CHAPTER FIVE
“Shit, shit, shit.” Ellie thumped her fist on the steering wheel and shook her head in frustration. With Evelyn Ward’s pain still fresh in her mind, the last place she wanted to be was waiting outside yet another house to confirm the news no parent ever wanted to hear.
Clayton remained silent. He opened the passenger side door and climbed out, his face grave. She was grateful he’d offered to come with her when she broke the news. Fed or no Fed, she welcomed his show of support.
This was the worst part of the job. Swallowing a heavy sigh, she climbed out of the car and joined him on the sidewalk.
The house was an old weatherboard that had seen better days. The lawn had yellowed from the frosts and a lack of water and was half overgrown. Incongruously, bright pots of colorful geraniums lined the concrete walkway, flowering bravely in the crisp winter air.
She climbed the steps with Clayton and looked for a doorbell. There was none. The Fed rapped loudly on the cracked timber beside the rusted screen door that led into the house.
She tensed when footsteps made their way toward them. The silhouette of a woman came into view. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage.
“Mrs Caruso?”
The woman peered apprehensively out at them.
“Yes, I’m Jacqueline Caruso. Who wants to know?”
Ellie’s lips tightened. There was no easy way to do this.
“Mrs Caruso, I’m Detective Cooper. This is Federal Agent Munro. We’re here about Angelina.”
The woman’s eyes widened and her face paled. With a shaking hand, she pushed a heavy, dark fringe of hair off her forehead and struggled to open the door.
“I-I think you’d better come in.”
They stepped into a narrow corridor that ran the length of the house. A tired hall runner in muted colors of navy and red softened their footsteps as they followed Mrs Caruso toward the back of the house.
A modest kitchen opened up at the end of the hall. Like the rest of the house, it was scrupulously clean. The Formica counter-tops sparkled. Not a single cup or dish sat on the dish drainer. The tea towel had been left to hang on the oven door in perfect alignment.
“Can I get you something to drink, Detectives? A cup of tea, perhaps?
Ellie admired her self-control. The woman had to know they weren’t there to bring good news. Her restless fingers that played with the ends of the black-and-white checked apron that was tied around her waist, were the only giveaways.
“Thank you,” Ellie replied with a quick peek in Clayton’s direction, “but we’re both fine. Is there somewhere we could sit? We need to talk.”
“Of course.” The woman touched her head, almost reflexively, patting down a non-existent stray hair. Apart from her bangs, the thick darkness of it was pulled off her face and fixed at the nape of her neck in a tight bun. The look would have been severe on a woman less attractive.
Her olive skin and chocolate-brown eyes hinted at European heritage. Ellie guessed her age to be mid-fifties, but it was tough to tell on a woman time had treated kindly. The dyed hair made it even more difficult.
They followed her out of the kitchen and back down the hallway into a small sitting room. Solid, well-constructed furniture that showed its age filled the room. A small, old-fashioned television sat in a corner unit. Family photographs crowded the mantelpiece above the roaring fire.
Ellie sidled over for a closer look. Her heart clenched as she recognized Angelina Caruso. She caught Clayton’s eye and moved her head imperceptibly toward the photographs. His lips tightened.
“Please, Detectives. Take a seat.” Jacqueline Caruso’s hand shook as she indicated the worn blue two-seater sofa. Orange and yellow cushions nestled in each corner.
Ellie clenched her teeth and perched on the edge of it. Clayton remained standing.
She drew in a deep breath and waited for the woman to seat herself in the matching wing chair.
“Mrs Caruso, I’m afraid we have some bad news.”
The woman’s hands fluttered nervously. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything? A biscuit, perhaps?”
Ellie swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs Caruso. There just isn’t an easy way to tell you this.”
A high keening wail erupted from the woman sitting opposite her. She began to rock back and forth on her seat. “Please, not my Angelina. Please, Detective. Please don’t tell me you’ve found my Angelina.”
Drawing air into her suddenly depleted lungs, Ellie prayed silently for the right words—and failed. The woman’s daughter had been murdered in a horrifyingly gruesome way. Nothing could change that. No words would bring her back.
