Vodka Doesn't Freeze (16 page)

OL
N THE TRAIN BACK
to the city, Jill felt a growing sense of gloom with every station that flashed by. The weekend had been great, but already the peaceful feeling of the past two days was calcifying in her chest. She'd never felt so conflicted about a case before. Each time she applied her mind to discovering the identity of the killer, she felt guilty. Such an outcome could mean more child molesters left alive. Of course, she had no way of knowing that the murderer would kill again. Maybe all the scores had been settled.

Her eyes roamed the carriage. A huddle of high school kids, speaking in a language all their own, laughed intimately, secure in the belief that they knew more about the real world than the boring adults around them. The girls saw her staring and bent their heads together, whispering. Their giggles split the air. Jill turned her face to the window and thought about what Honey and Mia would have been like at their age. Maybe there'd have been no discernible difference – even kids living in hell could seem confident and happy when with their friends.

She hadn't talked to Honey since the club, and she realised that she kind of missed her. When had that happened? Mixed in with mistrust and wariness was respect for the girl who'd brought herself up through more adversity than most. Jill had also been experiencing a strange perceptual illusion with many people lately, and this had happened with Honey – she found that when she stared into some faces she could see through their adult features as though seeing the face of the child they had once been. It immediately endeared them to her, and it was hard to stay angry with someone after she'd imagined them this way.

What's happening to me? she wondered. Am I getting clucky? She'd been told about the maternal urge that could belt a woman over the head at about her age, and she'd been on the lookout for it for a couple of years. She'd once had a hard-arsed trainer at the police academy who'd been happily married for three years – until she turned thirty-four, and suddenly needed to be pregnant. The trainer had told her husband she wanted to have a baby, and had learned that he'd been growing increasingly disinclined to have children at all. Within twelve months, the woman had divorced and remarried, the intervening year spent like a heat-seeking missile, searching for a mate with whom she could procreate. Jill still saw the woman from time to time when she attended a training course. She had three children now, and was working part-time, fitting her job in around canteen duty.

Jill knew that it was the children involved in this case who kept her compelled to solve it. It was more like two cases really – the dead men could open a door that led to other men like them. She imagined that door opening and spiders teeming out, a roiling black mass of scrabbling predators. She shuddered, the feeling of gloom settling closer around her shoulders, wrapping her head in a blank fog. She consciously slowed her breathing, and deliberately changed her thought patterns, considering her next moves.

There was a lot more she could learn from Honey. It was time to get back in touch. Jill flipped open the cover of her mobile phone and reached into her bag for her palm pilot, containing the names and addresses of all of her contacts.

She felt him before she saw him, and didn't look up. Eight o'clock, or to her left and slightly behind her – she was being watched. The watcher was getting ready to move, and Jill felt a cold thread of adrenalin dart through her veins. She was on her feet before he'd moved. She sized him up. Twenty or so. Thin. Her eyes locked with his and she saw his face register surprise at her movement, and his conviction crumble. He looked down, and she knew he wasn't going to be a problem. She kept her eyes on him a few beats longer to make sure, but he knew she was not the easy road to a mobile phone. He kept his eyes on his shoes; probably made her for a cop. As she stared, his features morphed into those of a five-year-old, and she shook her head. What
was
that?

Although she no longer thought he was a threat, Jill got up and moved anyway. She made her way towards the guard's carriage. They were drawing close to Strathfield now and they'd soon be at Central. She thought about telling the guard about the guy back there, but what could she say? He hadn't done anything. Yet. She was sure someone else would be rolled for their phone before long.

Instead, she stood at the door intending to make a couple of calls. The first to Scotty. She smiled and moved into a corner as his voice boomed out of the speaker.

'J!' he yelled enthusiastically. 'Coming back?'

'Yeah. Hi, Scotty. You at work yet?'

'On my way.'

'Could you pick me up from Central in about ten, fifteen?'

'On my way. Meet you at the House,' he said, using cop speak for the police station. 'Had breakfast?'

'No,' she smiled. It was always about food with Scotty. 'I'll shout you to thank you for picking me up. See you then.'

Jill disconnected and then accessed Honey's number on her palm pilot, but reconsidered calling right now. It's nine o'clock on a Monday morning, she reminded herself. Honey would be asleep and not happy, although it'd serve her right for some of the games she'd played with Jill. Anyway, the train was at Redfern and would be pulling into Central any moment.

She worked her way through a smoothie for breakfast while

Scotty downed two bacon and egg rolls and a chocolate milk.

'How's your mum?' he wanted to know.

'Great. It was good to get away. She says hi.'

'What about your ribs?'

'Fine. I'm all right. How was your weekend?'

They made small talk back to Maroubra, and as they pulled into the station, Jill told Scotty about her plan to contact Honey later that morning to set up another meeting.

'We going after Sebastian?' he asked.

'Soon.'

They entered the squad room and Emma Gibson caught them at the door. She slinked around a desk and moved to stand under Scotty's chin.

'Andreessen's looking for you.' She blinked up at him. 'You're always late.'

'Thanks Emma,' he said, turning towards the inspector's office.

'And you're always rushing away,' she pouted.

