by Gary Gregor
“Good morning,” a feminine voice behind Adalhard said.
Startled, Adalhard turned around, perhaps a little too quickly. “G-good morning.”
The woman was even prettier up close.
“Which way are you traveling?” Samantha asked.
“Whichever way you want to go,” Adalhard wanted to say. Instead, he asked, “Where are you going?”
“I need to get to Yulara.”
“Ayers Rock?”
“Near Uluru, yes. It’s the resort and residential area. Have you ever been there?”
“I’m sorry, no, I have never been there.”
“Are you heading south?” Samantha asked.
“Yes,” Adalhard lied. “I am going south.”
“Is it possible I could get a lift with you, perhaps as far as Erldunda?”
“You are alone?”
“Yes, I hitchhiked from Alice Springs but the driver was going out to Chambers Pillar, so I had to get off here.”
Adalhard couldn’t believe his luck. The woman was travelling alone and asking him for a ride. How easy could it be?
“I’ve been waiting here for a while hoping someone would come along who is heading out to Yulara or into South Australia,” Samantha continued with a cheerful smile.
“I can take you to Erldunda,” Adalhard said, smiling in return.
“That would be great, thank you.” Samantha offered him her hand. “My name is Samantha.”
Adalhard shook her hand. It felt soft and nice clasped gently in his own. “I am Adalhard.”
“Adalhard? Is that a German name?”
“Yes, I am from Germany.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Adalhard,” she said. “Please finish your shopping. I will wait.”
“I will not take too much time,” he promised.
“It’s okay. Take as long as you like. I will get a coffee.”
24
Adalhard spotted the CCTV camera when he first entered the Stuarts Well roadhouse. It was mounted behind the counter, high on the rear wall above a food service hole connecting the kitchen area from the front customer service area. Now, his shopping basket almost filled, he needed to move to the counter to pay. He adjusted the baseball style cap he wore, pulling the peak low on his forehead. At the counter, keeping his head lowered and his eyes down, he unloaded the shopping basket as the woman rang each item into her cash register.
As the woman entered the items, she noticed everything the man purchased was packaged food items. “Camping out?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“You have enough food here to last you at least a week,” the woman smiled. “Do you often free-camp?”
“Free-camp?”
“Yes, camp on the side of a road somewhere, or out in the bush.”
“Sometimes,” Adalhard said.
“I couldn’t help but hear you are heading south. It is nice of you to offer that lady a lift.”
“I am going south,” Adalhard responded casually. “It would be nice to have someone to talk to.”
“Well, it’s very nice of you. She has been waiting for a while.” She entered the last item into the register. “Anything else you need?”
“Thank you. This will be all.” He removed a wad of cash from his wallet, paid for the supplies, and turned to walk from the roadhouse.
“Have a nice day,” the woman said behind him.
“Thank you,” Adalhard murmured as he pushed through the door and stepped into the oppressive heat.
Samantha was waiting at one end of the building, in the shade of the roof overhang, sipping her coffee. “Got everything?”
“Yes, my car is this way,” Adalhard replied. He ushered the woman before him, towards the rear of the roadhouse building.
Adalhard was not a rapist. He had never had sex by force with any woman. He was fit, his body was trim, muscular and well-defined, and he could very easily be described as a nice-looking man. Getting women into his bed had never been a problem. But what was he to do? The woman walking beside him to the rear of the roadhouse was expecting a lift, at least as far as Erldunda some 110 kilometres to the south. She was never going to consent to having a sexual relationship with him and she was going to discover very quickly that he was not going to stop at Erldunda and never had any intention of doing so. For the first time since he started his killing spree, he felt mildly uncomfortable about what he was about to do. Perhaps taking this woman was a mistake. Perhaps it was another example of common sense abandoning him.
Having spent three days in the dry river-bed bush camp, he had all but decided to head north, back towards Alice Springs and beyond. He wanted to pass through Alice Springs and head even further north, perhaps even as far as Darwin. It would be risky. He knew the police were looking for him and there would be many more of them in the Alice Springs region than he had come across since he had been on the run. But, if he got through Alice Springs, there would be plenty of opportunities to satisfy his killing urges as he headed north, he thought.
Samantha felt uneasy. Something just didn’t feel right. Why did the stranger park his vehicle at the rear of the roadhouse? There were no vehicles in the parking area in front of the roadhouse, so it was not a matter of there being no room to park at the front. Why drive around behind the roadhouse and park there? It didn’t make any sense to Samantha. But did it really matter? He seemed nice, he was certainly nice-looking, and he was nice enough to offer her a lift. So why did she feel this way? What difference did it make that he parked where he did? Might just as well come straight out and ask him, she decided. “Why did you park at the back?”
“What?”
“There is plenty of room around the front,” Samantha said. “I was wondering why you chose to park around the back.”
“I did not know how long I would be,” Adalhard answered. “I wanted to park in the shade.”
