by Gary Gregor
“Yes, really.”
“If I recall,” she said. “We had wake-up sex twice during the night. Plus, once before we went to sleep.”
“I can’t help myself,” Sam said. “You look so damn sexy in that robe. What have you got on underneath?”
“Knickers.”
“Just knickers?”
“Yes, just knickers. I was planning to have a shower after breakfast.”
Sam let go of her hand, reached up and pulled on the light linen tie that went around her waist. The robe fell open. “Oops!” he said softly. “Now look what I’ve gone and done.”
“You know we are going to be late into the station?” Sarah asked. “I’m the OIC. It wouldn’t be setting a good example to be late.”
“What I have in mind won’t take long.” Sam took her hand and began to pull her onto the bed.
“You are depraved,” Sarah said as she shrugged out of the robe and climbed onto the bed.
Russell Foley was seated in Sarah’s chair behind her desk when Sam and Sarah entered the police station office. “Thanks for joining us,” he said with undisguised sarcasm.
“Thanks for warming my seat,” Sarah said with a pert smile.
“You’re welcome.”
“We had bacon and eggs for breakfast; what did you have?” Sam asked.
“Coffee,” Foley answered, raising his coffee mug. “This is my second cup.”
“Sounds nutritious,” Sam said. “But not nearly as satisfying as bacon and eggs.”
Foley patted his belly. “No greasy fat and lard clogging up my arteries. Besides, after that huge dinner Sarah made last night, I don’t know how you managed to find room for bacon and eggs.”
“I’ve always got room for a feed of bacon and eggs,” Sam responded. “Any news?”
“I just got off the phone to Yap Yap,” Foley said. “He held a news conference late yesterday. Bloody media is all over this thing. Newspapers, television, radio, and probably pigeon post. They are all insisting on running with the Desert Demon bullshit.”
“We all know what the media is like,” Sam said dully. “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. It’s all about ratings. They make shit up, shovel it out, and the gullible public can’t get enough of it.”
“What are your plans while you are here?” Sarah asked.
“Sam and I will spend the day talking to people. I’m still convinced our perp is working alone and driving a four-wheel-drive vehicle.”
“My people are already out there doing just that,” Sarah pointed out. “But we could always use more boots on the ground.”
“This arsehole was last at Kings Canyon,” Foley continued. “I’m betting he will come this way next.”
“If he’s not already here, staking out his next victim,” Sam suggested.
Foley drained his coffee mug and pushed it aside on the desk. “If the perp is coming here, he has had plenty of time to get here. Let’s see what the day turns up. If we come up blank, we might head back to Alice Springs tomorrow.” He looked at Sarah. “You want to work with me and Sam today?”
“Thanks, but I can’t,” she replied. “All my troops are out on the job. I’ll have to stay here and man the phones. Besides, I’ve got plenty of paperwork to keep me busy.”
“How about we go out for dinner tonight,” Foley suggested.
“That would be nice. Can Sam come?” she joked.
“I suppose so,” he said finally. “He’ll sulk all night and complain all the way back to Alice Springs tomorrow if we don’t take him with us.”
“I’m not a complainer!” Sam stated indignantly. “And, just so you know, I’m not paying for your dinner. I bought you lunch yesterday.”
“A greasy hamburger?”
“It was what you insisted on, and I paid for it. When was the last time you paid for my dinner?”
“You eat too much; it’s expensive.”
“I … I—”
“Hey, you two!” Sarah interjected. “How about you get out of here and let me get some work done? And, please don’t shoot each other; the paperwork would be horrendous.”
16
In his time in the military, Adalhard Jaeger had never experienced the heart-pounding adrenalin charge of actual combat. He had experienced simulated combat training exercises as a member of the German Army Special Forces, Kommando Spezialkräfte, where he was expertly trained on how to kill, quickly and effectively. He learned how to kill with a gun, a knife, and with his bare hands, should he find himself in a situation where he no longer had the advantage of a weapon. All the training in the world, however, no matter how expertly administered, could prepare one for the experience of actual combat. The act of killing someone, regardless of the degree of justification, should there in fact be any justification, simply did not compare to the real thing.
