“Yes, that’s about it. Actually, that’s not strictly correct. Mark Reynolds, and another of the agents, Gary someone, I can’t remember his surname, he left years ago, they saw Fraser talking to an older gentleman at the local café around the time of the sale. They spoke to him, but he never introduced the old man. I remember Mark telling me it was weird, but then Fraser was always a little left of centre. Anyway, they assumed the old man was the mystery buyer and nothing much more was said about it.”
The sly bastard, thought Cooper. That was his father. He probably orchestrated the whole meeting. Of course he did — everything about Fraser Grant was planned to perfection. Cooper thanked the office manager for her time, assuring her that she’d been very helpful. He hung up at the same time as Quinn.
“There’s a Geoff Patterson who died twenty years ago,” said the younger detective. “Looks like Fraser resurrected him a good two years before he bought the house in Darkes Forest. Sat on it until the right house came along.”
“That’s right,” added Cooper, before telling them about the property sale.
“Jeez,” said Quinn, “I bet he couldn’t believe his luck when that house came up.”
“I don’t reckon there was a lot of luck involved, not where Fraser Grant was concerned. He made his own luck. He was patient, he knew what he needed would come along eventually. Remember, he had plenty of time in jail to figure all this out.” Cooper looked at Munro. “We need to get out there now, Sarge.”
“Go. I’ll call Helensburgh and get a patrol car to the property. They’re the closest station.”
“Better send an ambulance, too. If she’s still alive, she’ll probably be in a bad way.”
“Done. I’ll also organise a warrant while you’re on the road, just in case we’ve got this wrong. Even though he’s dead, we need to do it by the book.”
35
Dust was starting to gather on the lid of the toilet seat next to Amanda’s bed. She could also see a fine layer forming on the rails at the foot of the bed, the rails she was chained to. The place had been spotless when she arrived. How long did it take for that amount of dust to gather?
Amanda scratched her head, and the horrible, greasy feeling on the tips of her fingers made her stomach squirm. She remembered hearing stories about people not washing their hair for weeks. Apparently, after so long, hair adjusts and never has to be washed again. Something about pH levels, whatever that meant. Amanda had been horrified when she’d heard of this, but now she found herself wondering how long it took, and whether she would still be alive when her head finally stopped itching.
Sleep was coming easier now. There was no water left, no food. Nothing to do but sleep. Sleep and wait.
What would happen when the man came back? She imagined having a shower, past caring whether he watched or not. Water — she needed to drink, to feel the water run all over her, re-hydrating her dry, broken body.
She wondered if Andrew had fixed the shower at home yet. The one in their bathroom had been dripping for weeks. She had wanted to call a plumber, but Andrew wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I can fix it’, he’d said, always trying to save money. He never seemed to get around to fixing anything though, so on and on it dripped. What she wouldn’t give for just a few of those drops now.
Amanda’s mind wandered on. Who would buy the Christmas presents this year? It was her job, normally. Toys for the kids, scotch for her father, something ornamental and expensive for her mother. Gift vouchers for Andrew’s family, because he didn’t know what they liked any more than she did. Who would cook the Christmas dinner? They always went all out; it was the one day of the year Amanda felt she made her in-laws proud. Turkey, pork with crackling, roast vegetables, gravy, all the trimmings. She could almost smell it now.
All those Christmases she would miss, all the birthdays. Perhaps it was for the best. Andrew deserved more than she was willing to give him. If this hadn’t happened, she wondered: would I have left him? Would I have gone to Mickey, or someone else?
Amanda started to cry but there were no tears, her body unwilling to give up the few precious drops of moisture it still held. She’d never been so alone before. She was a people person, needed people around her. Right now it felt like she would never see another person again.
She stared back at the dust on top of the toilet. How long had it been since she used that thing? A whole night had passed since she’d had anything to drink. She was so tired. Days ago she’d wondered whether it was best to try and exercise to keep her strength up, or to stay still to conserve her energy. That was no longer a problem, she could barely move now anyway. She closed her eyes and drifted off into a quiet numbness. Even the energy to dream eluded her now.
