A Time to Run (10 page)

‘OK, she leaves alone. Her friend has ditched her, she looks like she's headed home. The barman leaves very suddenly according to his colleague. Next thing we've got, Sammi's phone is turned off near the barman's house.' Janine was summarising as much for her benefit as for Jake's.

‘I was thinking,' Jake said, ‘you can see the barman getting her a drink. What if he spiked it?'

‘Definitely possible. Get yourself back here, Jake. We've got a search warrant to take out,' Janine said.

Saturday 11:39 am

With her hour's head start already behind her, Sammi constantly checked her watch. How far had she gone? Would she still be able to hear the motorbike when it started up? Would the motorbike even start? Had she successfully dis­abled it and bought herself a little more time? Or had he found her crude sabotage attempt and fixed it already? Questions tumbled through Sammi's mind, and she resolutely kept jogging as she tried to think up a plan. She was tiring, but she pushed through the pain, ignoring the ache in her leg muscles and the burn in her lungs.

Sammi shut off the part of her brain that wanted to cry hysterically, to scream ‘Why me?' and ‘It's not fair!', that wanted nothing else but to curl up in her mother's lap . . . that part was pushed back, far back with force. She was quite good at that. It was a skill that most police officers learnt through necessity. You had to switch off a part of yourself in order to knock on someone's door and tell them their daughter had died and then deal with the reaction.

Or sit with someone trapped in a car with bones poking out of their skin till the firefighters arrived to cut them free.

That part would bring her undone. Emotion could not play a part in what would happen out here in the bush. Logic, sharpness, preparedness – they were the only things that might see her through, that could give her a fighting chance. Once she started crying, that would be the end.

‘She wouldn't get up, all she did was cry. I slit her throat where she was . . .'

His words haunted her. Warned her. There would be no mercy. There was no point begging. Courage and strength may at least be respected by him. She could afford nothing less.

Slowly she started to shape a plan, some plan, any plan. Do something. Do not freeze. React, move, defend, attack.

She resolved to bite him if she got the chance. On the hand or face if she could. If it was somewhere conspicuous, it could be seen by any police officer who had a hunch and found a reason to talk to Don. She knew she had slightly crooked top teeth and had had a dental X-ray about a year ago. A forensic dentist would have no trouble linking her to the barman if she could leave her mark on him. A visible bite mark was immediately obvious – and suspicious.

With emotion squeezed out of the equation, she tried to imagine what would happen if he caught her. When he caught her. He wouldn't shoot her from afar, she was fairly certain of that. This was about power and fear, and he wanted to be in control of both. He couldn't do that from a distance.

He would probably set the dog on her, to bring her down and contain her. It was clearly well-trained. What could she do in the case of a dog attack? Someone had once told her that a dog's front legs only move backwards and forwards – they don't go out to the sides, and if you forced their legs apart, it caved in the dog's chest and killed it. Was it true? Could it work?

The dog was a brute. It was unlikely that she could do anything but curl into a ball and cover her throat so it didn't tear her jugular out. She could possibly ram her sharp stick into its eye or mouth.

But how would that affect the psycho if she harmed his dog? Incapacitating the dog would not save her from the maniac with a gun and a knife. She would need him to come in close enough for one-on-one contact, because that's all she had. Anything less than him being within kicking distance would be useless to her. He would surely have the gun trained on her till he drew the knife.

The staff at the Police Academy had taught her some skills, as did ongoing operational training. She could generally match it with any woman her own size but this was different.

She was determined not to freeze up. Fight or die – when you looked at it that way, there was no choice. She would have to rely on the element of surprise. And the power of the adrenaline coursing through her veins. He would probably not expect her to fight back. He had no reason to know she was a police officer.

What if she let the dog attack her and tried to play dead? Could she play dead under dog attack? Under normal circumstances no, but it's incredible what the human body can do when it has to. There's no way he would let the dog do more than take her down. He had made himself clear. His words flashed through her mind unbidden, sending a shiver that quaked her whole body.

Once he called the dog off, there was a very high chance he would come in close to her and this would be her only opportunity. She played scenarios through her head. She visualised herself jumping up, ramming her stick into his body, kicking him between the legs. Grab the gun, shoot the dog, incapacitate him.