Now, the uneasiness was stronger. Samantha knew there was a line of trees in front of the roadhouse, along the length of the parking area adjacent the highway—more than enough shade if that was what the man really wanted.
Behind the roadhouse, Adalhard’s vehicle was the only vehicle in the area set aside as a caravan park. Samantha paused when she saw it, parked behind the small ablution block and out of sight from the roadhouse should anyone inside look out towards the rear of the premises. The nervous, edgy feeling was building into something she recognized as real fear.
“My car is just there,” Adalhard said. The taillights of the vehicle flashed once as he pressed the vehicle’s remote key.
Samantha half turned to face the man. “You know … I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll wait until a bit later in the day.” What a pitiful response, Samantha thought. She wanted a lift to Erldunda and the stranger was kind enough to offer her that lift. Why would she wait until later in the day and risk not getting a lift at all?
“Wait? Why wait? My car is right here,” Adalhard said nonchalantly. “I am going south, and I am happy to give you a ride to Erldunda. Please,” he raised his hand to the vehicle. “I would like some company.”
Silently, Samantha admonished herself. What was she apprehensive about? The man was friendly, he had a nice smile, and he was generous enough to offer her a lift. “Wait until a bit later in the day.” What sort of lame excuse was that to not accept his offer of a lift? Erldunda was only a little over an hour away. Accept his offer, she thought. What could go wrong?
“Okay, I apologise. I don’t normally hitchhike. I guess I’m a little nervous,” she smiled. “Thank you. You are very kind and I will ride along with you to Erldunda.”
Adalhard returned the smile. “Excellent.” He opened the rear canopy and deposited his bag of supplies inside, along with a small travel bag Samantha carried. Then he accompanied Samantha to the passenger side of the vehicle and opened the door for her. “Please, climb in,” he said with a disarming smile.
Samantha climbed into the passenger seat and looked about her. The
vehicle interior was neat and tidy, incongruent in comparison to the dust and dirt encrusted exterior. The man obviously cared enough about his possessions to keep his vehicle in as good condition as was possible and that had to be a good thing. Perhaps another indication of the man’s character, she thought.
The feelings of apprehension were still with her but had abated somewhat. Was it possible that she was reading her situation in the worst possible light? So far, the man had done nothing that would arouse suspicion, except for parking his vehicle behind the roadhouse as opposed to in front, and why that would arouse anyone’s suspicion completely escaped her.
The Stuarts Well roadhouse manager, Judy Brown, watched as Adalhard left the building with his bag of supplies. There was something about the man she did not like. He wore his hat pulled low over his face and would not look her in the eyes. Like almost everyone in the Northern Territory, Judy was aware of the stories in the media relating to the random murder of innocent tourists, not all that far from Stuarts Well, and for a brief moment her thoughts turned to the possibility that she had just served a mass murderer. Was she being over dramatic?
The man seemed friendly enough and, apart from the way he wore his hat and his not looking her in the eyes, there was nothing about him that would suggest he was a killer. But then, killers didn’t wander around with “I’m a killer” tattooed on their foreheads. There it was again, her imagination running rampart, something her husband was always chiding her about. Still, she watched the man as he left the store and headed towards the rear of the building.
Samantha looked across at the man as he climbed behind the wheel. He looked up and glanced quickly at her before starting the engine and moving away from the ablution block. He drove forward for a short time before completing a U-turn and heading back behind the roadhouse building towards the caravan park entrance. On exiting the caravan park, he turned left and headed west, along a rarely used dirt track.
It was the wrong way Samantha observed. The Stuart Highway was a right turn out of the caravan park, not a left turn. If the man continued, he would be driving into the desert.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“We go this way,” Adalhard said. “It is quicker.”
“No. It is quicker to take the highway.”
“We go this way,” Adalhard said again.
Samantha could feel her heart pounding against the wall of her chest. Something was wrong, very wrong. She turned and looked through the passenger side window and saw the empty caravan park passing by. Then, there was nothing. Just a few trees at the rear of the caravan park and then nothing. There was a track of sorts the man seemed to be following but it appeared rarely used and hard to define. It stretched out in front of the vehicle for as far as she could see and was undoubtedly heading deep into the Outback wasteland.
“You are going the wrong way!” Samantha insisted. “You need to turn around and go out to the highway.”
“No, we go this way.”
“Stop,” Samantha said loudly. “Stop here and let me out! I will walk back to the roadhouse.”
Adalhard said nothing. His eyes wide and focused on the track ahead, he gritted his teeth against the blood-rush flooding his mind. He removed his right hand and lowered it to the side pocket in the driver’s door, his fingers feeling the familiar shape of the gun stored there.
“Stop!” Samantha yelled.
The man was driving much too fast for the road conditions, she thought. Behind them, Stuarts Well was rapidly fading into the distance. Regardless, Samantha would happily walk all the way back if the man would just stop. “Stop here and let me out!”
“No.”
“What do you want with me?” Samantha demanded.
“Your company,” Adalhard answered.
