A Time to Run (2 page)

They pulled into the carpark of what appeared to be a tavern. Sammi didn't know Brisbane very well, and had no idea how far they were from Candy's house. She knew her address though and that – along with a taxi ride – would soon have her hunting for Candy's hidden house keys.

As Matt and Candy untangled themselves and climbed out of the back seat, Sammi looked around. It wasn't the sort of place she would have thought a high-flying property developer would choose. It seemed more a pub than a club. A neon sign with a faux English pub picture declared it to be the Lion's Head.

As if reading her thoughts, Matt said, ‘It's not much, but it's perfect for this time of night, I think. It's a bit quieter, so we can ditch the crowds and get to know each other.'

He pinched Candy's bottom at that remark and she giggled. ‘Also, Candy said you guys live at Forest Lake, so it's close to home for you.'

Let him think Candy and Sammi lived together. That was fine by her. He was probably hoping his next stop would be Candy's bedroom.

They went inside, Sammi's eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. There were a few people at the bar, a handful on the dance floor. It was that time of night when people either hooked up or went home. Candy and Matt went straight to the dance floor, wrapped their arms around each other and swayed as they kissed.

Wayne moved closer to her, talking over the music and suddenly his hand was resting on her lower back just above her bottom. She flicked it off and turned so he was looking at her shoulder. Part of Sammi felt a stab of jealousy, wishing Gavin was here and she had a set of strong arms pulling her close, instead of Wayne with his sweaty hands and body odour.

Undaunted, Wayne headed onto the dance floor towards Candy and Matt. He grabbed Candy from behind and pressed up close, sandwiching her between Matt and him. Candy laughed and threw her head back on Wayne's shoulder, and nuzzled in when he kissed her neck.

It was obvious to Sammi that she was superfluous. Her night was over. She went to the bar and ordered a Coke. She was ready to sober up a bit more before she went back to Candy's house.

She rested against the bar and watched the dance floor. Would Candy bring them back to her place? She cringed at that thought. They were bound to be noisy. The night out with Candy had been a blast but right now, she wished she was safe at home in her own bed, with Gavin snoring softly next to her. She watched Candy grinding up against two strange men and felt deeply sorry for her that she hadn't found someone like Gav.

Her anger at Gavin had ebbed away, and all of the reasons she loved him pulled into focus again. Yeah, yeah, maybe she had overreacted. He had just blindsided her when he suggested they merge their bank accounts. She had never given it any thought. She had always earned her own money and spent it the way she saw fit. Then he had also insisted she move across to his bank, because they had lower fees. It all made sense, but it had felt like a tactic to control her. It wasn't about the money.

With a start, she remembered it had been similar when Gavin had first suggested they move in together. They'd had a big blow-up then too. Did she not trust him? Or was he asking for more of herself than she was willing to give? Sammi couldn't say. Alone and half-drunk in some dodgy pub was not the place to work it all out either.

‘I think you've been ditched,' said a voice beside her.

She looked around and saw the barman talking to her. It wasn't busy at the bar and she hadn't really moved since he served her the Coke.

She gave him a forced smile to be polite.

‘It looks that way, doesn't it?' she answered.

‘Does she know what she's doing?' he asked, nodding to Candy.

‘Yeah, she's a big girl, she can look after herself,' Sammi said.

‘What about you?' the barman said.

Sammi shook her head. ‘I'm not here to pick up,' she said, gesturing towards the writhing on the dance floor.

‘No, I mean, are you OK? It'll be a long night if you're waiting on her,' he said.

‘I'm fine. I'll go home when I'm ready,' she said.

Sammi guessed the barman was a bit older than her, maybe in his mid-thirties. Was he trying to pick her up? He had short black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His teeth were the yellow colour of a heavy smoker. He wasn't fat, but looked soft around the middle. Nothing about him appealed to Sammi.

‘Anyway, my name's Don,' he said, reaching over the bar to offer her his hand.

She tentatively shook it, looking at him quizzically.

He laughed. ‘I'm not trying to put the moves on you,' he said. ‘It's just by now, everyone's normally too drunk to have a conversation with. You look like you're sober enough for a chat.'

‘Yeah, I think I peaked too early. I don't do this often,' she told him. ‘My friend lives like this, but I'm a bit over it. It was fun for a while but this is waaay past my bedtime.'

‘I've spent my whole night listening to drunks trying to order over loud music.'

He leant over the bar towards her conspiratorially. ‘Sometimes if I can't understand what they're saying and I'm sick of saying “what?”, I just give them anything and see if they come back and complain. They never do.'