For Adalhard, killing was a buzz like nothing he had experienced in his life to this point. The adrenal gland worked as it should in such situations, pumping out the stress hormone epinephrine, sending his heartrate soaring, and opening the bronchioles in his lungs. Rather than find the act of taking another’s life a stressful, shameful thing, for Adalhard it was almost a sensual thing, and it was the closest he was ever going to get to combat.
When it was done and his heartrate had settled and the adrenalin no longer surged through his veins, he quickly found himself anxious to do it all again. The anticipation was almost overwhelming. If he was awake, he was thinking less about the possibility of getting caught than he was about when and where his next victim would come from.
His preference was to kill with a handgun. He was taught in the military that a headshot was the quickest and most painless way to kill another human being. For such a shot to be the most effective, however, it required a close-quarter approach to the victim, something else he had become very good at.
Adalhard had proved himself to be an excellent shot with a handgun, outclassing everyone in his training squad. He had also become proficient at getting up close to his intended victim without detection or arousing suspicion. He was proud of his achievements and proud of the relative ease in which he had managed to kill those he had while in Australia and still be free to continue.
The killing was not over. It couldn’t be over yet, the urge to continue was as strong, even stronger than it ever was. Although he was a little surprised at how easy he had accomplished the killings, it only reinforced his enthusiasm for more of the same.
He left Curtain Springs as soon as the tour bus returned from the Mount Connor tour. It was late afternoon and while he was not due to leave until the next morning, the itch was back, and it was getting worse. Besides, he wanted to be away from Curtain Springs in case the two police officers returned. He didn’t know if they suspected him of anything, but it was best not to tempt fate.
When he drove out of the caravan park, he turned left and headed east towards Erldunda and the Stuart Highway, 200 kilometres away. Erldunda, a large roadhouse and accommodation complex at the junction of the Stuarts Highway and the Lasseter Highway was a popular rest stop for tourists travelling to or from Kings Canyon, Ayres Rock and the Olgas. Just 200 kilometres south of Alice Springs and a little more than that to Yulara and Uluru, it was the ideal place to stop, refuel, and perhaps purchase something to eat before continuing.
From Erldunda, Adalhard’s travel options were limited. He could continue east towards Chambers Pillar, south towards Kulgera and the South Australian border, or north towards Stuarts Well and Alice Springs. He discounted Chambers Pillar, to the east of the highway, one because he had already been there, and two because he considered retracing his steps to be far too risky.
The rest stop at Erldunda was always busy with travellers coming and going throughout the day; there were people everywhere, sitting in their vehicles eating, refuelling at the pumps, dining in the roadhouse café, or wandering casually around the accommodation complex and caravan park at the rear of the roadhouse. With so much activity, it
would be impossible to scratch the itch at Erldunda.
He decided not to stop at Erldunda. There would be too many travellers and he was uncomfortable in crowded areas. There was a degree of safety in numbers, of course, and mingling casually amongst the many tourists he would find at Erldunda offered a certain amount of anonymity. The police were looking for him and, given the task he had set for himself, being just another face in the crowd was a mildly tempting alternative.
He was enjoying a good run—six kills so far—and, as much as he hated to leave what had developed into an exciting few days, perhaps it was time he left the Territory. The solitude and the intense silence of the Northern Territory Outback had wooed him, and he would miss it.
Adalhard had learned from the extensive research he carried out before leaving Hamburg to travel across the globe to Australia that there were vast desert regions in South Australia also, particularly in the northern regions.
