by Chris Taylor
But there was something about the Fed that drew her in a different way. Maybe it was the hint of vulnerability she saw in his eyes in unguarded moments. Or the shadow of sadness that sometimes passed over his face, like that morning when he’d been on the phone.
And then there was his kindness and compassion when he’d spoken to the families of some of the victims. Surely, she couldn’t be wrong about that?
With a groan of frustration, she pushed the thoughts aside. There was a maniac terrorizing the young women of western Sydney. She didn’t have time for anything else, no matter how tempting.
The station door swung open. The Fed strode toward her and her pulse took a crazy leap. She watched him surreptitiously from underneath her lashes. So much for the pep talk. Her libido thought she had all the time in the world.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He stared at the television screen and felt the excitement curl deep inside his gut. It blossomed into heat and spread throughout his body. His fingertips tingled and he was momentarily lightheaded from the surge of emotion.
The pictures flashing across the screen showed a swarm of police surrounding the wooded bushland where he’d dumped her. Sally Batten. That’s what they said. He was surprised it had taken them so long to find her.
It hadn’t taken them anywhere near as long to find Angelina. Images of the girl flooded his thoughts. She’d been nothing like Sally, but Angelina was special because she was the one who’d started it. It was Angelina who had given him the idea. It was almost as if she’d whispered it to him through the window of his car. From the moment he’d seen her, he’d known what he had to do.
He’d spied her at the bus stop outside the university and immediately fell in love with her tall, slender body and long, golden-brown hair. He loved all of them, but the ones that looked like Rapunzel held a special place in his heart and even though her hair was darker than what he normally preferred, she’d been perfect in every other way.
He’d always been in love with Rapunzel. Even when his mother had destroyed every doll she could find, he’d managed to save Rapunzel. He could still remember with a clarity that surprised him, how he’d pressed his lips against her long blond hair and had taken comfort in the painted blue eyes that had peered up at him with sympathy and understanding. Rapunzel knew what it was like to be imprisoned. She knew exactly how it felt to be controlled by a woman who wanted him dead. They had so much in common that way.
And she brought him comfort, like the soft, silky underpants and the sweet-smelling dresses he’d stolen off the neighbors’ clotheslines. Nothing made him feel more whole than when he slid the apparel over his skinny, boy’s body and felt them envelop him in their warmth and acceptance.
He only wished he’d been more careful. If he had, his mother would never have found out, would never have screamed vitriol at him with disgust and hatred burning in her eyes…would never have hunted down every doll and piece of stolen clothing in the house and destroyed them.
Not that it had made a difference. It didn’t make him stop. Yes, he’d cried tears of anger and wished her dead. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. All it did was to teach him how crucial it was to be more careful. A lot more careful. It was a lesson he hadn’t forgotten.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ellie pulled the unmarked car over to the curb and parked outside the house where Sally Batten had lived with her parents. The garden was dry and overgrown. The lawn was yellowed. Her stomach churned with dread. The sad display was surrounded by a dilapidated picket fence that may have once been white. It looked as tired and neglected as the last time she’d been there with Luke. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“This sure as hell doesn’t get any easier,” she murmured.
Clayton looked just as tense as she felt. “You’re right about that.”
They’d barely spoken on their way to the Battens’ Mt Druitt address. Thoughts of the body they’d left in the morgue not long ago and the parents they were about to visit had filled her mind. She still hadn’t found the right words. Two months ago, their daughter had been studying to be a dietician at the local University. She had a boyfriend and a part time job. She was just another young woman getting on with her life. Now she was dead.
Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs to capacity, holding it for as long as she could—a technique she’d used countless times to help her calm down. Carbon dioxide escaped her lips in infinitesimal amounts until there was nothing left.
All she felt was lightheaded.
She grimaced. So much for relaxation techniques…
Clayton studied her with a quizzical expression, one eyebrow cocked. “You ready?”
Eyeing him solemnly, she snatched another breath of air. “I guess so.”