Without conscious thought, she looked to Clayton for help. His face was somber. He looked as upset as she felt. It had to be done. They needed information and Angelina Caruso’s mother might be the only one who could give it to them. A madman had sawn her daughter’s head off while she was still breathing…
He had to be stopped.
She leaned forward and captured one of the woman’s flailing hands. “Mrs Caruso, we think we’ve found Angelina.”
The woman’s eyes turned wild. “Don’t you mean to say you’ve found her head? Isn’t that what you meant to say? I read it in the newspaper. They said they’d found a head. I saw it the other week. The picture looked a little bit like her, but it was hard to tell with all the…” More color leeched from her cheeks. She swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “Today I saw the earrings.” A hand fluttered up and touched the plain gold stud in her ear.
“They were my mother’s. She gave them to me when I turned sixteen. I gave them to Angelina four years ago. She wore them everywhere.”
Her voice broke. Tears of pain pooled in her eyes. “My baby, my poor baby.” Huge sobs wracked the slim body. She fell forward, her head clutched between her hands.
The sound of the woman’s grief almost did Ellie in. Hot tears welled up in her eyes. Her chest tightened with emotion. She was grateful the media hadn’t got wind of all the details. At least the woman could be spared that much. For a little while, anyway.
The sobs that came from the woman across from them gradually quieted. Dark, watery, pools of pain flicked to Clayton and then to Ellie. Jacqueline offered a small, self-deprecating smile. Her cheeks flushed, as if she were embarrassed to have given vent to her emotions in front of strangers.
Ellie’s admiration for her grew. Hell, if it had been her, she’d have been rolling around on the floor, howling her pain to the world, oblivious to who was watching. In fact, that’s exactly what she’d done when they’d told her about Jamie.
Pushing aside the memories, she opened her notebook and cleared her throat. “We have to ask you some questions, Mrs Caruso. We need to know as much as we can about Angelina in the days before her disappearance.” She consulted the page in front of her. “You told Detective Superintendent Walker that your daughter has been missing for about six weeks, is that right?”
The woman sniffed quietly. “Yes, it was a Tuesday. May twenty-ninth. She was late coming home from university.”
Ellie’s heart leaped. Her body stilled. Angelina Caruso was a student? She glanced across at Clayton and saw from the taut line of his jaw and his compressed lips that he’d also made the connection.
“Which university did she attend, Mrs Caruso?” Clayton’s voice was calm, conversational, despite the turmoil that must be raging inside him, just like it was in Ellie. She held her breath and waited for the answer.
“She’s a student at the University of Western Sydney. She’s studying physiotherapy at the Penrith campus.”
The air whooshed out of Ellie’s mouth. Clayton’s jaw tensed. His throat moved as he swallowed.
Leaning in closer, she posed another question, her voice pitched low. “Why didn’t you report her missing? Six weeks is a long time.”
A frown marred the soft, lined skin of the woman in front of them. “What do you mean, why didn’t I report her missing? I called the local police station the same night she failed to arrive home.”
Ellie caught Clayton’s confused gaze and gave a slight shake of her head. Frustration surged through her. Somehow, the report hadn’t been entered into the system.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Caruso,” Ellie said. “We don’t have any record of your call.”
Jacqueline Caruso looked bewildered. “I called just after eleven. It was cold and late and I was worried. It’s not like Angel to be out so late, especially on a school night.” Tears welled in her eyes and she pulled a fine lace handkerchief from the pocket of her slacks. Her cheeks flushed again. She peered at them apologetically. “Please excuse me, Detectives.”
Clayton stepped slightly away, giving her some privacy. “No problem, Mrs Caruso. You go right ahead.”
Blowing her nose with delicate precision, Angelina’s mother took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Her classes usually finish at five on a Tuesday. Sometimes she goes for coffee with friends afterwards, but most of the time she comes straight home. Funds are tight and she was saving for a trip to Europe. My parents still live in Italy,” she explained.
“When she wasn’t home by eight, I called her cell. It rang out and eventually went to voice mail. I left a message asking her to call me.” Her voice caught. “She still hasn’t phoned me back.”
