back at Evelyn. “Would you have a recent photograph of Josie? We’ll get it out to the media, if that’s all right with you? The more people who know about her, the better chance we have of finding her. You never know who might have seen her.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She hurried through the doorway and disappeared.
Luke looked at Ellie. “What do you think?”
She frowned. “I think she’s legit. She seems genuinely distraught and there doesn’t seem to be any reason why the girl wouldn’t come home, although I’d like to talk to some of the people she works with, in particular this McNeill fellow. After all, it appears he was the last one to see her.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. I wouldn’t mind meeting the father, just to get a take on him, but I’m not sensing any undertones here. Seems like a classic missing person’s case.”
Evelyn came back into the room brandishing a photo and handed it to Ellie. “Here it is. I found it with a few others I’ve just downloaded and printed.”
The picture showed Josie standing in what looked like the sitting room. A glimpse of chintz-covered lounge could be seen in the far left-hand corner. Her plain turquoise uniform fit comfortably over an average-size frame. Medium height. Straight, short, dark brown hair. Guileless chocolate-brown eyes. A warm olive complexion and a smile as big as Mount Everest lit up a small, heart-shaped face.
“She’s beautiful,” Ellie murmured.
Tears crowded Evelyn’s eyes. “Yes, she is.” She cleared her throat. “Please bring her home, Detectives. We need to have her home.”
Ellie clasped the woman’s hand and squeezed, but the words of reassurance wouldn’t come. “We’ll do our best, Mrs Ward; we’ll do our best.”
That was all she could manage.
CHAPTER THREE
The icy sleet bit into Clayton Munro’s cheeks, scorching them with its silent fury. He tugged up the collar of his jacket and tried to ward off the bitter chill. The Woden Cemetery was deserted. Canberra, in July, wasn’t the place to be outdoors if you had a choice.
But that was it. He didn’t have a choice.
Plenty would disagree with him. After all, she’d been gone nearly three years. More time than some people stayed together. More time than he’d been her husband.
Ancient pine trees stood silent witness, dark and heavy in the winter gloom. He kneeled beside the headstone and stared at the letters carved into the unforgiving stone.
Lisa Anne Munro.
Beloved wife of Clayton
Mother of Olivia
1st March, 1983—2nd September, 2008.
Forever in our hearts.
With an unsteady hand, he reached out and traced her name. Even through the thick leather of his gloves, he was sure he could feel her warmth.
Which was just plain stupid.
He knew that. With his head, he knew that. It was his heart that refused to believe it.
Tears pricked the back of his eyes. He swiped at the moisture with his hand.
For Christ’s sake, she was dead. When was he going to let go and get on with his life? Wasn’t that what everyone kept telling him to do? Even his brother had weighed in the last time, which just went to show that crap about twins being in tune with one another was total bullshit.
And what about Olivia? How was a four-year-old meant to understand why her mother wasn’t there to kiss her goodnight? Christ, he still struggled with that.
Now he was expected to carry on without her—had even managed to do so. At least, that’s what they thought. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them it was all a lie.
He was a lie. He hadn’t moved on. He couldn’t. His life had ended when she’d swallowed the bottle of sleeping pills.
The sound of his phone ringing against his chest snagged his attention. He stood a little stiffly and tried to ignore it. On the fourth ring, he cursed and dragged it out of his pocket. Why the hell couldn’t they just leave him alone?
“For fuck’s sake, Riley, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not interested. I couldn’t care less if she has legs up to her armpits and tits the
size of Pamela Anderson’s. The answer’s no.”
“Legs up to her armpits? Pamela Anderson? Are you kidding? Even I’d be interested in seeing that.”
His heart skipped a beat. The voice was familiar, even though he hadn’t heard it in a long time.
“Ben? Is that you? Christ, uh… I thought you were… Never mind. Why the hell are you calling? I haven’t heard from you in years.”
Ben Walker chuckled. “Sounds like you were expecting someone else, Clay. Is that twin brother of yours still trying to set you up? I thought a man of your advanced years would have settled down long ago.”