* * *
George Batten opened the door and introduced himself before they had a chance to knock.
“I seen you sittin’ out there for the last little while. You had that look about you. Figured you’d be comin’ in.”
His grizzled face was covered in white whiskers that matched the color of his hair. Bleary, red-rimmed eyes and dirty, loose overalls contributed to his generally unkempt appearance. Ellie put him somewhere in his mid-fifties.
She held out her hand. “Mr Batten, I’m Detective Cooper. We met a few weeks ago.” She indicated Clayton with a bob of her head. “And this is Federal Agent Munro. I’m afraid we’re here about your daughter.”
George Batten seemed to deflate before their eyes. The bulky form that had filled the doorway only moments before, now somehow seemed smaller as fear and uncertainty darkened his bloodshot eyes.
His voice was rough with emotion as he ushered them inside. “I shoulda’ known that was what you were here for. Tell me, Detectives.” His eyes pleaded with Ellie’s. “Is she still alive?”
Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. She glanced at Clayton and saw from the tension around his mouth that he was equally affected. She took a sharp breath, needing to get it over with.
“I’m sorry, Mr Batten. Some hikers found a body in bushland a few hours ago. We’ll need to confirm her identification by DNA, but we think it’s Sally.”
A low moan escaped him. He shook his head back and forth. “No, no, no! I can’t tell Robyn. I can’t! I can’t tell her, Detectives. Sally’s her baby. It’s gonna kill her.”
“We need to speak with both of you, Mr Batten,” Clayton interjected quietly. “It’s important. If we’re going to have any chance of finding out who did this to her, it’s imperative we get as much information from you as possible.”
The calm timbre of his voice seemed to register and the man made a visible effort to pull himself together. Though George’s lips still trembled with emotion, he drew in a deep breath and let it out on a heavy sigh.
“Of course, Detective. I understand. If you’ll just excuse me a minute, I’d… I’d like to talk to me wife.”
Ellie leaned back against the cold red brick wall of the house and sighed. No matter how many times she did it, it never got any easier. She cringed when she heard the loud keening cry of a female from somewhere inside the building. The tightness in her chest was suffocating and she fought to keep her breathing even.
Clayton’s grim face swirled in front of her. His eyes softened as if he realized how close she was to losing it.
“Keep your chin up, Cooper. I know you can do it. Besides, it’s the least we can do for them. And for Sally.”
She gulped in some much-needed oxygen, conveying her gratitude with her eyes. Reaching out, she touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. “Thanks. I needed that.”
She watched, mesmerized, as his eyes darkened with emotion. It took him a moment to reply.
“No problem, partner.”
A minute passed. Then two. It felt like a lifetime.
Then Clayton cleared his throat. “I…uh… I guess we’d better get in there.”
She snatched her hand away, unaware until that moment that they’d still had co
ntact. Heat flared across her cheeks and she looked away, flustered. “Yes, yes, of course.” We-we should go in now.”
He held the squeaky screen door open for her. Cautiously, she made her way down the darkened hallway toward the sound of quiet sobbing.
Robyn Batten was enormous. She lay spread-eagled in a recliner armchair, with much of her body hanging out over both sides. A huge floral nightgown enveloped her, stretched taut across her massive breasts.
Her eyes looked oddly tiny in the soft, fleshy face. They peered at Ellie in pain and anguish.
A large-screen plasma TV took up most of one wall. State-of-the-art surround sound speakers were set up around the room. A Saturday morning sports commentary show filled the screen, its volume muted.
The room was cozy with a fire burning low in the fireplace on the far side of the room, incongruous with the thick air of devastation. Although it was almost too warm, Robyn Batten had at least three woollen blankets draped over her knees.
The woman brought her enormous arms up to her face and scrubbed at her eyes with her hands. The flesh on her bare arms flapped with her effort. Ellie tried not to stare.
She turned away, refusing to catch Clayton’s eye. She was having a difficult enough time holding it together as it was. The woman was a heart attack waiting to happen. Thank God her husband had broken the news first.