36
“It should be down the next street to your left.” Eva had managed to find the location of the house using a combination of her memory and the handy maps application on her iPad. She was guiding Georgie to the address over the phone.
“I think I see it,” Georgie replied. “I see what you mean about the windows, and the tiled porch. It’s very distinctive.”
Eva heard the silencing of the car’s engine, followed by the sound of doors opening and closing. Georgie spoke to Andrew.
“Remember, she’s probably not going to be here. It’s likely Eva had her wires crossed. Keep your cool. Amanda doesn’t need you getting into any trouble with the police for harassing people in their homes.”
Georgie came back on the phone to Eva. “I don’t think I can keep the line open,” she said, as Eva heard the sound of a doorbell chime in the background. “I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” She hung up, leaving Eva frustrated and helpless back in her hospital bed.
Minutes seemed like hours as she waited for the call. She sent texts to Georgie in the meantime:
Take a good look at the kitchen.
Who’s living there now? How long have they lived there?
Finally the phone vibrated in her hand.
“Hello? Is she there?”
“We haven’t found anything yet,” Georgie whispered.
“What’s happening?”
“I’m in the bathroom. There’s an elderly couple living here. We talked our way in. Andrew said something about doing a story on interesting houses for the local paper. I haven’t managed to see the kitchen yet. This house is amazing. There are so many different collections of all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff. Peter, the guy, says they’ve lived here nearly thirty years, so they must be the ones who moved in when your family sold. He’s about to show us around downstairs. I’ll call you back when I can.” Eva heard the sound of a toilet flush before the call was disconnected.
As she waited, Eva thought back over the morning. First the fight with her mother, then Taylor. What was happening to her? The transplant was supposed to give her back her life. But ever since she woke from the surgery, her new beginning had been a nightmare. Literally. What had this heart done to her? She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Andrew last night, about the fear that had been steadily rising in her mind. The fear that if cellular memory was real, if she had feelings and memories from this new heart, this vile, killer’s heart, then what had she lost? What did the surgeons take when they cut out her own heart?
Her phone buzzed again. When she answered, she kept her voice down, in case Georgie was still inside the house. “What’s happening now?”
“We’re downstairs,” replied Georgie. “We’ve found a locked room. Peter’s around the corner, shouting up the stairs to his wife to get the keys.”
“A locked room? Did he say what’s in there?”
“He said it was his wife’s collection, but he didn’t say what. He was surprised it was locked. Apparently, he doesn’t usually go in there.”
“What’s happening now?” Eva repeated. She hated not being there herself.
“Andrew’s listening at the door of the room. Can you hear anything? No, he says he can’t. Hang on...the wife won’t tell him where the ke
y is,” Georgie relayed to both her and Andrew. “Says she’s redecorating in there. Not to bother showing us.”
“Screw that,” Eva heard Andrew say in the background, followed by a crash and the sound of splintering wood. Oh shit, thought Eva. Next she heard a man’s voice. “Betty says she’s redoing — hey, what the hell do you think you’re playing at?”
Eva’s heart pounded; she’d never felt so helpless. “What the hell is happening?” she screamed into the phone.
Georgie came back on the line. “Andrew’s broken the door down. There’s nothing in there, Eva, just a bunch of sheets and a half-painted wall. Amanda’s not here. I’ve got to go. Damage control.”
Eva wanted to ask about the kitchen, but Georgie had already disconnected.
37
“We’ve been on this road for fifteen minutes. Are we close, at least?”
“We’re close, boss. It’s a long road.” Quinn glanced down at the map on the screen to his left before looking back to the road. “Around the next bend,” he added.
