A Time to Run (7 page)

Saturday 10:15 am

Tom was still sitting with Gavin, talking about nothing. One of the other boys, Aiden, had come out from the barracks to join them. Aiden's bowl of Rice Bubbles contrasted sharply with Gavin's beer. Beer was drunk at all times of the day at the station. It seemed perfectly normal to have a quiet sherbet after a long shift, even if it's 6 am and everyone else is just getting out of bed. Even bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, Aiden seemed to sense the tension but knew better than to ask questions. Some information cannot be requested, it can only be freely given at the right time. He had the sense not to ask, no one explained and so the three of them chatted about things that didn't matter.

Gavin tensed when Tom's phone rang. The incongruity of his ringtone playing The Rolling Stones' ‘Satisfaction' annoyed Gavin though he couldn't say why.

Tom checked the screen, got up and started walking away from Gavin as he answered it. Gavin heard him say, ‘G'day Jake,' before he walked into the back carpark and out of earshot. The phone call they were waiting for. Gavin wanted to follow him, but he also understood why Tom had walked away. Police were trained in communication; breaking bad news was part of the job and Tom would want to control how he conveyed the information.

It was a few minutes before Tom reappeared. Gavin realised that Tom had circled the station and entered through the front door, probably so he could speak with Bob before talking to Gavin. The look on Tom's face said it all.

He swallowed hard. ‘Come on, mate. We'll go talk to the sergeant and get the missing person report on.'

There were no excuses this time.

Saturday 10:19 am

Don laughed as he watched Sammi move out of the clearing, stumbling over a dead branch on the ground.

‘Stupid bitch,' he muttered, but watched her intently until the trees obscured her passage. He turned back to the dog and gave it a scratch between the ears. It lifted its head, pressed its muzzle under his hand and gave his palm a quick lick.

‘We're going to have some fun today. This one's going to be fast,' he said to the dog. ‘We'll get her, though.'

The dog – Zeus – pressed his shoulder against Don's knee. Zeus was his best friend, the only one he could trust with these adventures. He was sure Zeus enjoyed them nearly as much as he did. The dog understood the routine by now – he knew when it was his turn, when to break skin and taste blood. He also knew when to stop, to let his master have his turn. Don had done an excellent job of training him. He could sit a steak on the ground in front of Zeus and the dog would not touch it until Don gave him permission. He would also stop eating on command and leave the rest of his food untouched. Don had taken his time with Zeus's training once he had started to form his hunting plans. He'd had Zeus since he was a pup, and had given him basic training as a watchdog. The stakes had been raised since then and now it was imperative that the dog was completely under his control. Zeus knew who was boss in their pack of two.

Don had learnt to hunt in his late teens. He'd always been drawn to guns and had followed the proper protocols and had obtained a weapons licence and a couple of rifles. He had started out with a couple of like-minded mates, hunting roos and drinking beers. He had learnt what he could from them, but preferred his own company. Around the same time that he outgrew his hunting buddies, he acquired Zeus. By then he felt comfortable out in the bush by himself.

The first notch on his gun, the hooker, had been almost an accident. She had been completely at his mercy after he picked her up. He never took hookers to his house and he didn't like wasting money on a hotel room.

A fuck in the great outdoors had appealed to him, so on the spur of the moment, he decided to take her out into the bush, pitch the tent, maybe light a campfire. He usually had some basic gear in the back of the ute anyway.

He had driven out to a nearby state forest. He had kept the hooker quiet by saying he was going to pay her by the hour. But once they'd got there, she just wouldn't stop whinging. It was too cold, a mosquito bit her, the camp mattress was too thin. She destroyed the peace of the forest, she took away the buzz he had been hoping for. He hated her for it.

He'd only had his hunting knife with him that time, no guns. He hadn't planned this first one. He'd just snapped, lost his temper with her. He remembered so clearly going to the back of the ute and pulling out the knife – and the look on her face when he unsheathed it, the blade glistening in the light of the campfire.

‘Run,' he'd told her. ‘If you can get away from me, you can live.'

She had blundered into the bush, shrieking and sobbing. She had seemed almost as scared of the dark scrubby terrain as she had been of the man with the knife. He had given her a few minutes' head start but she never really had a chance. He could hear the leaves crunching under her footsteps, smell her panicky terror.

He had been astounded by how much pleasure the hunt was. He had moved in time with her footsteps so she wouldn't hear his footfalls as he closed in on her. His heart had started to beat faster and the thrill of the chase had made everything sharper, clearer, more focused. The adrenaline had made him feel strong as he closed in on her and she didn't even know it. He was a superhero, all-knowing and all-powerful. He grabbed her from behind and heard her sharp intake of breath. He had drawn the knife across her throat in one slash and let her fall to the ground to watch the look on her face as her blood spurted onto the dirt and leaves.

Once he'd done it, he was hooked. He had to do it again. Nothing compared to it. That moment, the split-second of death, had been more intense than anything in life. It had been better than sex. It was an all-powerful technicolour moment in an otherwise grey life. He knew he'd have to chase it again.

But he also knew he'd made mistakes. The location had been all wrong – too many people went through that park, and someone would find the corpse. He was still waiting to see it on the news: ‘Human remains located in state forest, police are appealing for public assistance'.

He had buried the body in a shallow grave. He hadn't brought a shovel and it was too hard to dig a proper hole with his hands and a stick. There'd been just enough dirt to cover the corpse, but not enough to stop any wild animals from digging it up for a snack.

But even when someone found that pile of bones, they had nothing to link it to him. They had already tried to pin it on him once. Stupid pigs had expected him to confess and apologise. With every day that passed, it became less likely that she would be found and identified.

As he was digging this first grave, he was planning his second kill. He would have to be more careful, choose a safer location, and bring his gun.