Ellie forced herself closer and spoke to the woman in the chair. “Mrs Batten, we’re so terribly sorry for your loss. If there’s anything we can do—”
A huge shudder passed through her massive frame. A moan of pure agony rumbled out of the woman’s belly as her grief renewed itself.
“I want my baby back. I want my baby back.” She gulped and sobbed and wobbled. Tears flowed from her tiny eyes and down her cheeks before disappearing into the folds of her neck.
Ellie watched, helpless and transfixed. George Batten stood off to one side, seemingly at a loss as he struggled with his own grief. She swallowed a sigh of relief when Clayton stepped forward.
Kneeling close to the woman’s chair, he clasped one of her fleshy hands. Understanding and compassion filled his eyes.
“Mrs Batten, we’re going to do everything we can to find the man responsible for Sally’s death. But we need your help. We need you to tell us everything you can remember about the day she disappeared.”
His eyes stayed fixed on her face. “It’s very important, Mrs Batten. Do you think you can help us?”
The woman drew in another shuddering breath, but continued to hold his gaze. Clayton waited her out. A few moments later, the wailing quietened to a gentle sobbing.
Ellie knew how important it was to speak to her. The majority of mothers knew more about their teenage daughters than their fathers did. It was a fact of life.
As the sobs eased to an occasional sniffle, Clayton gave the fleshy hand another squeeze.
“Mrs Batten, I understand you’ve already spoken to my colleague here when you filed the missing person’s report, but I need you to tell me again. Can you tell me about Sally’s movements the last day you saw her? I think it was about June nineteenth, a couple of days before you contacted the police. Is that right?”
Robyn Batten hunted down the neck of her nightdress with her hand. Pulling out a tissue, she blew her nose noisily.
“Yes, that’s right. Tuesday, June nineteenth. The day’s remained scorched in my memory for the last two months.”
Clayton’s voice remained calm and low. “What can you remember from that day?”
A huge sigh sent mountains of flesh rippling beneath her clothes. Her eyes closed and her head dropped forward. More chins than Ellie cared to count rested heavily on the woman’s chest. It was a few moments before she spoke.
“My baby went to university like she usually does. She’s studying to be a dietician, you know.” For a moment, pride found a home on the woman’s face and then memory reasserted itself and the pain returned. Her eyes fluttered open. It was terrible to watch the light fade as the reality hit her again and her gaze turned bleak.
“She…she also works as a shop assistant at Target in the Westfield Mall at Penrith. A part-time job.”
“How did she get to Uni?” Clayton asked.
Robyn paused to wipe her nose. “She usually catches the train.” Her gaze flicked to Ellie and back to Clayton. “We don’t live far from the station. An easy ten-minute walk.”
Ellie kept her gaze planted firmly on the notebook opened in her hand.
As if reading her mind, Robyn sighed. “Not that I’ve ever done it, but that’s what Sally said.”
“You said ‘usually,’ Mrs Batten. Did she catch the train on the day she went missing?” Clayton asked.
The woman shook her head. “No, she didn’t. It was raining, you see. Pouring, actually. I could hear it pelting down on the roof.” She looked across the room to her husband who listened in silence. “George was at work. He starts early.” Her gaze came back to Clayton’s. “I gave her some money to catch a cab.”
“Did Sally know a girl by the name of Josie Ward?” Clayton asked. “She was a young girl with Down’s syndrome. She was studying art at the university.”
Robyn Batten shook her head. “Not that I remember.”
“What about Angelina Caruso?”
Again, the woman shook her head.
Clayton posed another question. “Did Sally work that Tuesday after class?”
“Yes, I spoke to her at lunchtime, during her break. She told me she’d be going there. She sounded fine, although I remember I could barely hear her over the rain. It was really coming down.”
“So, you called her on her cell phone?” Ellie asked.
“Yes, she always has it with her, although she usually switches it off while she’s in class.”
