The Charlton Affair (28 page)

*****

Phoebe sat on the edge of the bed in her new place of confinement. When he had finally taken off her blindfold and released her bonds, it looked like she was in a bedroom in a suburban home. It was a lovely room, luxurious compared to her cell. They hadn’t driven far enough to leave Brisbane. She realized he probably didn’t have another handy warehouse up his sleeve, so this must be his home. 

Before he had taken off the blindfold, he had tied her to the heavy wooden bed frame. The sounds of an electric drill and furniture being moved out had resounded in the room. After the noise had subsided, he had informed her the windows were screwed shut and a bolt was on the door. He had said he would allow her a trip to the bathroom if she behaved herself. Otherwise there was a bucket on the floor.

“There’s no point screaming for help, my dear,” he had explained.

“I’ll hear you and then I’ll hurt you. Do you want to be bound and have your mouth taped up again?”

She shook her head. The feeling of not quite being able to breath enough air in was still haunting her. She never wanted to have her mouth taped up again.

“The neighbors won’t hear you anyway. On one side they’re away and the old couple on the other side are quite deaf,” he had smugly informed her.

After locking her in the room, he had stomped off and she had heard water running somewhere.

Surveying the room, she could see bars on the windows and dust marks on the floor where items had been removed. The only things left in the room were the bed and a heavy looking set of drawers. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that there were no cameras here. After turning off the light, she stood at her window, looking out over a heavily treed yard in the faint moonlight. At least she was on the ground floor. Trying to fight off the waves of hopelessness, nausea and despair that threatened to overwhelm her, she focused on the trees, the only other living things she could see.

Chapter Eighteen

Sally woke up abruptly, disoriented. The sound of a telephone ringing and a door slamming in the background startled her out of her stupor and she looked around.
Oh my God, I’m in the Inspector’s office!
Quickly, she sat up.
Looking at her watch, she saw it was 0630 hours. She remembered speaking to him in his office earlier, after the raid on the Mayne site. She must have dozed off.

The door opened and the Inspector entered. He handed her a cup of the awful coffee brewed at the station. The smell was simultaneously enticing and off-putting.

“You’ve been out for about two hours,” he explained.

Sheepishly she asked, “But what about you, sir? I took your couch.”

“I had a nap on the sick-bay bed,” he said.

She sipped her coffee, trying to shake off her exhaustion.

“We’re convening the MIR in fifteen minutes,” he said.

After drinking the execrable brew quickly, she excused herself. She went to freshen up in the women’s locker room on the ground floor. Looking at her exhausted features in the mirror after a quick shower, she saw a bone tired woman who hadn’t seen her husband or children for almost two days. Frowning, she looked a bit harder and saw a detective, determined to catch a ruthless murderer and kidnapper. She put on a fresh shirt and went up to the MIR.

*****

Charlie stared out of her balcony window at nothing in particular. She had finally stopped pacing. Early morning dog walkers and joggers went past without her even noticing them. Amanda’s call had woken her hours ago and she was still feverishly waiting for news. She felt utterly useless.
There must be something I can do to help
, she wondered desperately. She was just about to dial Amanda again when the phone rang. Darren’s number came up on the display and she answered it immediately.

*****

“Shut the fuck up!” Marsh thundered. Sally could see that, exhausted by the last two days, he was beyond even pretending to be civil.

The officers in the MIR fell instantly silent. The day shift crews were present along with key night-shift people, about to go home.

Sally sat quietly off to one side, Phillips and Poulsen with her.

“Cooper, report,” he ordered.

“Sir, we’ve tracked the Nissan Maxima through CCTV and traffic control footage. We know he went northward up Gympie Road at just before 0200 hours. He diverted onto Rode Road, heading toward West Chermside. There’s no more footage after that.”

“Price. Forensics?” Marsh demanded.

“Sir, they’re testing the used water bottles. No results yet, but the hair they found in the cot is a match to Phoebe Rawlins. There’s more testing being done in relation to a cup we found in the surveillance room and of course the blood in the container, although we assume that will be Mitchell’s blood. We have fingerprints, but nothing in the system matches them.”

“And Mitchell?”

“He’s going to be unconscious for an unknown period, according to the doctor. I don’t know when or even if we’ll be able to interview him, sir.”