She pictured the rifle. It would have a safety catch. She pictured what that might look like, how to flick it, how many rounds in the weapon before it needed reloading.

She pictured the dog. Some of these breeds had thick skulls. Would it be best to shoot it in the chest? She ran a multitude of scenarios through her head. Her job had taught her this – if you were prepared for a situation and had thought things through, when crunch time came, you would be more likely to react the way you needed to. If something didn't work, have a Plan B ready to put into place.

Over the years, she had made mistakes and errors of judgement. She had handled jobs badly. After each, she would think them through, analyse her actions and work out what should have been done. Each time she learnt and improved.

Thinking and planning. Thinking and planning. Thinking and planning, with every step she took.

Saturday 12:01 pm

A miserable silence descended on the station as Sammi's shift started without her. The usual light-hearted banter in the dayroom was absent. Everyone knew by now that she was officially a missing person. They were a tight-knit crew and the rumour had now been confirmed.

Her phone was off. Even if her battery was out, she would have found a way to call in by now. Her car was still parked three hours' drive away. Something had happened, and every minute that ticked by without news from Sammi confirmed it.

Tom left Gavin sitting outside the barracks in order to start his shift. Gavin had made it clear he wasn't going home till he heard some news.

The senior sergeant turned up in full uniform. Shane Layton, the boss of the station, was usually happy to be a manager and administrator. He generally didn't work on the weekend, so it was clear he was taking Sammi's disappearance seriously.

Shane came across to Tom and asked in a low voice, ‘Is Gavin still drinking out the back?'

Tom nodded glumly.

‘Don't kit up, but put your cuffs in your pocket just in case,' Shane said.

Tom nodded again and returned from the locker room a minute later.

‘Come on,' said Shane. Tom followed him out to the barracks where Gavin was sitting. Gavin half stood up to shake Shane's hand.

‘How're you holding up, mate?' Shane asked Gavin.

Gavin shrugged, still staring at the ground. The time of day – the start of Sammi's shift – was not lost on him. ‘I don't know what to do or what to think. I feel so useless,' he said.

‘Mate, there's something we can do. Don't take this the wrong way but we've got to go to your house and see what we can find,' Shane said.

Gavin gave him a hard look. ‘What do you mean? What do you think you're going to find?'

‘You said her overnight bag is gone. We need to try and work out what clothes she took, if there's anything special she took,' Shane answered.

‘You think she left me.' It was a statement, an accusation.

‘No, mate.' Shane shook his head emphatically to make his point. ‘I know you both too well. But when those Ds, the detectives from Brisbane, start asking questions, I want to have every answer for them. I want to be able to tell them she took one set of clothes with her and left all her favourite stuff behind. If they start suggesting she's done a runner on you, I want to be able to cut them down straightaway. We're on your side. OK?'

Gavin nodded slowly and rose to his feet.

It was unspoken that Gavin would not be driving home. They took the marked paddy wagon, only because it had a dual cab and Gavin could slide into the back seat.

They drove in silence. It was only a few minutes to Sammi and Gavin's house.

As he pulled up in the driveway, Shane asked, ‘Are we all on the same page here? We need to show that Sammi had every intention of coming home this morning and being at work by twelve. OK?'

Gavin nodded once.

‘Can you get into her email account, Gavin?' Shane asked.

‘I think so,' said Gavin. ‘She has a Hotmail account. I think it just logs her in automatically when you open Hotmail. We both use the same computer, but I use Yahoo.'

He gave Shane a pained look. ‘I don't really want to read her emails. We trust each other with things like that.'

‘She'll understand this time,' Shane said. ‘I'll do it if you'd prefer, if you can get me into the account first. Facebook too, if she uses it.'

Gavin drew his mouth into a tight line of disapproval.

‘Look, Gav, if we don't do it, Intel will hack in if this goes on any longer,' Shane said.

The thought of Sammi's boss or a complete stranger going through her emails seemed even more of an intrusion to Gavin than him doing it. He knew he wouldn't find anything. He knew what had happened that afternoon, and Sammi was doing nothing more than blowing off some steam when she left. He knew there had been no plan, there would be no secret emails to someone planning an escape. But, as Shane had said, he needed to prove that to everyone else.

