He walked toward the object, sweat dripping off him. As he drew closer he realized it was a human being. He thought it might be a homeless person. He stepped forward cautiously, walking past the prone form close to the fence alongside the lane, his eyes fixed on the shape. He half expected it to jump up and attack him at any moment.
Three steps past the strange figure, Tony could finally make sense of it and felt a surge of terror in the pit of his stomach. Then nerves all over his body seemed to fire simultaneously. He jolted, stumbling back against the fence.
Chapter 37
I WAS JUST pulling onto the Harbour Bridge. Glanced at the dash clock. It was 6.59 am. I felt like shit – I’d hardly slept at all last night. In my nightmares and half-sleep I kept going over Stacy Friel’s murder. And you know the worst of it? She looked like my dead wife, Becky.
I’d had two strong coffees before leaving the house and had stopped for a Red Bull at my regular gas station in Mosman. The Ferrari is a thirsty bastard, and so was I this morning.
I moved my thumb to switch on the ABC News with the remote control on the steering wheel when my cell rang. I pushed the “Receive” button and heard Justine’s voice. “Craig?”
“That’s me! Hi, Justine.”
“We’ve got a second murder.”
I glanced in the mirror, sped into a gap to my left. “Any details?”
“No. Brett’s there now. It’s a street away from Greta’s.”
“No way!” I changed lanes and accelerated along the Cahill Expressway. The traffic was building, but still okay. “Where’s the body, exactly?”
“Wentworth Avenue. Runs parallel to Greta’s street.”
“Know it. How did you learn of the murder?”
“I’m at Greta and Brett’s. Stayed over last night. Brett got the call just as he was leaving for HQ.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen … hopefully.”
It was pretty much a straight run and I was there in twelve, stopped ten yards from the police cordon and walked briskly toward the tape. A constable was guarding the sidewalk. I showed him my ID and I was relieved when he let me through without any arguments. Maybe this liaison with the cops could actually work after all, I thought, as I ducked under the yellow tape and paced over to where the forensics team were poking around.
Brett Thorogood spotted me and waved me over. I saw Mark a few yards away, his back to me. He was talking to a man in lycra.
“Runner found the body,” Thorogood explained, his expression grim.
I followed the DC over to where the victim lay – another woman, about forty, shoulder-length blonde hair. She was dressed in a blood-soaked Dolce & Gabbana dress. The soil under her and around her was discolored. Her face had been mutilated – cigarette burns.
Her dress had been hitched up over her hips, legs splayed. The end of a roll of fifty-dollar bills could just be seen protruding from between her legs. Blood had dried on the insides of her thighs.
“Same MO,” I said unnecessarily. Thorogood just stared at the dead woman.
I turned to see Justine at the tape. The cop who’d let me through was questioning her. I strode over and just as I reached them, he let her under the barrier.
“Same thing as before,” I told her as we walked along the alley. Thorogood had moved to one of the police cars on the street. Justine put a hand to her mouth, but as I went to turn her away, she shook me off. “It’s okay, Craig!” she said sharply. “Not much shocks me anymore.”
I saw Talbot finish up questioning the jogger and decided to leave Justine to it. I walked over to Mark just as another cop escorted the runner toward Wentworth Avenue.
“Oh … how nice!” he said.
“History repeating itself.”
He nodded toward the dead woman. “Doesn’t help that poor thing.”
“Might help us though. What do you have?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Jogger found her about 5.45. The woman had been stabbed repeatedly in the back. We don’t know if she was raped before …”
“The first victim wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Do we know who she is?”
“Name’s Elspeth Lampard. Address: 44 Wentworth Avenue.”
“That’s just two houses away.” I nodded back toward the main road. “Any idea how long she’s been here?”
“Ten or eleven hours.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. She’d probably have been spotted sooner if she’d been killed earlier. So after … what?… 8 pm?”
Talbot didn’t answer, had started to turn away when he caught sight of Darlene walking toward us with her forensics kit.