Ellie filled the taut silence with another question. “Mrs Batten, what time did Sally finish?”
Her voice, now dull with pain, came out in a low monotone. “Her shift finished at five thirty. When she wasn’t home by eight, I called her. It went straight through to voicemail.” She shrugged, setting off another avalanche of movement. “I thought she might have gone over to Rick’s place.”
Clayton spoke up. “Who’s Rick?”
“Her boyfriend.” George Batten’s voice shook with anger and disgust.
Ellie lifted her head in surprise and stared at him. He hadn’t spoken since they’d entered. She suddenly recalled the dingy flat she’d gone to with Luke all those weeks ago when the call about the missing girl had first been made. Rick Shadlow.
“I take it you and Rick didn’t get on?” she asked, now directing her attention to the man on the other side of the room.
His lips twisted into a sneer. “That’s puttin’ it politely. He’s a scumbag. A loser. A low-life crim. I dunno what she sees in him.” His gaze was defiant as it met hers. “We raised her better than that.”
“I’m sure you did, Mr Batten. Tell me,” Ellie added, “what is it that you don’t like about him?”
George’s face twisted in disgust. “Everythin’. He’s twenty-five and I don’t think he’s ever held down a job in his life. Apart from sellin’ drugs. He’s a dope-head. He even tried to push some onto Robyn when he found out how much pain she gets in her legs.”
Ellie and Clayton exchanged a glance. “Did Sally ever do drugs?” Clayton asked.
Robyn shook her head vehemently. “Of course not! Sally hated anything to do with drugs.”
“Why do you think she liked Rick?” Ellie asked. “She obviously knew of his drug usage. What kept her with him?”
He snorted in disgust. “Oh, I know what kept her there. He’s a pretty boy, isn’t he, Robyn? She’s always sayin’ how he looks just like that kid off that Twilight shit. What’s his name…?”
“Rob Patterson?” Ellie supplied.
“Yeah, Rob Patterson. That’s the one.”
“I seem to recall one of Sally’s girlfriends told us she thought they’d broken up. Did Sally mention anyt
hing to either of you?” Ellie asked.
Robyn Batten look bewildered and her husband just shook his head. “Sally never said anythin’ to us. She would have known how pleased I’d be.”
“How did they meet? He’s a few years older than Sally. I take it they didn’t go to school together?” Clayton asked.
George looked over at him. “No, they didn’t know each other from school. He was too old for her. We tried to tell her that. She wasn’t havin’ none of it. They met at the local TAFE college. Sally was doing a woodworkin’ course a couple of nights a week. She was really lovin’ it.”
His lips twisted in disgust. “That’s where she met him. He was doin’ the same course. Only thing I ever saw him put his hand to. Besides the drug dealin’.”
Ellie sucked in a breath. It felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Her gaze clashed with Clayton’s and she could see he’d also made the connection. She tried to get her heartbeat under control and strove for a casual tone.
“So, Rick was learning about woodworking, too?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s why he was there. His old man’s a pretty good machinist. He’s got a shop a few miles away, over in Pemberton. He sure as hell must be disappointed in how that kid’s turned out.”
“He was pretty good with his hands though, George,” Robyn sighed. “He gave Sally some really beautiful things he’d made out of wood.”
A pulse pounded in the side of Ellie’s neck. Her voice came out strangled. “Really? Do you think you could show us some of them?”
Robyn fluttered her hands helplessly. “I’m sure George can find them. Sally kept them in her room near her bed. Said she wanted to keep them close.”
Ellie turned to George. “Would you mind?”
A disgruntled humph was her only answer, but he grudgingly lumbered forward and left the room, returning a short while later with a handful of carved, wooden ornaments.
Turning them over slowly in her hands, Ellie marveled at their detail. A tiny horse with each hair of its mane painstakingly defined. A dolphin so life-like, she could almost see it leaping out of the water. A starfish. A mermaid. A heart. One thing Robyn said was definitely right. The pieces were truly beautiful.