The woman stared unseeingly across the room. Ellie and Clayton watched and waited in silence. When Jacqueline began again, her voice held a dazed, almost dreamlike quality.
“It was raining. It had only started late that afternoon, but it was really pelting down. I remember hoping Angel had taken an umbrella.”
Ellie scribbled in her notebook. “How did she normally get home?”
Jacqueline sighed. “By bus. She can catch one just outside the Uni. It drops her off about a block away.”
Clayton’s eyes narrowed. “Did she ever catch a taxi home?”
“No. As I said, money’s tight. She’s been saving.” Her voice cracked again and she seemed to crumple before them, huge sobs wracking her body. Ellie stared at Clayton, feeling helpless, her own anger at the unknown assailant reflected in his eyes.
Angelina’s mother spoke between her sobs, her swollen eyes fixed on Clayton. “W-when can I have her back, Detective? I-I’d like to arrange a proper funeral.”
Clayton started in surprise. Ellie knew what he was thinking. They had yet to find the rest of Angelina’s remains. He stepped forward and crouched low, near Jacqueline’s chair.
“As soon as the forensic pathologist has finished with her, Mrs Caruso. Whilst we appreciate your identification through her earrings, we’ll need to make a conclusive finding through DNA. She’ll be released to you as soon as they’ve completed their examination.”
“And what happens if you find the rest of her?”
Now it was Ellie’s turn to swallow her surprise. Clayton’s gaze captured hers and held it for a miniscule moment before his gaze flicked back to Jacqueline’s.
“Well, anything else that is found will also be examined at the morgue and afterwards, it will be released to you, along with her—” Clayton broke off, mortification flooding his face.
“Her head.” Jacqueline Caruso’s lips twisted with bitterness. “That’s what you meant to say, wasn’t it?”
The flush on his face deepened. He swallowed awkwardly and looked away.
Ellie stepped in to rescue him.
“Yes, that’s right.” She leaned over and took one of the woman’s hands in her own. “We know this is difficult for you, Mrs Caruso. We are so sorry for your loss. We understand what you’re going through.”
The woman snatched her hand away. Her eyes flared with sudden anger. “How can you understand what I’m going through? Someone’s murdered my baby!”
Ellie’s stomach clenched and she steeled herself against the memories of Jamie that suddenly assailed her. Her vision darkened and she fought against the dizziness that threatened to unseat her.
Clayton shot her a strange look. She heard his voice as if from inside a distant tunnel.
“You’re right, Mrs Caruso. We can’t hope to know what you’re going through. All we can do is promise you we will work night and day to find whoever did this.”
Ellie forced oxygen into her constricted lungs and the blackness receded. She gritted her teeth, her eyes fierce as she tried to hold the other woman’s tortured gaze.
“We’ll find him, Mrs Caruso. I swear to you. We’ll find him.”
They made their way across the room to the doorway. Clayton turned back. “Mrs Caruso, did Angelina wear any other jewelry?”
Ellie paused and waited for the woman to answer. It came in the form of a jerky nod. “Yes, she loves jewelry. She never went anywhere without at least one or two pieces on. A necklace. Some earrings. She nearly always wears a silver charm bracelet I gave her last year for Christmas. It’s one of her favorite pieces.”
Clayton’s lips compressed and he gave a brief nod. “Thank you, Mrs Caruso. We really appreciate your time.”
Ellie followed him out in silence and tried to dispel the harrowing image of a woman that life had just broken into two.
* * *
Stewart Boston scratched at his hair and sent a furtive glance over his shoulder to check that no one was watching. He was four suburbs across from where he lived, but it paid to be careful. Cars sped by along the highway adjacent to the strip of shops where the cheap motel was situated. Much to his relief, no one seemed interested in him. His fingers trembled with excitement as he tried to fit the key into the door. On the third attempt, he was in and his belly clenched in anticipation.
Her scent reached him, wafting through the thermostatically controlled warm air to tickle and tease his nostrils. His cock hardened. Blood pounded in his ears, deafening him to everything but the sound of her breathing. His own breath came in short, shallow pants. He approached the bed where she lay spread before him, naked and beautiful. He drank in the sweet sight of her and determined to take her with him when he left for his mini vacation.