Darkes Forest Road was the sort of drive that would be calming under any other circumstances. The area north of Wollongong was little known, and mostly rural. Houses were well spaced, perfect for people who loved their privacy. Also perfect for kidnappers. The house they were looking for was indeed around the next bend. They pulled into the driveway and parked next to a patrol car and an ambulance. The paramedics and a uniformed officer were standing on the porch of the house while another officer was around the side trying to look in a window. None of them were operating with any kind of urgency.
“Locals,” muttered Cooper as he exited the car. The officer on the porch came down to meet them.
“Senior Constable Ian King, Helensburgh. That’s my partner, Constable Gardiner.” King indicated the woman now walking back toward them. “Fire crew is on the way, in case you think we need to break in.”
“How long have you been here?” asked Cooper, once he’d introduced himself and Quinn and given a nod to the waiting paramedics.
“About ten minutes. No answer at the door, and no sign of foul play, so we waited for you.”
“Shit,” said Cooper. He’d hoped for probable cause to enter, given what Munro had said on the phone five minutes ago. Being a Friday afternoon, they were having trouble getting hold of a judge. A warrant could still be another hour or more. He had a reasonable assumption that there was a woman in trouble inside this house. It was thin, but it might hold up in court. “Who am I kidding,” he said aloud. “This is never going to see the inside of a courtroom. Joey, take the door.”
Quinn smiled and pulled out his gun, prepared to shoot out the lock.
“Fuck, not like that, you idiot.”
“Well what do you want me to do?”
“Kick it in. Use your shoulder. I dunno, but this isn’t Hollywood. We don’t shoot doors out here, Senior Constable.”
“It’s got three deadlocks, boss. We need a locksmith or a battering ram to get through any other way.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Cooper went to a nearby woodpile and selected a decent size log, which he then put through a window. Clearing the remaining shards, he made an opening big enough for a small person to fit through. He looked around. “Gardiner, you’re the smallest. Get in here.”
The officer looked uncertain, glancing at her partner for reassurance. He nodded, and she climbed through and unlocked the front door for the rest of them. Cooper told the paramedics to wait where they were.
Inside, the house was decorated in a country style, in stark contrast to Grant’s city apartment. Solid Tasmanian Oak furniture, oversized lounge chairs complete with crocheted throw rugs, open fireplace. There was even a rocking chair in one corner. On the surface it had a homely feel, good enough to fool an outsider dropping in for a beer or a cuppa, but Cooper could see it was all superficial. Fraser had engineered this look to suit the weekend persona he played.
They searched every room methodically but found no trace of Amanda.
“She’s not here, boss.”
“She’s here,” replied Cooper. She was here all right. This place may have been different to his city pad, but it still had the cold emptiness of Fraser Grant written all over it. “Keep looking. It won’t be obvious. Start banging on walls.”
It was Constable Gardiner who finally found what they were looking for. Once all the walls of the house were examined for secret compartments and eliminated, the four of them descended into the narrow wine cellar.
“I already checked in here,” said Quinn.
“Well check again.” Cooper was losing patience.
“These bottles are empty,” said Gardiner. She was at the end of the cellar, farthest from the stairs. Cooper stood at the top of the stairs and looked around. The cellar was about five feet long, and only as wide as the doorway plus the depth of a wine bottle either side. It was crowded with four of them down here.
“Quinn, King, out,” he instructed. They squeezed past him and stood outside the door, peering in. Cooper looked over the bottles resting in compartments recessed into the side walls. Hundreds of them, all unopened. But Gardiner was right — the bottles on the end wall were empty. “Now why would that be?” he muttered as he checked them out. He wasn’t looking for an answer, but Gardiner obviously felt the need to offer one.
“Maybe he liked to work systematically in his drinking, too.”
“Nope, don’t think so,” replied Cooper. He’d found a lock. “Quinn, go find me a bolt cutter or something.”
Quinn took off and returned moments later with a member of the local fire brigade, who’d arrived to join the party. The guy carried a handy looking tool that Cooper figured could get them into most places in a hurry.
