But I felt nothing, and I didn’t care. Mark didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Becky and Cal were dead. I was alive, but I wanted to be dead.
“You smashed that driver’s face to a pulp,” Talbot went on.
I didn’t care what he said. I didn’t care.
“You know how I felt about Becky.” His face was expressionless, but he knew how to turn the screw. “I never met little Cal …” Then his face thawed. For a second, he looked genuinely upset. “They deserved better.”
I didn’t care what he said. I didn’t care.
My cousin had no idea. He must have thought he was really hurting me.
He sighed. “In one way you’re lucky, Craig. Sure, you smashed the guy’s face up. But …” He lifted a thin beige folder into view. “Forensics report. He died on impact.”
I didn’t care what he said. I was alive but I wanted to be dead.
He started to turn. Stopped. Walked back and leaned in close to my ear. “You got what you deserved, you fuck. And you’ll go to hell.”
And he was gone.
I didn’t care.
Chapter 17
“WELL, YOU ALL know the gist of it,” I said, walking into the conference room. “A close friend of Greta Thorogood was tortured and killed a few yards from her front door. Bizarre MO.”
I looked around the table. I’d called in everyone … the team, plus Justine.
They already knew the basics of the homicide. Bad news travels fast.
I flicked a remote and the blinds closed. A second touch on the rubber pad and a flat screen lit up at the far end of the room. “I shot this on my phone.”
It was jumbled up at first but settled down as I’d steadied my hand and set the phone to “Stabilize video”.
The inside of the victim’s car.
“Stacy Friel,” I said flatly, as the horrific image of the dead woman’s face appeared. “She was murdered sometime around 5.30 yesterday evening in an alley close to her house in Bellevue Hill. Facially disfigured and stabbed four times in the back as she got out of her vehicle. She was then returned to the car … postmortem.” The camera moved to show the dead woman straight-on. I had panned down, zoomed in.
There was an intake of breath from the women in the room.
Understandable, I thought, imagining an equivalent for guys.
The victim’s lower garments had been removed, her legs spread wide. A bunch of money had been inserted into her vagina. You could see the golden yellow of Australian fifty-dollar bills.
The film stopped. The blinds came up. No one spoke.
I looked round the room. Darlene was staring straight at me. Justine studied the table. Mary was still glaring at where the image had been a few seconds ago. Johnny was counting his shoes.
“Not nice, I know, but there you have it.”
“Pretty fucking sick, actually,” Mary said with a steely look.
“Yep. Certainly is.”
“What’ve the police found out?” Darlene asked.
“Not a lot. Their forensics people have promised to get a complete set of crime scene samples over to you by mid-morning. Thorogood’s being very cooperative. I guess Greta is putting pressure on him to keep us fully involved.”
“So am I, Craig,” Justine remarked. “Brett’s subscribing to the idea that two heads are better than one. He knew Stacy too. He’s genuinely upset.”
“So what now?” It was Mary.
“Darlene, you work on the samples soon as they arrive,” I said.
She nodded.
“Justine, you and me should take a trip to the police morgue. Find out anything we can.”
“I’ve got a very nasty feeling the unfortunate Stacy Friel is only the first victim,” Johnny said suddenly.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, swiveling my chair.
“Because, and Justine will verify this,” Johnny began, glancing over to where she sat, “the murder was ritualistic.”
Justine nodded solemnly.
“So?” I persisted.
“One-off murders are a type – the most common sort,” Justine explained. “Someone dies in a violent crime – a bank raid, a gang killing – collateral damage. Or people are murdered in a moment of passion, or slaughtered clinically – revenge, jealousy. A woman who is tortured, killed, dumped in her car and has her vagina stuffed with banknotes is not the victim of a spontaneous act. It was planned and everything about it has meaning. I hope it’s not the case, but I think Johnny’s right – Stacy Friel is just the first.”
Chapter 18
“MARY?” I CALLED her over as the team filed out.
“What’s up?”
“The Ho murder. Darlene’s found some interesting stuff.”