“Hello my sweet little cherry blossom. I’m sorry I took so long. I couldn’t get away any sooner.” He pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it on the back of the single armchair and then tugged at his tie.
Moving closer, he ran a hand that was still not steady down the length of her leg, starting at her hip. She shivered beneath his touch.
He smiled down at her. “We are going to have so, so much fun. I hope you like surprises.”
* * *
Ellie’s fingers worked at the knot of tight muscle in the back of her neck and she stifled a groan of frustration. It had been three days since she’d broken the news to Jacqueline Caruso. With no new leads on the murder, she’d returned to dealing with the pile of other ongoing investigations swamping her desk. The files of the mysterious chest freezer thief were open before her and she skimmed the contents of the initial police report.
The first theft had occurred nearly three months earlier. Ronald Carter of Mt Druitt had called to report a Westinghouse chest freezer stolen off his back porch. The facts were strikingly similar to the one taken from Jim Whitton three weeks ago. And before that, there was one stolen from the Jacksons in Cranebrook. Same modus operandi. Same stolen goods. A vehicle had accessed the rear of the property and had stolen the chest freezer from an enclosed back porch.
Ordinarily, such arbitrary crimes would be relegated a lower priority in her work schedule, but Clayton’s comment had unsettled her and she was determined to get to the bottom of this so she could discount that gruesome possibility from her list.
Ronald Carter was sure he’d caught a glimpse of a white van as it turned into the back lane from his yard. He’d written down the number plate and that had been included in the report. She’d been trying to track down the owner.
Reaching over, she picked up the telephone and punched in the numbers for the Roads and Maritime Services department. She groaned under her breath when she was immediately placed on hold and wondered how much more time she was going to waste.
Her thoughts drifted to the cute Fed and she groaned again. She shouldn’t even be thinking of him like that. So what if he was cute? She’d known cute men before. Nothing changed the fact he was a Fed. She’d best remember that.
After what seemed like an eon, the call went through. With a sigh of relief, she greeted the operator who came on the line and gave him the information she required.
“I’m sorry, Detective. Our computers are down at the moment. I can’t access any of our databases.”
“Blast. Would you mind checking the details of a license plate for me once you’re back online? I’d really appreciate it.”
When the operator agreed, Ellie provided him with the plate number. A few moments later, she ended the call and stared at the phone on her desk. She’d been on hold nearly twenty minutes. Didn’t these people know how important this information could be to her investigation? Didn’t they know she could be that much closer to finding the thief if she knew the identity of the van owner?
With a muffled curse, she picked up her coffee cup and stomped her way to the tea room. She knew she was overreacting. It was just that there was a head without its body sitting in a Sydney morgue and they still didn’t have a single clue about where to find the murderer. Or the missing bits.
It was getting her down. Why couldn’t they catch a break and find him? She’d promised Jacqueline Caruso.
To make matters worse, there was the damnable growing attraction she had toward the Fed who’d invaded her life. No matter how hard she tried to shut him out, he kept intruding on her thoughts, causing her heart to beat just a little bit faster. What the hell was she going to do about that?
“God, dammit!” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until she saw the Fed in question offer her a crooked smile from where he stood across the room near the coffee machine.
“I know exactly how you feel,” he offered. “I went back out to the Nepean River yesterday looking for Bill Griffin. Thought I’d go over his statement again and see if there was anything else he remembered.” His lips pursed. “Guess what? No one’s seen hide or hair of him for a week. With no fixed abode, who knows how we’re going to find him.” He shook his head in disgust. “Now, we’re down a witness. Our only witness.”
Ellie growled her frustration. “There must be someone who saw something. How can a living woman have her head sawn off without anyone hearing anything?”
Ben strode into the room. His face was deathly pale. Her stomach knotted.
“What is it, sir? What’s the matter?”
“Another body’s been found. Or, I should say, parts of another body.”
“Shit,” the Fed murmured behind her.
She knew exactly how he felt.