She laughed. ‘Don't like your job, hey?'

‘It's alright. I like the music most of the time and it's interesting watching all the guys and girls. Sometimes there's a bit of a show.' He gestured to Candy and the two men on the dance floor. ‘I think there's a lot of bad decisions made here.'

‘Candy will be fine, or so she keeps telling me. She just loves men,' Sammi said.

Don smiled. ‘Looks like everyone wins then.'

Sammi took a gulp of her drink. ‘Yeah. But my night's over. Nice chatting to you, Don,' she said.

‘See you later,' he said softly as she walked towards the dance floor.

Sammi drew Candy's hand away from Matt's bum and squeezed it to try to get her attention. Matt gave her a dirty look as she pulled Candy away.

‘Are you OK?' she said in Candy's ear over the music.

‘Yeah sweetie, these boys are going to look after me.' She was slurring her words a little.

‘I'm ready to go home. Do you want to come with me?' Sammi knew the answer already, but wanted to hear it from Candy.

‘No, you go ahead and don't wait up,' Candy replied, kissing her on the cheek.

Sammi gave a wave to the boys who were already pulling Candy back between them, and walked out the front door.

She passed the bouncer on the door. He was refusing entry to a boy who hardly looked old enough to be out by himself at night. The teen was swaying on his feet, his fly undone. He started to argue as the bouncer blocked his way, but there was no doubt who would be the loser when the pushing and shoving started. Sammi slipped past them and away from the thump of music.

As far as she could tell, it would only be a few minutes and a few dollars in a taxi to get to Candy's place. She would have been quite happy to walk – a brisk stroll would clear her head and help her sleep. But she wasn't sure which way Candy's house was. She didn't want to risk getting lost. She pulled up the number of the local taxi company saved on her phone which Candy had given her as part of their preparations for the night out.

As she walked away from the noise of the pub she registered a slow movement to her right. An old white ute pulled up next to her. It was an odd-looking vehicle, with the rear tray enclosed by a canopy made of chequerplate panels welded together. The passenger's window was down and the driver leant across to talk to her.

‘Hey, Sammi, you need a lift?'

Sammi immediately recognised the barman from the tavern. What was his name again? Dan? Don? Yes, Don. She stopped and turned.

‘Hi, Don. No, I'm just about to ring a taxi, but thanks for stopping.'

‘You'll be waiting a while this time of morning. I bet this wasn't how you wanted your night to end,' he said.

‘Honestly, knowing the way my friend works, I pretty much guessed I'd be going home alone,' she said and he smiled.

‘I'd be happier if I could give you a lift somewhere,' he said. ‘It will probably be an hour's wait for the taxi and there are some dodgy characters around this time of night.'

As if on cue, a red sedan appeared. A teenager with no shirt on hanging halfway out of the passenger's side window yelled, ‘Show us ya tiiiiiits,' as the car cruised past.

Don cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows. ‘Come on, I'll drop you home.'

Sammi hesitated. She didn't want to stand around waiting for a taxi. He was a stranger, but she was confident she could look after herself if he tried anything. She knew where he worked anyway.

‘OK, thanks,' she said. She climbed in and put her seatbelt on. The cab of the ute smelt like stale cigarette smoke and wet dog. Sammi was pleased she didn't have far to go. She looked at Don and forced a smile. He grabbed a bottle of Coke, one of two sitting in the cup holders.

‘I grabbed these before I left the bar. Wasn't that what you were drinking? It'll wash the smoke and sweat away,' he said, as he twisted the lid off and handed the bottle to her.

She smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks again.'

‘Where to?' he asked.

‘If you could just drop me at the shopping centre, that would be great.'

He nodded and did a U-turn.

Candy's house was just around the corner from the local shops. Sammi knew she'd be able to find her way from there. It would only be a half-minute's walk. No need to give Candy's home address to Don.

They drove for a few minutes, chatting about the pub and what had happened. Sammi found it increasingly hard to concentrate on the innocuous small talk. Her mouth felt dry and she was overwhelmingly thirsty. She emptied the rest of the Coke in a big gulp, her head spinning as she tipped it back to drain the last drops. A wave of nausea hit and although she sensed Don was still talking to her, she could no longer make any sense of it.

She looked across at him, and his face looked like it was melting, drips oozing between his goatee and dropping onto his lap. Her eyelids were forcing their way shut, independent of her wishes. Beads of sweat popped out across her forehead and her limbs felt leaden, like her blood had been replaced by half-set concrete.