“Just here,” he pointed. “Cut that padlock for me, wouldya mate?”
The firey made swift work of the lock. Cooper searched around behind the bottles until he finally found a latch. Pushing it up and slightly to the left did the trick — the whole wall of empty bottles came forward on a hinge, revealing a small, dark corridor behind. This must be it. Ordering the firey and Constable Gardiner to stand back, he called to Quinn.
“Stay close,” he instructed as he manoeuvred through the small doorway. The corridor was dirt. It looked like it had been dug out by hand some time ago. Hanging from the low ceiling on either side of the headspace were two rows of those air-fresheners shaped like little trees. They were doing an okay job, but nothing could completely disguise the smell of death.
Much later, when Cooper recalled this moment, he wondered how he’d managed to keep going. But you don’t think about that when you’re in there. You just do what you have to.
At the end of the dank corridor was a small door. No attempt had been made to disguise this one, but there was another padlock. Cooper turned to Quinn, who had thought ahead for once in his life and brought the firey’s all-purpose tool. He cut the padlock and they entered to a scene neither of them would ever forget.
Amanda Fox was lying motionless in a bed in the middle of the room. Cooper put up his arm to prevent Quinn from rushing straight to her. “Check the room first.” They both scanned the walls and Cooper indicated the doorway to the left. Quinn slid it open and they both looked in — an en-suite bathroom, all clear. Once he was satisfied they were safe he went back to the door they’d entered through and called out for the paramedics. Only then did he let himself look at Amanda. He knew what dead looked like, and he’d been dreading this moment.
But Amanda wasn’t dead. She was pale and unconscious, no doubt suffering from extreme dehydration, but she wasn’t dead.
“Is she gonna make it?” Quinn asked one of the paramedics. The guy ignored him and told his partner to go outside and radio the rescue chopper. Cooper used the fireman’s tool once more, this time to cut the chain on her leg. The paramedics hung an IV and stabilised her in the room before bringing her out through the narrow corridor. It was a tricky manoeuvre but she remained unconscious throughout.
“She doesn’t look so good, boss,” said Quinn as he re-entered the room after helping carry Amanda out.
Cooper didn’t want to talk about it. Couldn’t let thoughts that she might not make it creep in.
“She’ll be fine. Chopper will get her to hospital quick. She’ll be fine.”
They both stood silent for a long while. Cooper felt a decade of frustration boil up inside. It was over, but this was nothing like he’d imagined.
Quinn broke the silence with a low whistle. “Jesus,” he added.
“Yeah.” Cooper couldn’t take his eyes off the walls. The photographic content was bad enough, but the precision with which the pictures were taped together was flawless. It must have taken a long time and a lot of patience to plaster this macabre wall. What could have gone through Amanda’s mind, staring at nothing but these photos for the last six days?
There were three other objects in the room, and Cooper forced himself to focus on those. The bed, bolted to the middle of the floor like an island. The toilet, fixed in place by a bracket, also bolted to the floor. And in the corner, out of reach of the bed, a red and silver tool trolley.
Quinn followed his partner’s line of sight. “Want me to cut it open?”
Cooper shook his head. “Leave it for the crime scene guys. I’ve seen enough.” He took one last look around, as if the sight wasn’t going to be imprinted on his mind forever, before heading for the exit. “C’mon Joey, let’s go tell Andrew Fox we found his wife.”
38
When Andrew and Georgie returned to the hospital, Georgie explained what had happened, although she couldn’t add much more to the story than Eva had overheard on the phone. Andrew had broken down the door to a small room off the back of the garage when it became apparent the couple weren’t going to let them see inside. Georgie was still furious, and Eva didn’t really blame her. She’d had to get him to hand over all the cash in his wallet, plus add some of her own to cover the cost of the damages and stop Peter from calling the police. They were then swiftly ushered out the back door, with no hope of getting back inside to take a look at the kitchen.
The Dark Series Page 28
