An Easeful Death (18 page)

‘Take as long as you like,’ he prompted with a smile, eyes crinkling in a way that was hard to resist.

With another slurp her courage grew.

‘I was in love with him,’ she said. ‘I feel stupid about it now, but I fell for a classic con. He was clever, witty, charming and romantic when he wanted to be. He wooed me with flowers and expensive dinners. I never saw his other side. When we met he was the youngest senior sergeant in Australia, people said he was going far, would probably end up as commissioner one day. I was only a constable and I guess I was overawed. My father was dying from MS and Tye bent over backwards to help Mum and me out. We began to rely on his support more and more.’ She paused for another sip of champagne; this was getting easier by the moment.

‘My folks made a small fortune from the sale of the family station and Dad gave me the money for my house. When Tye and I decided to move in together, Dad was adamant he should sign some kind of tenancy agreement, just in case. I felt awkward about it, but it was Dad’s money after all, he had a right to insist. Tye signed, but once we set up house things hit the fan. He started to get moody and secretive, having irrational bursts of temper which I put down to pressures of the job—he was working Vice at the time. And then he started spending money. Jeez, did he spend up big. I questioned him about it once and he lashed out and knocked me to the ground. I was stunned. I didn’t know how to deal with it.’

The quaver in her voice betrayed her and she didn’t care. It was such a relief to finally be able to tell someone how it really was. Most of it.

‘Because you still loved him.’ De Vakey moved to her side and squatted down to her level. ‘Because he apologised and said he’d make it all up to you.’

She nodded. Boy, did Tye know how to make up. Sex with him had been terrific; she’d never understood why he needed to use the camera.

‘But the money still bothered me,’ she continued. ‘And I suppose there was no small amount of revenge involved in my motives, too, I mean how dare he hit me? I didn’t do anything rash, but I made some discreet enquiries, began to check up on him, and my suspicions grew. I eventually told a senior officer in Vice who had some doubts of his own, and he had Tye followed. He was caught red-handed receiving protection money from a pimp in Northbridge. There was an investigation. He denied the charges, as did the pimp, and there wasn’t enough evidence for prosecution. Tye was dismissed and left town—and I was carrying his baby.’

De Vakey refilled her glass. ‘A disgruntled cop, certainly. You’ve read my profile of the unsub. Could any of it apply to Davis?’

Stevie looked at her glass. The bubbles rose like strings of pearls. She said softly, ‘Well, he didn’t have any sexual hangups, although he did sometimes want me to pose for his camera.’ Bubbles caught in her throat. ‘I never did, of course.’ She made herself look directly at De Vakey. ‘The posing of the victims, you don’t think...’

He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

Relief washed over her as the load lifted. ‘And he came from a stable family background. Never once owned a German shepherd.’

The absurdity made her smile. Surely that nervous giggle wasn’t hers? It must have been—he smiled that irresistible crinkling smile again.

She tried to pull herself together. ‘The only thing that fits is the cop bit. Greed was the motive behind his shonky dealings. Looking back on it, I think that’s why he was interested in me. We’d just come into some family money.’

‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Stevie. You’re a beautiful woman, despite your efforts to hide it.’

It wasn’t the words, it was the way he said them. A wave of heat surged through her, from her toes to the lobes of her ears, a feeling she hadn’t had for a very long time.

It was time to go.

She rose to her feet, pretending she hadn’t heard him. Keeping her tone businesslike and her hand on the table for support, she said, ‘Just one more thing before I go. In the car you said you needed to say something you couldn’t say in front of Monty. Are you suspicious about someone in Central? I reckon Monty is, but he won’t say. Tell me, what’s on your mind?’

He paused to consider his answer and she took a swallow from her glass.

‘You,’ he said.

She nearly choked; bubbles came out of her nose, forcing her to lunge for the handkerchief on the bedside table. From the corner of her watering eye she saw his face light up with a grin. For God’s sake, he was laughing at her.

A small tide of champagne snowballed over the edge of the glass as she slammed it down. ‘You got me here under false pretences—I’m going,’ she said, storming over to the chair where she’d left her jacket and bag.