The Great Victoria Desert, the Pedirka Desert, the Simpson Desert and the Sturt Stony Desert all lay adjacent each other and stretched from the southern regions of the state to the Northern Territory border. By all accounts, the entire top half of the state of South Australia was blanketed by tens of thousands of square kilometres of desert region. He had also learned that there were numerous iconic tourist attractions locked inside those regions. But, despite attractions like the Pink Roadhouse at Oodnadatta, the Innamincka Hotel in the north-eastern corner of the state, and Lake Eyre, a huge salt lake in central South Australia, the northern areas of South Australia did not attract tourists in the same numbers as the Northern Territory.
As the kilometres rushed by, Adalhard had time to think of where he might head. Common sense dictated he should get out of the Territory and head south to the South Australian border and beyond. There was a lot of wide-open space south of the border. Plenty of areas he could hide.
The Northern Territory Outback was not a desert as one might expect to find in some other countries, like the Sahara Desert in Africa or the Arabian Desert in the Middle East, but it was classified as a desert, nonetheless. There was little or no water to be found, there were no oases where one could refresh one’s water supply and, beyond the major highways, there were very few roadhouses where one could resupply with food and fuel. More importantly, particularly for Adalhard, there were almost no people. In the desert of the Australian Outback, it was very easy to imagine you were the last human being on the face of the earth. Adalhard liked that feeling.
However, while his preference was to stay in the Northern Territory, he knew to do so would be pushing his luck. The police would surely be closing in on him and the longer he stayed, the greater the odds of his getting caught became.
He chose to bypass Erldunda and take a break, refuel his vehicle, and get something to eat and drink at Kulgera. There, he would purchase what he wanted from the roadhouse café and move on quickly. Travelling alone in the vast, empty desert wilderness made him an obvious target for a sharp-eyed country cop patrolling the Outback and, while it had served him well so far, he had to wonder if staying longer was a risk he was prepared to take.
Since arriving in Australia, Adalhard had been amazed at just how big the country was. Driving from Sydney to the Northern Territory required travelling across many hundreds of kilometres where he did not see another vehicle or pass through another town. Then, there was the Northern Territory desert region. It was hot, dry, inhospitable, and potentially deadly. If the long, seemingly endless country roads he traversed to get there seemed devoid of people and vehicular traffic, they simply did not compare to the desert regions in the Territory.
In the middle of the day, the desert silence was profound. Creatures that inhabited the desert regions were hunkered down in their lairs, sheltering from the burning, suffocating heat of the day. At night, with the staggeringly beautiful ceiling of stars above and the soft rustle of an occasional, tiny nocturnal creature scurrying across the ground below, the desert could easily become hypnotic to a point where one might be readily seduced by its deeply intense solitude.
It was an epitome of opposites. Despite the beauty and the tranquillity Adalhard found in the desert, he knew it could, and quite often did, kill the unprepared quickly. He learned from his research before leaving Germany that the Australian desert regions were home to a variety of rarely seen animal species—perhaps none more deadly than desert-dwelling snakes. If the burning sun weighing heavy on you day after day as you wandered aimlessly in never-ending circles did not send you deliriously crazy until you died of thirst, the desert death adder, the mulga snake, and the speckled brown snake were just a few among other reptiles that would kill you quicker.
Reputed to be the most deadly, venomous snakes in the world, getting hit by any one of these slithering, death-dealing creatures and life’s end was but a few minutes away; wandering aimlessly for days, waiting to die of thirst, would be something to wish for.
Regarding things in the desert that could kill you, he expected the desert regions of South Australia to be not a lot different from the Northern Territory. It was not the climate or the creatures that thrived in the desert that concerned Adalhard; he was aware and cautious of the things that might kill him. It was the considerable lack of potential victims in the desert south of the border that nagged at him. It was about survival. If he stayed, it would only be a matter of time before the police caught up with him.
His mind was quickly made up. South Australia beckoned and he was ready to go.
Barbara Logan was working behind the front counter of the Kulgera roadhouse shop when Adalhard Jaeger entered. “Good morning,” she greeted the tall stranger.
“Good morning,” Adalhard said as he approached the counter.
“What can I do for you?”