The cops had taken his guns when he had the first domestic violence order taken out against him. But they could only take the guns they knew about. He had a stolen gun, which he had hidden exceptionally well in a false wall on the side of Zeus's doghouse. When they were home, Zeus protected the yard. When they were out together, it was invariably because they were on a hunting trip and had the gun with him. Cops would never find it.

He had done his research and settled on Captain's Creek as a more suitable location than Yonga. Not too far away, but remote and uninteresting to campers and hikers. It was 450 square kilometres of scrubby terrain, the only distinguishing feature being the creek splitting it in two. He had done a couple of camping trips with his dirt bike, sussing it all out, working out how far he could drive in on the one rough track. It suited his purposes.

He started being a little more judicious with his victims. He wanted girls with some spirit, who could keep the game going longer than some blown-out old whore. He was very pleased with today's choice. Samantha Willis had not yet started crying and had shown a stubborn streak. He would enjoy it that much more when he broke her.

Saturday 10:21 am

Janine had switched on. Her mind ticked over as she made a mental list of what to follow up. This was going to be the mother of big jobs – a missing police officer.

The pressure was on now, all the boxes had to be ticked. The occurrence report had to go on first before the official investigation could start. The report had to be made in person by the informant, the boyfriend, who had first reported it. Jake had made the call to his academy buddy at Angel's Crossing to get that moving. She had also called her sergeant friend in Angel's Crossing to give him a heads up. It was a small tight community and he appreciated hearing the news from Janine rather than from the gossip machine. He was going to go to the station, let the senior sergeant know and provide support to the junior staff. As soon as the missing persons report went on, the staff out there would start buzzing.

The bosses at headquarters would get wind of it too. Someone would call the local inspector and it would get passed up the line. Part of Janine hoped this was not a false alarm. If they were acting too quickly and not giving her a chance to surface of her own accord, Sammi would have a lot of explaining to do. Her name would be known by the top bosses at headquarters and for all the wrong reasons.

However, if she was missing, if she did need help, then everyone would regret not taking action as soon as possible. Especially Janine. Whether or not Sammi was in The Job was beside the point. The sooner an investigation started, the fresher incidents were in people's minds, the more details they would find, and the better the chances of finding her.

For Janine, it was also a case of CYA – Cover Your Arse. If the worst-case scenario was true and an officer had been abducted, then an internal investigation would also be initiated. Would her actions and decisions stand up to scrutiny? Many, many officers had been burnt because they had acted too slowly or fobbed someone off because they thought nothing would come of it.

Janine knew this intimately, had experienced the rough end of the pineapple. No one had all the answers at an internal investigation, even when everything had been done by the book. There were no such things as clear-cut right and wrong answers. It was explanation and justification. But Janine had been caught once flick-passing a complaint. She had completely misjudged the seriousness of the information and had been left with no answers when the tough questions were asked. Her career had been left teetering.

So now she tended to overreact rather than underreact. Where a lazier cop may have delayed and made excuses for Sammi, Janine kicked off the investigation.

Now that the woman was officially listed as missing, Janine could start the formal process. Triangulation to try to pinpoint the location of Sammi's phone. Put together a profile of the barman. Check out the bar and see if they had any CCTV footage. Check out the bouncers on duty. Get a statement from the girlfriend.

And look for the barman who had left work so suddenly.

Op Echo also warranted a phone call. Based at headquarters, this was the operation room investigating the Corbett case. They generated the op names at random now, rather than calling it something to do with the case. The staff were pulled from different stations to provide ongoing manpower until the case was resolved one way or another. There were similarities which jumped out at Janine. Would the Op Echo staff be able to identify some more? The same instinct which told Janine to act on the first pieces of information here was also pushing her towards the Corbett case. Were these cases linked? Could there be more than one person stealing women from the streets of Brisbane? She needed more information – about Tahlia, about the missing prostitute, about Sammi.

All of this before they even contemplated talking to the barman who had left work early and picked up a blonde woman on the street.

It would be counterproductive to race around to his house without concrete evidence. He would laugh at them and send them on their way. Worse than that, he would know the police were on to him. Far better to gather enough evidence and turn up with a search warrant in hand. That way, he could be detained and they could go through his house with a fine tooth comb.

A movement across the room caught Janine's eyes. Jake was still on the phone but was waving a scrap of paper at her. She walked over and grabbed it. He had scribbled the missing persons report number on it. Janine took it and picked up her phone again.

Saturday 10:22 am

It was several minutes before Sammi's brain could process anything but the most basic message to move forward, and away from the killer.

Don't panic, deep breath, don't panic
, she repeated over and over to herself. She tried to slow her ragged breathing and quell the wave of fear that threatened to crash over the top of her. If she panicked, she had no hope. Her only chance was to use her brains and to plan. She breathed in time with her footsteps: inhale twice and exhale once. The rhythm slowly settled her breathing along with her mind.

An hour. She checked her watch. It was 10:23 am. Would he actually give her that long? Or was he just playing games? An hour was a long time. She knew she could cover maybe seven or eight kilometres through the bush if she pushed herself. Then she would have more time while he covered that distance to find her.

He seemed pretty sure of several things – sure he would be able to pick up her trail, sure she would not encounter anyone else who might be able to save her. But there must be some small chance that there might be someone else around. If he knew the area, someone else must know it too. It must be remote, but there was still a track of sorts that led out here. It had been a bumpy ride in the back of the ute, but she didn't remember them having to stop at any stage.

She slowed down and looked around her. He had specifically said not to try to return to the track he had driven in on. Sammi doubted she would be able to find it, even if she wanted to. She had a notoriously bad sense of direction and her biggest risk would be running in circles, maybe moving back towards Don rather than away from him.