'But I always take my time when it counts,' he smiled down at her.

'Hmm, something to think about.' Emma gave him a half-smile and sashayed away, throwing Jill a satisfied smirk as she passed.

Jill and Scotty exchanged a look. Without saying a word, her eyes exclaimed, Oh for heaven's sake!; his returned innocently, What?

Inspector Andreessen looked tired, as usual. His shirt was already food-stained, and a button was missing. Other buttons threatened to pop at the waistline. There wasn't a cop in the squad who'd say a word about his shirt to his face.

'Jackson. Hutchinson. I want you over at St Vincent's. Davis is going with you. Davis has the case. I only want you there because there seems to be a tie-in with the case you're working.'

'Another bashing?' Jill asked.

'Davis'll fill you in on the way over,' he said, then bellowed, 'Robinson!' looking over Jill's shoulder, calling out to another detective. That was it then.

Charmaine Davis was one of the youngest cops in New South Wales history to make detective. Her father was a barrister, her mother a GP. She'd chosen policing, while her siblings were academics or lawyers. She dealt predominantly with sex crimes, working closely with the victims to good effect; over the past year she'd helped successfully convict four serious offenders.

The three of them took a departmental Commodore to travel over to the hospital. Davis drove. She told them about the case as she manoeuvred through the light traffic.

'She's an eleven-year-old girl,' Davis began, and Jill felt her heart sink immediately. 'She was abducted from Bondi Junction shopping centre on Wednesday two weeks ago. She stopped in on her way home from school. CCTV caught the perp leading her away from the shop, almost carrying her. He'd drugged her Coke – slipped it into the can somehow. She was still holding it as he helped her walk. She showed up two days later, Newtown train station, asleep on a bench. No camera vision this time.'

'I heard about this one,' Scotty grunted.

Jill had too. She just listened.

'Anyway, she remembers pretty much nothing about the two days she was away. Bits and pieces. No names or places. She had different underwear on when she was found. She says she thinks she remembers the perp say he was taking her to a party. Rape kit was positive for semen in her vagina and anus. Physically she was otherwise okay . . . except her eyes.'

'Her eyes?' asked Jill.

'She was blinded. Some kind of chemical that fucked with her pupils. The doctors aren't sure what was used. She couldn't see more than light and dark when she first came in, but her vision improved over the next couple of days.'

Scotty swore under his breath. He shook his head, eyes dark. Jill's thoughts shouted in her head; she fought to keep her memories down.

'Anyway,' Davis continued, her eyes on the road, 'she's home now. She and her mum are coming in to the hospital today and I'm going to try to get some more from the girl, see if she's remembered anything else, but I doubt we're gonna get anything. These so-called date-rape drugs really fuck up the memory.'

'So they've got no real hope of getting him, then?' asked Scotty.

'Oh, we know who he is,' Davis answered, indicating right to turn their vehicle into an emergency-services bay at the front of the hospital.

Jill and Scotty stared at her.

'It's your perp from the beach. David Carter. Shopping centre cameras got a perfect shot of his face.'

D
AVIS HAD ARRANGED TO
meet the victim and her mother in an office in the outpatients' department of the hospital. She, Jill and Scotty were perched on classroom-style chairs in the sterile, windowless room. The space was small, and Scotty had had to search the department to scavenge another two chairs for Martha McKenzie and her daughter Madeline. Madeline, the eleven-year-old abduction victim, was having her eyes checked by a nurse in a room nearby.

To distract herself from the airlessness of the room and the fist of dread that had been groping at her stomach since she'd heard the details of this case, Jill focused on the features of her companions. She found that if she used all of her senses to absorb herself in her environment, she could stay out of the basement that was always waiting in her mind.

She started with Charmaine Davis. Mid-heeled black leather ankle boots. Straight-leg navy pants, cut higher than was fashionable last year – a look her cousin Alyssa would say was 'so right now'. A thin black belt looped through her pants and contrasted with the tailored white shirt, casually open just below the neck. Her dark brown hair fell below her collarbone and feathered around her face. Her cheekbones were high; her make-up shiny and see-through. The distraction exercise, taught to her by Dr Merris, was supposed to move on to the other senses next, describing things she could hear, smell and feel in the room, but a cough from the doorway interrupted her.

Jill hadn't figured on Madeline being so very small. She felt a flare of anger towards a mother who could let a child so young go to a shopping centre alone; then she mentally chastised herself. People had criticised her parents for not being at the swimming carnival from which she had been abducted. The blame should only be directed at the offenders. The men who spent their lives devising methods to exploit any chink in the armour parents tried to build around their kids.

Martha McKenzie, petite and in her mid-thirties, wore a summer skirt, sandals and a well-cut blouse. She looked puffy-eyed and pale. Crying too much and no sleep, thought Jill, remembering her mum's eyes looking that way for a year after she got home. She stared at them in the small room and waited just beyond the doorway, clearly reluctant to enter. Only a sliver of the little girl was visible, as she stood close behind her mother in the entrance. Dark glasses protected Madeline's eyes.