Saturday 12:08 pm

It had been nearly two hours since Sammi received her one- hour head start. She had no idea how far she had run. If it wasn't for her watch, she would have guessed she'd been going twice that long. Her plan to keep her face towards the sun was now defunct, with the rays beating straight down on the top of her. She could only hope that she was still going in one direction, not in circles. She assumed her tinkering with the motorbike had given her some extra time. What for, though?

Where there was life, there was hope
, she thought. Maybe someone else was out here in the bush, hunting feral pigs rather than being hunted by a feral human. It was a long shot, and Sammi only gave it a fleeting thought.

Sammi knew only she could get herself out of this. Superman wasn't going to swoop down and rescue her. More time meant more chances to think, and more time for someone to look for her.

Sammi checked her watch again. 12:09 pm. She had been due at work nine minutes ago. It seemed so far away, work and her neatly ironed uniform and utility belt. Surely they would miss her at work. Even if Gavin thought she was still sulking somewhere, she would never use that as an excuse to not turn up to work or be unaccounted for. She wasn't the type to not show up and not phone in. She wondered briefly where her phone was and whether it might be traced. Someone would start looking for her, even if Gavin didn't.

This is what she would do herself for a missing colleague. He or she wouldn't be brushed off. Police were usually suspicious people, if not by nature then because they had seen the worst-case scenario too often. The times people went missing and were found again at a friend's house sleeping off a hangover – these were not the stories police heard.

When everything went wrong and everything pointed to the worst, that was when people called the cops. She had taken missing persons reports, had heard the words ‘it's not like her' uttered by anxious parents and lovers. Most of the time, it turned out for the best. Some of the time, it never turned out. The person just stayed missing and their loved ones lived in limbo, coming to a point where even bad news would be welcome, because it would mean the waiting was over and the grieving could begin.

Tahlia Corbett's family, for instance. Her parents were in purgatory, living a life of public pleas and media attention. There was a showroom dummy standing outside the nightclub in the city, dressed in a blue dress like the one she was last seen in. There were a thousand useless pieces of information from the public to sift through.

If she could make it through, Sammi vowed to get justice for Tahlia. The image of Tahlia's dismembered corpse came into her mind. That image would haunt her forever, as would the picture of Tahlia with utter terror in her eyes.

Sammi knew that fear. There was a similar photo of her on the same camera.

She must survive. For herself. For the other girls. For their families.

Saturday 12:16 pm

Gavin entered his home just in front of Tom and Shane. For the first time, Gavin noticed how dark the house was at this time of day. Even Jess barking at the back door sounded sombre and subdued.

Shane moved quickly through the house and Gavin could see him glancing into each room. He knew Shane was just doing his job, but he felt the invasion of privacy.

Gavin wanted to believe what Shane had told him, that Sammi hadn't run off. But if she hadn't left him, the alternative was just too grim to contemplate.

Together, they went through Sammi's wardrobe. They identified that an overnight bag, some toiletries, a pair of shoes, some black slacks and a white singlet with a rock'n'roll motif were missing. Gavin couldn't be certain of anything else. Her favourite clothes were still on their hangers. There were no signs that she had done anything but pack for a single night out.

Her email was the same. Although Gavin was the one at the keyboard, Shane watched from behind. It was awkward and Gavin tried to go through it as quickly as possible, scrolling through the inbox, the sent messages and deleted items. As much as everyone wanted to respect Sammi's privacy, Shane still had to point out and open emails to check their contents. It felt like an intellectual strip search to Gavin.

He checked his watch yet again, each minute pulling Sammi further away from him. Eventually, Shane ran out of questions for Gavin and he and Tom moved towards the front door.

‘How well do you know Sammi's parents?' Shane asked Gavin.

Gavin blinked twice as the realisation dawned on him that there were people who would take these developments just as hard as him.

‘We need to check if they've heard from Sammi. But that's going to mean a bit of explaining,' Shane said.

Gavin nodded slowly.

‘Would you like me to call them? Or do you think it would be better coming from you?' Shane asked.

‘I'll do it,' Gavin said. ‘They're nice people, I get along with them. Just give me a minute to think about how best to explain it.'