It was not so much what Adalhard said, but the way he said it. His jaw set, his teeth clenched, the words came through his lips in the form of a lecherous sneer.
“My company?”
“Yes, we will be together for a while.”
“What exactly do you mean together?”
“You know, like lovers,” Adalhard said.
Oh shit, Samantha thought, he was going to rape her. What then? Would he rape her and then kill her? Suddenly, she remembered. There were news reports about a man killing people at random in the area south of Alice Springs. Was this the man? Was she going to die out here in the middle of nowhere? No, she would not let that happen. She would fight for her life before she let the man touch her. And, the fight was going to start right now.
Samantha clenched her right fist, tucked it in tightly against her side, and waited for just the right moment.
The moment came sooner than she anticipated. The man was focusing on the rough dirt track ahead. Occasionally, he would glance across at her and then back at the road. Samantha waited for his next glance. When it came, she paused until his eyes returned to the road. Then, she swung her fist out and across, hitting the man squarely on the point of his nose. Someone told her a long time ago that, if ever she had to hit a man, it should be a disabling hit—either a good, powerful kick between the legs or a hard hit on the point of the nose. Sitting behind the steering wheel made it impossible for her to kick him between the legs, so she had no choice. It had to be a hard blow to the nose, hard enough to disable even the strongest of men, at least temporarily.
She struck him with the back of her fist. It was a sudden and fast strike and it connected with Adalhard’s nose, exactly as she had hoped it would. She felt the nose crack beneath her hand as fragile bone and cartilage collapsed under the force.
Adalhard cried out, his voice filled with pain and surprise. Momentarily, he lost control of the vehicle and it swerved wildly, careering onto the dirt verge and threatening to roll. He fought to gain control, one hand on the wheel and the other clasping his shattered nose. Blood ran freely through his fingers and dripped onto his shirt front.
Then, Samantha struck again. This time she hit him on top of the hand covering his broken nose. It was another sickening blow and Adalhard let go of the steering wheel. With his bloodied left hand, he reached across to where Samantha sat poised, ready to strike a third time; his right hand left the steering wheel and clutched his nose. The vehicle slowed dramatically and veered off the track.
Before the vehicle came to a complete stop, Samantha undid her seatbelt, opened the passenger side door, and jumped from the vehicle. It was a clumsy and ungainly exit and she fell awkwardly onto the hard ground, her ankle turning at an unnatural angle. Like a hot needle inserted into the joint at her ankle, she cried out as pain shot through her lower leg.
“Please, please, don’t let it be broken,” she murmured as she struggled to stand. With nothing nearby to lean against, it took two attempts to get to her feet, only to discover she could not put any pressure on the foot without stabbing pain almost forcing her to her knees.
She turned and looked back the way they had come. In the far distance she could see a dark shape on the horizon. It would be the roadhouse, she thought. It looked small and far away. She wanted to run but doubted she could even walk without excruciating pain. Even if her ankle was only badly twisted and not broken, she would never outrun the man. Was this where she died? Out here in the middle of the burning desert? She dropped her head and waited for the inevitable.
A noise from the vehicle made her look up. The man climbed out of the vehicle and started slowly walking her way, one hand still clutching his injured and bleeding nose. In his free hand he held the gun. Samantha moaned with a combination of pain and fear.
Adalhard’s actions were instinctive. He stood on the brake pedal, jumped from the vehicle before it came to a complete stop, stumbled, and almost fell face-first onto the hard ground. He steadied himself against the side of the vehicle with one hand and held his bleeding nose with the other. Slowly, he walked to where the girl stood. He could see she was hurt, favouring one leg. Must have twisted her ankle when she fell from the vehicle, he gues
sed. Might even have broken it. She was going nowhere, he decided.
Slowly, he walked towards Samantha and stopped less than two metres in front of her. “You should not have hit me,” he said quietly. He raised the gun and fired.
At that range, it should have been an accurate shot, but it was quick, not well aimed, and his eyes were watery from the blow to his nose. The .45 round did not hit her in the head but struck her in the throat. Not a headshot as was his way, but a killing shot, nonetheless. The impact of the round sent her staggering backwards until she fell on her back on the hard ground.
Adalhard stepped closer; he saw her eyes were open, staring fixedly up at him as he stood over her. Adalhard stared back. It would take the woman a few moments to die. A half-smile formed on his lips beneath the bloody, misshapen nose. Her eyes, fixed and staring, did not flutter at the sound of his voice.
“You should not have done that,” he said, his voice nasally from the crushed nose. “You
should not have hit me.”
Samantha remained silent, staring unblinking at the man. He still held one hand over his nose, but it was not this hand that concerned Samantha. His free handheld a gun. It was pointed directly at her. Was he going to shoot her again?
“All you had to do was take me back to the roadhouse,” Samantha said, her voice bubbling and cracking with fear. She swallowed hard and emitted a strangled cough as blood flooded down her bullet ravaged throat and spilled from her mouth.