Adalhard reached into his pocket for his wallet. “I will pay for diesel fuel. Also, for one coffee to take away.”
“Have you travelled far?” Barbara asked pleasantly.
“I am from Germany,” Adalhard answered casually.
Barbara smiled. “I can tell from your accent. I meant how far have you travelled today?”
“Oh, not so far today.”
“Which way are you headed?”
“South. I go to South Australia today.” Adalhard paid for the fuel and the coffee.
“You are close,” Barbara told him. “South Australia is only twenty kilometres away. You might have to wait until they clear the road, though.”
“The road is not clear?”
“No, the police have closed the road. A bad accident on the highway. About fifteen kilometres south.”
“Accident?”
“Yes, a very bad one. Two people killed. The two policemen from here are down there and South Australian police from Marla as well. The road is closed until the Highway Patrol from Alice Springs and an ambulance arrives. You might have a long wait.” Barbara moved to the end of the counter and began preparing his coffee. “Sugar?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sugar. Do you want sugar in your coffee?”
“Sugar, yes, I like sugar. Two spoons, thank you. I am sorry, my English is not so good.”
“Your English is fine,” Barbara smiled. “You are welcome to wait here if you like. Perhaps you would like some lunch? We have my own homemade quiche on special today.” She handed Adalhard his coffee. “The officer-in-charge of the police station will ring his wife when they have opened the road and she will notify me so I can pass it on to any travellers.”
“How many police you have here?”
“We have two. They are both at the accident scene. They were the first police to attend. They will return here when the Highway Patrol arrives. Can I get you some quiche?”
“Is okay, thank you,” Adalhard said. “I am not hungry.” He backed away from the counter.
“Okay. Thank you for stopping by and enjoy the rest of your trip.”
“Thank you.” Adalhard turned and walked briskly from the roadhouse.
When he got into his vehicle, he thought about the shop owner’s words. The two police officers were away from their homes. The officer-in-charge’s wife was home, alone hopefully. Fortuitous, he thought. Kill a cop’s wife. It had to be the ultimate buzz. Then the cat-and-mouse, catch-me-if-you can game would really be on. He had eluded the police so far, and now he was faced with a challenge too enticing to let slip by.
17
Forty-seven-year-old Lara McKenzie had been a policeman’s wife for almost twenty-five years. Apart from a two-year posting in Darwin immediately following her husband’s graduation from the Police Training Centre, she had lived and raised her children alongside her husband, Moose McKenzie, in remote “bush” police stations. At first, Lara was not enamoured with the prospect of living in a hot, dry, isolated settlement far from the attractions of city life. She liked the many and varied shopping opportunities available in the city. In particular, she liked the advantage of multiple choices when it came to purchasing clothes for either herself or her husband and children. No such advantages existed in remote settlements.
Lara’s concerns were not so much for herself and the lack of multiple shopping options, but for her children, who were very young in those early days, and she wondered how they might cope attending a small isolated “bush” school where the majority of students were indigenous children.
In hindsight, she need never have had concerns. Internet shopping was in its infancy and expanding as rapidly as technology would allow, she could buy anything she wanted from anywhere in the world and never have to leave the house. As for the children, they adapted easily and comfortably to their surroundings and their classmates. Young children were the same the world over; the colour of one’s skin did not define a child or prohibit him or her from becoming a friend.
Ultimately, Lara came to love the different communities her husband was posted to over their journey together. There was something about the relative peace, harmony, and sense of community in remote settlements that she came to appreciate. She and her family were never the only non-indigenous people in any of the communities in which she lived over the years; there were non-aboriginal store operators, non-aboriginal medical staff in the tiny settlement clinics, and in a variety of government positions within the community. Friends among both black and white community members were never hard to come by. After nearly twenty years living in the “bush”, Lara thought she would now find it difficult to settle back into city living, should her husband ever be posted to a city-based position. She knew it would come one day, but not soon, she hoped.