Something was very wrong. This wasn't what it felt like to be drunk. She turned to look out the window and the world lurched violently. The streetlights looked like exploding suns and she squeezed her eyes shut against the glare. She was going to pass out and there was nothing she could do about it. She forced her eyes open one more time, looking to Don for help. She registered an ugly smirk on his face, but it was too late to do anything.

As she slumped into unconsciousness the last thing Sammi saw was Don's grinning face.

Saturday 4:18 am

Don went around the block again. He had been driving slower for the last few minutes as he watched the Zolpidem take effect. He was now just a few kilometres from his home. The silly bitch hadn't even noticed that he had headed off in the wrong direction as soon as she hopped into his car. He had driven in ever-decreasing circles around his house. The deeper she slipped under the effects of the drug, the tighter the circles he had driven. He wanted to be certain she was out cold before he pulled up. He had about an hour and a half when he could be certain she was down, probably a bit more. Enough time to get home and start the preparations.

Don lit a cigarette and looked at the unconscious figure. Now that he could study her face, she looked a little older than he had first thought, maybe in her mid-twenties. He reached over, ran his hand up her knee and squeezed her thigh. She was in shape – he could feel the firmness of muscle in her leg. He guessed she would have a bit of fight in her. That would make things a bit more interesting. Just the thought of it sent a little shiver of anticipation through him.

He reached over and grabbed the handbag resting in her lap. The roads were quiet this time of night. If he swerved a little, it didn't matter. If the cops should happen to pull him over, he could explain how his poor girlfriend had drunk too much and had fallen asleep, and he would blow zero in the breathalyser.

Don pulled into his driveway and opened the garage door. Once he turned off the engine, he opened her handbag and fished out her mobile phone. He looked at the screen and noted that there were no messages or missed calls. He turned it off, then opened her purse. He found her driver's licence, with her full name and date of birth.

Samantha Leigh Willis. He whispered it, rolling the words around his mouth like a vintage wine. Twenty-six years old. Yes, she would do nicely.

Saturday 5:50 am

Sammi wasn't even sure she was awake. She felt pain down the right side of her face and focused on it, because she knew it was real. Her eyes felt like they had been clamped shut and when she finally worked the right muscles to wrench her eyelids open, it did her no good. A thick suffocating blackness enveloped her. She couldn't think, couldn't remember what had happened, but a primitive instinct was urging her to rouse herself.

Her body was being jolted around and her face knocked against a hard metallic floor. Something hard pushed against her back between her shoulder blades.

The nausea was overwhelming. Her stomach contracted and the first mouthful of vomit came up. It was only then Sammi realised her mouth was sealed shut. She started to choke as the vomit had nowhere to go but back down. She tried to cough, forcing a small amount of spew out of her nose. She swallowed hard and snorted a burst of air to clear her nasal passage. Trying to ignore the smell of sputum and bile, she took long even breaths through her nose.

The rising fear helped clear her head, her thoughts slowly crystallising through the haze.

Sammi's mouth was taped shut. When she tried to reach up to her mouth, she became aware that her hands were bound behind her back. She inhaled as much air as her lungs would hold and closed her eyes. She lay there, as still as the bumping and jolting allowed, concentrating only on the next slow deep breath of air. She couldn't tell how long she lay there, doing nothing but breathing, trying to control the nausea. Slowly, as the urge to vomit started to fade, Sammi allowed her focus to shift and started to take notice of her surroundings.

She slowly stretched her legs and took some satisfaction in being able to push them in different directions. She pushed her right foot forward and touched a wall in front of her. When she stretched out her left leg, she bumped against another wall below her. As her eyes started to adjust to the darkness, she could make out some lines and specks of dim light. The steady and unmistakeable hum of an engine wormed itself into her consciousness.

Sammi slowly tried to lever herself into a sitting position by using her elbows to push back against the wall. It wasn't a flat wall; it was metal like the floor and grooved with ledges. A bump sent her back to the floor with a thud and a little groan came from the back of her throat. With her hands bound behind her back, there was no way to catch herself.

Slowly the jumbled pieces came together. The bar. Candy dancing with the two guys. Climbing into the barman's ute. A bottle of Coke. The barman's evil grin, ending in black.

Sammi was now sure she was in the tray of the white ute with the canopy.

There was only one explanation as to why she had passed out – she had been drugged. She had willingly climbed into the front seat of the ute and she was now trussed up in the back of it. She had no doubt the barman was behind the wheel.