Marsh frowned.

“Sir,” Price continued, “the equipment at the site confirms we’re dealing with an IT expert.”

Marsh told everyone to look at the screen. Pressing a button he brought an image up for everyone to see.

“That’s a picture of Morrow from his Naval records. He would have been about twenty-four.”

Everyone looked carefully at Morrow’s face. Sally and Phillips confirmed the image was a younger version of the man they’d seen in the gym.

“He was a radio and communications officer. There’s literally no record of Morrow after he left the Navy. It’s like he vanished. He must have assumed another identity,” Marsh thumped the desk he was standing next to in frustration.

He said, “Our legal people tell me the Judge was reluctant to give us a warrant for the accountant’s premises earlier. He didn’t throw out the application, just told us to get a bit more. He’s reconsidering it now after the events of this morning. We should have a decision soon. I want a team on stand-by, ready to go the moment we hear.”

“Price, is there anything new from the surveillance on Michael Rawlins?”

“No sir. No contact as yet.”

“Cooper, before you go home and get some sleep, get someone to follow up the information about infringements for that Nissan Maxima. And I know it’s impossible, but your team will have to examine all the traffic cameras and footage we have in a radius around Rode Road.”

Cooper nodded, “It’s already being done, sir,” he replied tiredly.

*****

Phoebe heard the water running again. Soon afterwards, footsteps came down the hall and her door opened. She looked at him in horror. He wore a grin on his face and held ropes in his large meaty hands.

He grabbed her roughly and threw her to the bed. He leaned over and pressed her down with the full weight of his heavily muscled torso.

“No, my dear. I’m not going to kill you just yet.” He smirked at her lasciviously, and whispered close to her face, “But perhaps it’s time for something almost as enjoyable?”

He ran a hand up her side, lingering as he groped at her breast. Trapped and helpless under his bulk, she shuddered in revulsion. He got up and lovingly tied her arms and legs to the bed frame as his eyes and hands roamed over her body.

His thick fingers toyed with the top button of her jeans. Her eyes bulged in horrified disbelief at what was happening. It suddenly occurred to her that there might be worse things than death. She opened her mouth to beg him to stop when suddenly he sighed and removed his hand. He looked down at her with an almost tender expression on his face. She felt enormous relief until she looked at his eyes. They maintained their predatory gleam. Leaning over, he tenderly tucked a stray wisp of her auburn hair behind her ear.

Utterly disgusted, she stifled her terror and somehow summoned the courage to challenge him. “You seem quite excited this morning?” She jibed.

Laughing at her, he replied, “Yes my dear, I am. Today I meet your husband. And he will give me my money, as well as a lot of fun.” He smirked at her, adding, “Of course, that won’t save you.”

He placed tape over her mouth and left the room. She heard him whistling merrily as he walked away. Desperately trying not to gulp or sob under the tape, she concentrated hard on breathing slowly and deeply through her nose. She heard the sound of his car starting and the garage door going up.

As he drove out of the garage, she recalled that she had recommended him to Michael’s lawyer.
It’s my fault.
Poor Michael!
Her mind reeled at what the confrontation with his brother would do to him in his fragile state.

Painfully, she tried to open her jaw against the tape, pulling hard. This time she had kept her mouth shut when he taped it, in the hope of having more leverage. Nothing happened. Determined, she continued to work her jaw and mouth. She would not stop until she shifted the tape, as agonizing as it was.

*****

Charlie negotiated her way through the sprawling edifice that was the Royal Brisbane and Women’s Hospital in Herston. After taking the lift up to the tenth floor, she made her way to the Intensive Care Unit, wondering how they could possibly get the patients there quickly. It was quite a distance from the ground floor Emergency Department.

Darren had explained what the police found at the industrial site in Mayne. Shattered they had not been quick enough to rescue Phoebe, Charlie was nonetheless incredibly grateful for Mark's recovery. She prayed he would survive intact.

She cursed inwardly and thought,
if only Amanda had been quicker!
She knew it wasn’t Amanda’s fault but she wished it had been different. From what Darren had said, the police were only moments away from the discovery themselves, but Amanda had been sitting outside the place the day before. She had been unwittingly drawn away from it by the events at Phoebe’s apartment.