'Hi, Martha. Hi, Maddie. Thanks so much for coming. Please come in.' Charmaine stood, a warm smile lighting up her face, her hands extended, palms up. She touched Martha's shoulder in welcome, then stepped backwards to give the mother and daughter room, and to introduce Jill and Scotty to them. Jill stood, but Scotty, aware of his size in this room, remained seated. He edged his chair as far back against the wall as he could. He tucked his endless legs behind Jill's chair, and scrunched down in his own.

'How'd the eye check-up go, Martha?' Charmaine asked after she'd presented Scotty and Jill.

Martha took a seat, with Madeline perching on the edge of her chair like a little bird, closest to the door, head down, her foot touching her mother's.

Martha sniffed and Charmaine reached for a tissue box from a sideboard in the room, and placed it close by. 'God only knows,' Martha answered, her tone angry. 'It's hard to find one bloody doctor in here who speaks English.'

Charmaine looked troubled and offered, 'Would you like me to arrange for a nurse to come in and explain things better, Martha?'

'No, don't bother. Apparently her eyesight will be okay. The nurse said she doesn't really need the glasses now, but . . .' She looked down at her daughter, face still pointing at the floor. 'Anyway, maybe tomorrow we'll take them off.'

Madeline said nothing, a sheet of blonde hair hiding even her glasses. She was skinny and brown-limbed, baby hair still on her legs, pink socks, white sneakers. Jill shook her head to shut out the image of an adult male pawing at her drugged body.

'Maddie, have you been back to school yet?' Charmaine asked the little girl, who shook her head.

'The school's been bloody hopeless too,' answered her mother. 'I've asked for someone to drop around some of her work, but they won't do it. They reckon it's best for her to get back there as soon as she can.' She raised a trembling hand to her eyes. 'Don't they know how stressed out I am? They'll be lucky if I let her go back next year. I'm too scared to even leave the house. What if the perverts who took her are watching us?'

Madeline gave a tiny mew and raised her face to stare at her mother. Martha McKenzie groped around for her bag. 'Are we going to be much longer? I've got to have a smoke. My nerves are bloody shot to pieces.'

'I know you don't want to be here, Martha, but I've got one thing I have to ask Maddie to do today.' Charmaine leaned towards the little girl, her voice warm and reassuring. 'Maddie, I know I said we wouldn't have to talk for a while, so I've brought you a present for breaking our deal.'

The dark glasses peeked up. Charmaine held out a small gift bag.

Madeline looked towards her mum, who was still rummaging in her bag. She looked up briefly, 'Come on then, Maddie. What do you say?'

'Thank you.' A whisper.

Earlier, while waiting for Madeline and her mother, Charmaine had shown Jill and Scotty the Polly Pocket toy she had bought for the child. These were tiny little dolls with accessories that Maddie had previously told Charmaine she collected.

No wonder she's so great at getting important details from victims, thought Jill admiringly.

Madeline took a surreptitious look inside the bag. A tiny smile flashed white teeth for just a moment.

'We have a photo we want you to have a look at, honey. I just want you to see if you know this person,' said Charmaine. 'That's the yucky thing I need you to do today, okay?'

Martha McKenzie's hand went to her throat at Charmaine's words. When the detective pulled an A4 envelope from her briefcase, the woman covered her mouth as if to stop herself screaming.

'Is that him?' Martha's hand shook. She reached out for the envelope, and then pulled back as if it might burn her.

'This is a photograph of a man, and we need to know whether Madeline recognises him from anywhere.' Charmaine's voice was still warm, but also firm.

A violent red flush had spread up Martha's throat and into her cheeks. She stared at the envelope as Charmaine withdrew a large glossy photograph.

Jill and Scotty had checked out the photo while waiting. It was of a fifty-year-old, balding white male, in a cheap suit and tie. He was standing on the steps of the Federal Court, a cigarette in his podgy hand. Police had taken the photo during his last court appearance.

Jill felt uncomfortable when she found herself thinking that she preferred the image of the only other time she'd seen this man, when his head was broken open like a ripe rock-melon on the sand at the beach.

Slowly, Madeline stood. Her face pale, her mouth a thin line, she moved hesitantly towards Charmaine. Her mother reached out towards her, then dropped her arms in her lap, her hands compulsively grasping one another as though to stop them grabbing Madeline and running with her from the room.

Madeline stood before the desk on which Charmaine had placed the photograph face down.

'Now, Maddie, I need to let you know something before I turn this page over.' Charmaine was seated and her head was on the same level as the little girl's. 'The man in this photograph is now dead.' She paused at the sharp intake of breath that sounded like a sob from Mrs McKenzie. 'So if you recognise this person, you need to know that you will never, ever have to see him again, okay?'

A barely perceptible nod from Madeline.

The little girl reached up and removed the dark glasses. Blinking, she placed them carefully on the table. They made the softest of sounds in the tiny room.

'Good girl. I'm going to turn over the photo now,' said Charmaine.

Jill held her breath.

Charmaine turned the photograph over. Carter's face stared up from the table. For a moment the scene was frozen. When Madeline cried out and dived across the room into her mother's lap, Jill jumped to her feet. Martha enveloped her daughter and the two rocked together as one, as if they were alone in the room, distress emanating from their single silhouette.