‘Stevie, please, listen to me.’ De Vakey stopped her with a touch on her arm.

When she shook off his grip, his hand moved to her other arm. She whirled around to meet his eyes, sure she’d see their familiar irritating gleam, his patronising way of telling her to lighten up and take herself less seriously. Instead she saw loneliness and need, another hint of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed in him at the abduction site—or was it merely the reflection of her own weakness?

She saw her failed relationships falling like rose petals at her feet.

The pressure of his fingers increased. ‘Stay. Please,’ he said in a voice soft as cotton. He sought the band holding her ponytail and released her hair, running his fingers through the silky smoothness as it cascaded around her shoulders like water.

She continued to cling to her jacket and bag, a half-hearted signal that this fleeting moment would soon be ending. Emotionally he meant nothing to her. Christ, she barely even liked him. But if that was the case, why did her body refuse to respond to her brain’s command to leave?

She took a breath. ‘You are a master at seduction, Mr De Vakey.’

‘I’m a master of everything I do.’

‘Humble, too,’ she smiled. ‘Arrogant bloody prick.’

When he laughed, her decision was made.

She allowed him to take her by the hand to the bed. As he leaned over to cover her mouth with his, the mattress sighed underneath them.

Right or wrong, she began to lose herself in him, to savour the almost forgotten thrill of her own arousal. She deserved this, didn’t she? God, it had been such a long time.

But fate decreed it hadn’t been long enough.

What the hell was that noise? It took a few seconds of confusion before she realised the nightmarish rhythm was coming from her bag at the side of the bed. De Vakey said to leave it, but she couldn’t.

She dived for her phone, shutting off the thumping beat of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’. For Christ’s sake, Barry had sabotaged her ring tone again.

‘Hooper.’ Breathless, she was all too aware of the hand creeping up her leg, kneading her inner thigh like a cat.

‘Stevie, I’ve just had a thought.’ Monty, oh God. She pushed De Vakey’s hand away and edged further down the bed.

‘Do you know if anything of significance was discovered at Michelle’s apartment?’ Monty asked.

‘I don’t think so. They dusted it for prints and only found Michelle’s and her cleaning lady’s. No sign that anyone else had been there in a long time.’

The silence stretched from Monty’s end of the phone. He said, ‘Are you okay? You sound out of breath.’

‘I’ve just been wrestling with Izzy.’ The lie scraped her throat like dry toast.

‘And you always telling me not to stir her up before bedtime.’

‘Yes, well...’

‘Shall I say goodnight to her?’

‘She’s just run off to the bathroom.’

After a beat Monty said, ‘I gather they didn’t find the safe.’

She stood up and turned her back on De Vakey. ‘Safe, what safe?’

‘It’s in the cavity of the dividing wall between the front entrance and the living area,’ Monty said.

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of any safe.’

‘I’d be interested to know what’s in it. Could you go and have a look? The combination’s 270568.’

Her eyes scanned the room in a panic. ‘Pen?’ she mouthed to De Vakey, wincing at the sound as he climbed off the bed.

‘The combination’s her birthday. I put the safe in for her myself a few years ago.’ She took the pen from De Vakey and repeated the number as she wrote it on her hand, then read the address back to him to make sure she’d got it right.

‘Is Dot staying over?’ Monty asked.

She hesitated, glanced at De Vakey. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. You could check on that safe now, then. You’ll have to call in at Central for the key and security doo-hickeys. The place is like Fort Knox. Ring me back even if you don’t find anything important, I don’t mind if you wake me. And give Izzy a hug from me, okay?’

She said she would, then clicked the off button.

‘I have to go,’ she said.

She couldn’t look at De Vakey as she scraped her hair back into its ponytail and rearranged her clothes. When she’d finished he took his phone from his pocket, showing her that it had been switched off.

‘Turn yours off next time,’ he said with a glint in his eye.

If only it was that simple.