Clayton’s heart pounded. His throat constricted. Ben didn’t know. He didn’t know about Lisa. He snatched a breath of air and fought to answer. “Twenty-eight’s not all that advanced, Ben. Besides, it’s not a crime to be single.”
“Well, you’ve certainly got that right, but I’m surprised a man of your good looks and charm’s still on the market.”
Clayton winced. He had to tell him. He owed him that much. “The truth is, Ben, I was married.”
“Was? I take it things didn’t work out.”
Breathing got even more difficult. “Kind of. The thing is, Lisa… She…she died a few years ago.”
The line went silent. He braced himself for the usual well-meaning, but ultimately pointless platitudes.
“Clay, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Why didn’t I hear about it?”
Clayton pinched his eyes shut and tried to block the pain. “I don’t know, Ben. I thought it would have filtered down to you by now. Maybe everyone thought you knew.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear now. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you.”
Guilt over the manner of Lisa’s death assailed him. He remained silent, not even trying to fight it.
Ben cleared his throat. “Listen, the reason I’m calling is to ask for your help. I’ve got a bit of a situation up here and I could really use your take on it.”
Despite the turmoil in his head, Clayton heard the defeat in the voice of the man who’d been his boyhood hero. Pushing his own problems aside, he focused on the conversation.
“What kind of situation?”
* * *
Ben appeared in the doorway of his office. “You two, I need to see you. In here. Now.”
Luke shot Ellie a questioning look.
“Beats me,” she mumbled. She pushed back her chair and headed toward Ben’s office, Luke close behind.
“Shut the door behind you, will you?”
Nerves mingled with dread in Ellie’s stomach. The last time they’d been summoned, Josie Ward had gone missing. Was still missing. It had been nearly a fortnight. Evelyn Ward would be out of her mind.
“I know you’ve been putting in big hours trying to identify the head. I also know you haven’t been getting very far. The Missing Persons Unit has come up with nothing so far. We know it can’t be Josie Ward and Sally Batten’s parents have ruled her out.” His gaze narrowed on Ellie’s. “Am I correct?”
She nodded and swallowed against the tension that tightened her throat.
“This girl belongs to someone. Every day is another day her family still suffers the pain of not knowing.”
The lines of fatigue marking Ben’s face deepened. Guilt weighed Ellie down, making it difficult to breathe. It was her investigation but it was going nowhere. Dammit, she was responsible for finding the killer...
Ben turned away and stared out of the window. The pale winter sun shone feebly through the glass, refracting light off several steel-framed photographs that lined the bookcase adjacent. With her newfound knowledge of her boss’ tragedy, Ellie scanned the pictures for a glimpse of his long-lost daughter. And found her.
Her heart thudded beneath the cotton drill of her jacket. She swallowed quickly against the surge of emotion and looked away. Another lost child.
Too close to home. Way too close.
“I’ve decided to bring in some help.”
Her gaze swung back to Ben’s.
“I know we don’t have an ID on Jane Doe, and until we do, we won’t know if there’s any connection between her and the missing girls, but knowing there’s someone out there capable of cutting off a woman’s head while she’s still breathing chills me to the bone. I’ve applied to the powers that be for additional resources. They’ve agreed to pay for the services of an Australian Federal Police criminal profiler.”
Ben stared at Ellie and then switched his gaze to Luke, his expression somber. “I think we could use his take on this.”
What for? Memories of her ex-fiancée swamped Ellie’s mind. Robert Stevens, Federal Agent. The man whose career had meant more to him than his pregnant fiancé. The man who’d decided a wife and child would cramp his style, would hold him back from his dreams of Federal Agent glory. Oh yes, she knew firsthand what Feds were like.
A protest burst from her mouth. “But, sir, I hear what you’re saying, but it’s only been a fortnight. Surely, we don’t need to call in the AFP yet?”
“I understand your reluctance, Ellie, but the trail’s going cold. When I get approval to call in specialist services, there’s no way in hell I’m going to turn it down.”
“But—”
Ben held up his hand. “I know what everyone thinks of the Feds and there are a few who deserve your low opinion, but this guy’s different. I promise you. I’ve known him since he was a kid. Apart from that, he has an enviable solve rate. We couldn’t ask for someone better.”