‘OK, we'll leave it with you,' Shane said. ‘Obviously, call us if there's any news. And we'll let you know if we hear anything.'

Gavin nodded. There was nothing he could say right now.

Saturday 12:32 pm

She had heard the motorbike for about the last twenty minutes. At first, it had been such a distant hum that she ignored it, pretended it was an insect. But it crept inexorably closer, a steady mechanic growl. He was in no hurry. The engine was not revving, but it was slowly and surely closing in on her. The time to run was over. It was time to fight.

Sammi had decided on her plan. She would hide as best she could. She had her sharp stick in one hand and her rock in the other hand.

With the sound of the bike getting close, Sammi searched for a suitable hiding spot. She chose a large fallen log. It was rotting and was partially hollow, so Sammi could crouch right down behind it, even a little inside it and not be seen. There were also a few cracks in the wood where she could see right through, so she could watch as well. It was as good a hiding place as she was likely to find. She had specifically looked for a spot where she didn't have to lie down. It was important to her that she stayed on her feet.

It was excruciating, waiting for the motorbike to reach her. She kept willing it to change direction, to fade off into the distance again. Her heart thumped in her ears and she took long deep breaths, trying to keep her head clear. The enormity of her situation started to bubble up inside her, making her tremble. She had tried so hard to stay in the moment, to just deal with the nightmare in small, manageable sections. To look at it all was to drown under the terror, the isolation, the futility.

Tears had been just one undisciplined moment away since Sammi had rolled out of the back of his ute. A small cry of terror escaped from her throat, shocking her with its uncontrollable desperation. Fear immediately rushed up over the despair, and stopped the tears before they reached her eyes.

How far had that cry travelled? Had he heard it over the drone of the motorbike? She took a gulp of air and knew she really did want to live. She put the knuckle of her index finger in her mouth and bit down. The sharp pain brought her back into the moment. That's when the motorbike stopped.

Sammi could see him through her little peepholes. The barman swung his leg over the back of the bike and kicked out the stand. He was about twenty metres away. The rifle was slung over his shoulder. The dog jumped off the small tray at the back. It immediately started to sniff around, till the barman called it back with an inaudible command. Sammi could make out the perverse smile on his face.

‘Saaaa-
man
-tha,' he sang out, ‘come out, come out wherever you are. It's time to die now.'

He took two steps in her direction. ‘It's been fun, you've done a good job. Even the loose wire on the bike. That only held me up for a minute or two, but very inventive. You've set the bar high for the next girl. I might have to take two next time, just to keep it interesting. Much better than the last girl. But it's time for you to join her now.' He kicked a rock and it skittered towards her hiding place.

‘Aren't you scared? Oh, I see now. You're shaking so much that whole log's starting to wobble.' He turned to the dog, bent down and pulled an item out of his pocket. Sammi recognised it as her underpants. He spoke to the dog in a low voice, holding her underwear in front of its muzzle.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and swung the rifle into his hands. He aimed it towards the rotting log. Sammi instinctively flattened herself against the ground. He fired a single shot into the air about a metre above her head. Sammi was so terrified she wet herself, but hardly noticed the pool of warm liquid soaking her shorts. She could no longer think rationally and acted on instinct alone. Her throat constricted as if evil hands were squeezing it tight, making it almost impossible to breathe. He was yelling something now, and he said it three times before Sammi could focus on the words themselves.

‘I'm having too much fun,' he called out, laughing between sentences. ‘You've earned yourself another quarter of an hour.'

He took aim again, sizing up the patch of air above the log through his scope. ‘Go on. Run!' he called. ‘See you in fifteen minutes.'

The message got through from Sammi's brains to her legs. She tried to stay low and she ran. She didn't know what direction. She just ran away from him. She heard his deliberate laugh as she zigzagged away and into the scrub. She didn't know how much time had passed before she thought to check her watch again.

Saturday 12:40 pm

The magistrate had been called in on the weekend to hear this search warrant application. It was up to him to decide whether to grant police the legal power to invade someone's home and privacy. Janine had hesitated to contact him. The last thing she wanted was for him to be cranky about the call-out but there was no other way. She hoped fervently that he would agree with her. She gave him her most apologetic smile as she passed him the application, while getting ready to argue her case if necessary.