The bile rose in her throat as the seriousness of her situation hit her. Sammi tried to breathe evenly. If she threw up, she would most probably choke to death. Only famous people died that way, inhaling their own vomit in trashed luxury hotel rooms, with booze and pills by their sides. She closed her eyes, feeling the cool metal vibrating under her cheek. More than anything, she needed to keep calm.

How could she have been so stupid? It hadn't seemed dumb at the time. A lift up the road from an employee of the pub she'd been at. She had been just about sober, she'd felt in control of herself, hadn't even considered how quickly she could be reduced to helpless and vulnerable.

Sammi pressed her hip against the floor, on the off-chance that she had slipped her phone in the pocket of her pants instead of her handbag. Nothing. As far as she could remember, she had nothing at all in her pockets. She wiggled around a bit, but doubted he had left her handbag with her. He had thought this through, maybe even done it before.

Dim light came through the cracks where the canopy joined the tray of the ute, drawing thin lines through the darkness. Dawn was breaking outside. If Sammi left the pub about 4 am and sunrise was about 6 am, she had probably been unconscious for at least two hours. Or possibly a whole day and night.

She paid attention to the pressure of her wrists taped against each other. Her arms were positioned one on top of the other, her left hand rested on her right forearm, and the back of her right hand pressed against the inside of her left forearm. She could still feel her watch band around her left wrist but it did her no good behind her back.

Sammi rolled onto her back, squashing her arms under her. She wiggled around, pushing her shoulders down to see if she could slide her bound wrists past her bottom to get them to the front of her body. It was no use. She craned her neck left and right to try to make out some shapes inside the ute. She still had her shoes on, strappy heels, which she kicked off. Leaning against the rear tailgate of the ute, she tentatively stretched her feet forward, sliding them along the floor. Her toes ran across the hard thing that had pushed against her back when she woke up. She recognised the patterned rubber of a tyre and slid her foot along spokes to a front fork. It was too big and heavy for a bicycle. There was a motorbike in the back of the ute. It did not move with the jolts that bumped her against the sides of the tray, suggesting it must be strapped down. Judging by the size of the tread on the tyres, it was a dirt bike.

To the side, wedged in place under the motorbike straps, were plastic storage boxes with lids on. There could be anything in there. It would be next to impossible for her to get the lids off.

What did she know about the man in the ute?

His name was Don, he was a barman at the Lion's Head Tavern so he was sane enough to hold down a job. He was about thirty-five to forty years old, and he drove a white Toyota Landcruiser with a closed-in tray.

And what did he know about her? He didn't know her name or where she lived. Sammi didn't even think she had mentioned Candy's name.

Then she realised he would have her handbag. She closed her eyes to make a mental inventory of what was inside. He'd have her driver's licence, credit card and mobile phone, along with a handful of bills and coins. She had not taken her purse with her so she didn't lose everything if it got lost or stolen. Her address was on her licence.

But she knew she wasn't in the back of his ute because he wanted to rob her. This wasn't about what he could steal out of her bag. So she was sure she had one thing in her favour, something he wouldn't know. Sammi was quite certain there was nothing in her handbag to tell him she was a cop.

Saturday 6:40 am

Gavin hardly slept. It was probably unresolved anger that had kept him tossing and turning all night. That and the empty space in the bed. Usually, the only time he slept alone was when Sammi was on night shift.

He'd dozed for a couple of hours before the wan light of dawn woke him. He hadn't moved since he woke, staying under the covers. The first thing he did was grab his mobile phone off the bedside table to check for a message that he knew wouldn't be there. Now his phone was clutched in his hand under the doona, just in case it rang.

A sense of unease had kept his mind active all night. He was worried but couldn't pinpoint exactly why. He wasn't sure if it was about their fight, the feeling that she didn't trust him enough. All he wanted to do was keep calling Sammi's number till she answered and he knew she was OK. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

But he knew ringing her phone at quarter to seven in the morning after she'd had a night out on the town would put her in an even worse mood. He didn't mind her going out, but usually they would have kissed and made up by now.

Gavin knew Sammi started work at midday. He always loaded her work rosters onto his phone so he knew what shift she was on. She took work seriously and would drag herself into work rather than call in with some dodgy excuse because she was hungover and tired.

It was a small town. Someone else probably knew by now that she hadn't been home all night. The night crews regularly did laps past all the other officers' houses, and would have seen that her car was not in the carport or yard. Sammi knew all of that. If she didn't turn up for her shift after a night out, there would be trouble, and not just from the boss. There would be a loss of reputation among her colleagues for letting the team down and for being soft. There was a certain bravado among Sammi's workmates. It was like a badge of honour, partying all night and then still putting in a day's work. The inevitable teasing if she turned up to work with a hangover was always better than the snide remarks if she didn't turn up at all.