Ellie swallowed a sigh of defeat, knowing this was one battle she wasn’t going to win. Besides, the extra manpower and a fresh set of eyes and ears could only help their investigation. But did the help have to come from a Fed?
Ben caught her eye, his expression hard. “I expect you to assist Federal Agent Munro in whatever way you can. He’s here to help. You’ll set aside any ego or misplaced sense of territorialism and get on with finding this killer. Do you understand?”
Ellie lowered her gaze. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” His voice was dismissive. His attention turned to the massive pile of paperwork that spilled across his desk. In silence, Luke followed Ellie to the door.
“That goes for you too, Detective Baxter. I won’t have an officer under my command treat an investigator who’s doing all of us a favor, with anything but courtesy and respect.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”
Luke closed the door behind them.
* * *
Clayton found the taxi stand outside Sydney’s Mascot Airport and joined the queue of travelers waiting for a ride. People were tightening their coats against the cool breeze that drifted in from Port Botany. The temperature had dropped along with the sun, but even the worst of Sydney’s winter chill had nothing on Canberra and now he barely felt its effects.
His flight had been uneventful and he’d used the short time in the air to mull over the details of Ben’s case. The unidentified head intrigued him, as did the way it had been severed from the girl’s body.
He’d only come across one similar case during his career, when a disagreement between a boner from the abattoirs and her unfortunate husband had turned violent. The autopsy had revealed over forty stab wounds, some so vicious they’d severed his spinal cord. The woman had carved up his body with her knife and had then concealed the pieces in garbage bags, disposing of them in various dumpsters around the small country town where she’d lived.
Bridget Bowen was now serving twenty-five years in prison with a non-parole period of fifteen. Although she hadn’t used a hacksaw, the level of her savagery had snagged his attention. And even with all her brutality, Bridget Bowen had waited until her husband was dead before cutting him into pieces.
Clayton’s lips tightened. It never ceased to shock him, the level of malice one human being could direct toward another. He supposed that was a good thing: He hadn’t become so de-sensitized to the frequent horror of his job that he’d lost his ability to care.
He did care…for all of them. Perhaps, too much. Memories of the victims he’d managed to save brought him comfort during the silent, lonely hours before dawn when he’d wake and remember Lisa was gone.
His hand drifted to the wedding band that hung from a chain around his neck and he took comfort from the warm weight of it. He’d taken it off his finger a year ago and only then because he’d wearied of the continual questions it triggered and the inevitable explanations he had to give. Somehow, it had become easier to hide it away from the curious eyes and keep it safe against the haven of his chest. Besides, it was closer to his heart this way.
“You there, you’re up next. Bay number two.”
Clayton snapped back to the present and focused on the airport security officer who pointed in his direction. Wheeling his suitcase behind him, he made his way toward the next available taxi and opened the front passenger side door.
Eyes so dark they looked black stared back at him, crinkling at the corners when the driver opened his mouth and smiled, flashing a perfect set of sparkling, white teeth. Their brilliance was in such contrast to the scruffy beard that clung to his cheeks that Clayton was momentarily taken aback.
“Where are you off to, mate?” The question was asked around a toothpick the driver held between his lips.
“Penrith Police Station. Can you flip the trunk open, please? I’ll throw my bag in the back.”
“No problem.”
After tossing his suitcase into the trunk, Clayton climbed in beside the driver. The cabbie leaned forward and started the meter before pulling away from the curb.
“Are you a copper, then?”
Clayton shot him a hooded glance. “Something like that.”
The man took the hint. Silence fell between them. Clayton looked out the window. Heavy, gray clouds colored the sky and boded well for a wet night. Cars and buses surged around them. It was the start of peak hour, but the driver drove with confidence and admirable skill, weaving in and out of the burgeoning traffic.
Glancing up, Clayton noticed the man’s identification. It was a colored photograph, clipped to the rear vision mirror. The face was a little younger and it was clean-shaven, but the dark eyes hadn’t changed. Or the smile.