Research has shown that serial killers have a tendency towards low arousal levels, meaning that they need more stimulation than the average person to obtain any degree of satisfaction. This leads to impulsive and thrill-seeking behaviour that is further exacerbated by an inhibition of the moral voice of reason.

De Vakey,
The Pursuit of Evil

Stevie’s mind was still churning as she turned the key in Michelle’s apartment door. What would have happened if the phone hadn’t interrupted them? Would she have had the strength to pull back? She smiled to herself—who was she kidding? Her body was already growing warm with the thought of what might have been.

But what she saw next put an end to that train of thought and left her standing in Michelle’s small marbled entrance, blinking and stunned.

The lights were on and a pair of men’s trainers stood to attention at the side of the door.

Had someone been here since the search? Was he here now?

She contemplated phoning for assistance, but hesitated. She could think of no explanation for her presence in Michelle’s apartment that wouldn’t get Monty into even deeper trouble.

She dropped the phone back into her bag and took a step forward. The light must have been left on after the morning’s search, she reasoned; there couldn’t possibly be anyone here now. And the trainers—hell, what was the point in speculating? She was going in.

The entrance was separated from the living area by a wall with a lighted alcove, just as Monty had said. In the alcove, on a white painted shelf above the hidden safe there rested a heavy vase of blown glass. Despite the fungal coating of fingerprint powder the vase burst with colourful prisms of light, patterning the pale walls with rainbow dots much like the ones cast by her mother’s crystal ring.

Although she had convinced herself there was no one in the apartment, she still rued the fact that Central dees didn’t carry guns without due cause. If they did, she would have drawn hers now, just as a precaution. As it was, she took the can of pepper spray from her bag and held it in front of herself like an actor in an insect spray commercial.

Her footsteps across the honey-coloured floorboards were silent in her air-soles, but her heart beat like a tom-tom in her chest. For someone who wasn’t nervous, she was doing a fair imitation.

A tinted chandelier bathed the apartment in an eerie yellow radiance. At the other end of the living room, French doors led to the balcony and a panoramic view of the City of Lights. Outside, car lights rippled like a creeping black tide up the dark windows of the surrounding skyscrapers. Other apartment blocks loomed towards her like ships in the night.

She called out loudly, ‘Armed police! Come out slowly with your hands away from your body!’

Silence.

She tiptoed into a tiny bedroom, looked under the bed, then into a wardrobe large enough to conceal a midget. She did the same in the larger spare room, knowing before she started there would be no one there, knowing she was only delaying the inevitable.

In the main bedroom she stood rigid before the mirrored robe. If someone
was
in there, she reasoned, he’d probably be more terrified than she was. She imagined a pair of darting eyes staring back at her through a chink in the door.

She grabbed a blood-red throw rug from the foot of the bed, counted to ten in her head and yanked open the sliding door.

Her breath tangled with the panicked cry of the shadowy figure as she hurled the rug at him. He was caught off guard and blinded and she had no trouble dragging him out of the cupboard along with half-a-dozen entangled coat hangers. With an expert kick, she had him face down on the floor with an arm up behind his back.

She breathed easier once she’d snapped on the handcuffs and patted him down, finding nothing except a wallet and some lock-picking tools. She ripped the rug off his head and ordered him to roll over.

Stevie stared down at the man for a moment, knowing the pale frightened face and the magnified blinking eyes instantly. He was Martin Sparrow, the albino cleaner from Central. Their prime suspect, the last person they knew to have seen Michelle alive.

Killers often returned to the scene of the crime, but the earlier search had ascertained that this was not the crime scene. Perhaps he wanted to get close to Michelle’s things, to savour the atmosphere and relive the experience. They had surmised that the killer might have controlled himself at the scene, saving his release for a later time. The thought of what he might have been doing in Michelle’s apartment made her skin crawl.

Sparrow turned his face away. She hauled him to his feet and shoved him onto the sofa in the living room. Ripping the bottle-thick glasses from his face she held the pepper spray to his skittering eyes.

‘You know what this is?’ she said evenly, congratulating herself for not giving away the tingling bursts of fear still coursing through her body.