She entered the ICU and paused for a moment to obey the instructions on the wall to switch off her mobile telephone. After asking for directions to Mark's bed, she went to the end of the unit and peered behind the curtains of Bed 10. Roman sat holding Mark's limp hand through the side rails of the complicated looking hospital bed. Unconscious, Mark had a tube down his throat and was connected to a series of machines and infusions. A nurse sat on a stool pulled up to a table near the bedside, filling out a chart.

Charlie cleared her throat mildly. Roman looked up tiredly and nodded at her to come in. The nurse said nothing.

She drew up a chair to sit down next to Roman, leaning over to hug him briefly.

“How is he?” she asked, concerned.

Roman’s pain-wracked unshaven face already gave her the answer.

"They're keeping him in an induced coma until he's completely rehydrated and they're certain he hasn't suffered any brain damage. They did an MRI just before. We should know today,” Roman replied, his voice breaking.

She leaned over and gently kissed his cheek, placing her arm over his broad shoulders. He leaned into her and cried quietly. She couldn't stop her own tears from falling. Her tears fell for him and for Mark, but mostly for Phoebe.

*****

Michael sat quietly in the waiting room of the Wilston Wellness Center. He was ten minutes early for his 9 AM appointment. He filled out all of the paperwork and left it with the woman at reception. He looked around the room. The place was pleasantly neutral. He supposed a counseling center couldn’t afford to be too gaudy.

The woman at reception approached him and politely asked him to follow her. She led him to a small room and left him to wait inside.

“Doctor Briggs will be in shortly,” she said.

He looked around the room. Again, it was painted in neutral tones. The chair was comfortable and there was an ample supply of tissues in the bookcase, with an open packet on the desk.

The door opened and a large muscular man entered. His features were pleasant and his eyes seemed gentle behind small round glasses.

He smiled at Michael and held out his hand, “Martin Briggs,” he said.

Michael shook it, “Michael Rawlins,” he replied.

Briggs held his hand a fraction too long, before motioning for Michael to sit again. He took the seat opposite and looked down at the checklist Michael had filled out at reception.

“I see that you’re seeing a psychiatrist. That’s good. You need some support to deal with childhood trauma and some more recent issues. Your wife recommended you. Lovely woman, by the way.”

Michael nodded. As he looked at Doctor Briggs, he began to get a prickling sensation on the back of his hands. There was something about his voice that tugged at him.

“Well, this session is just a getting to know each other session, more than anything,” Doctor Briggs explained, looking over his glasses at Michael.

Michael was riveted by his eyes. Calm, clear, blue and utterly unfeeling. They held a certain smugness that was familiar to Michael. Alarm bells started going off in his head. Suddenly Michael felt extremely scared and claustrophobic. He had to get out of the small room.

He stood up and made to leave, saying in a panicky voice, “Sorry, I have to get out of here.”

A commanding voice said, “Sit down, Jefferson.”

Michael froze. Bile rose in his throat as he looked into the menacing eyes of his older brother.

*****

Amanda carefully laid out her butchers paper sheets in Charlie’s office. They covered the whole floor. Finding nothing, Amanda knew what she had to do. Her father had always said, “The devil’s in the detail. Always go back over the details where you’re stumped. There’ll be something you’ve missed.”

Sighing, she looked at the screen shots of Phoebe’s Facebook page. She ticked off each item as she worked. Coming to a post from the Wilston Wellness Center, she realized she hadn’t really looked at it before. She knew Phoebe was in therapy.
Who wouldn’t be after everything the poor woman’s been through?
On top of someone trying to murder her, she has that whole thing with Charlie going on
.

For thoroughness, she brought up the Wellness Center’s page on the web. Looking through it carefully, she perused the staff profiles. The picture of Doctor Martin Briggs showed a muscular man. His glasses were a distraction, but behind them she could see a faint resemblance to Michael, just in the shape of his eyes. His bio listed skills in IT and fitness. She gasped in horror.

She called Charlie, but her phone went straight to voicemail. After leaving a message, she contemplated what to do next. The sensible thing to do would be to call the police.

*****

Michael stared at his brother with unseeing eyes. Inside, he was awash with silent panic, outside he was frozen, just like when he was inside that small dark space as a child, hearing the gunshots that killed his family. Completely unable to process what his brother was saying to him, he sat very still in his chair.