He trusted Sammi, but she was with Candy. Gavin had met Candy only a couple of times but knew what she could get up to. He knew going out with Candy was Sammi's way of punishing him.

Gavin did a few calculations. Candy lived in the western suburbs of Brisbane, a good three hours' drive away. Sammi would have to be out of bed and on the road by about 8:45 am. Knowing her, she wouldn't want to cut it too fine. Gavin looked at the clock radio. He'd ring her at 8:15. She might even appreciate him waking her up in time so she wasn't late. He rolled over, shutting his eyes. He pretended Sammi was next to him and tried to relax.

Saturday 6:50 am

The drug fog had lifted a little and Sammi tried to focus. Now was the time to make a plan. She didn't know how much longer she would be bumping around in the back of the ute but she knew with absolute certainty that she would need all her wits about her once the ute stopped. She would have to think on her feet.

Now was the time to try some cool-headed practical thinking. After all, this was what she had been trained for.

Sammi had been a police officer for six years. She had joined the Queensland Police Service after a failed attempt to become an accountant. She completed two years of a finance degree before she realised she was sentencing herself to endless days in an office. She'd applied to the police halfway through her degree and had been accepted straightaway. She'd had two weeks' holidays to transition between a uni share house in Toowong and joining a recruit squad in the Police Academy at Oxley.

On her first day of station duty, which was like work experience for wannabe coppers, she knew she'd made the right choice. She loved the unexpected, turning up to jobs without knowing what would happen once she got out of the car. She relished driving fast with lights and sirens, looking for the best route as the traffic moved aside. She thrived on the surge of adrenaline when she turned up at a fist fight, hand on her capsicum spray, trying to sort out the goodies from the baddies. It was never that straightforward though. Sammi also enjoyed getting both sides of the story in any dispute, sifting through what was said and deciding who was lying to her – and why.

She was also developing into a good negotiator. Her supervisor in her first year had repeatedly told her, ‘Don't start a fight you can't finish.' Since she was an average-sized woman, and the people looking for a fight were more often than not men, she had become adept at talking people down. Separating, listening, defusing.

She had been in very few fights, and had finished them all, sometimes with a bit of help. That was one of the other great things about being a police officer – someone always had your back. She rarely worked alone, and always drew comfort from knowing that if she failed or didn't cope, her partner would pick up where she left off. It was an unwritten rule that even if you didn't particularly like the person you were working with, you stood behind them. The suit of blue tied you together, and you could count on whomever you were with on any given shift.

Right now, alone and in trouble, Sammi still felt as if someone was on her side. She knew that when she didn't turn up for work, one of her colleagues would start making phone calls and soon enough ten thousand coppers throughout the state would be on the lookout for her. It made her feel marginally better. She just had to give her buddies a bit of time to locate her.

Sammi knew she had to play her part to help them find her. She had to lay clues where she could, leave behind a trace of herself that might be found. She had to let them know she'd been in the back of this ute. Her wrists did not seem to be bound too tightly. Probably duct tape. She wriggled her hands, twisting them in opposing directions. Although she couldn't free herself, it did loosen the binding. Carefully, she swung herself onto her knees. She lifted her bound wrists as high as her shoulder joints would allow. She set one foot in front of her and slowly pushed off her knee. She kept her head down and her arms up. Trying to keep her balance as the ute bounced along, she splayed her hands and pushed her palms against the canopy roof. She was pretty certain she left close to a full set of handprints on the ceiling before a bump in the road made her body lurch forward and she crashed towards the floor. She couldn't reach out with her hands to catch herself so tipped her head downward and took the impact on her forehead rather than her face. It hurt, but she ignored the pain and concentrated on the task she had set herself. She reached upwards, then sideways, leaving as many sets of fingerprints as she could on as many surfaces as she could reach in the ute. If the tray of the ute was ever cleaned, some may just be missed. One print from her little finger would be enough to identify her. Any forensics officer would be able to confirm she had been here.

It was a start. Sammi felt a small sense of satisfaction that she had thought of this.

She looked at the motorbike in the back with her. Had it been there when she climbed into the ute? Clearly, he had taken her somewhere private where he could move her from the front to the back. Maybe he had gone somewhere and picked up the bike on the way. So the bike was probably part of his plans. She didn't know enough about mechanics to disable it, but surely if she dislodged something, a hose or a cable, it might slow him down. Time could make all the difference for her. Time for her colleagues to put together the pieces so she could be found.