CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Shit, shit, shit.
Clayton stared after her retreating back with a sinking feeling of dread. Talk about a monumental stuff-up. How the hell was he supposed to know she was going to react like that?
It’s not like he’d done anything illegal. Hell, in his family, everyone stuck their nose in where it wasn’t wanted. It was a sign they cared. Even on those occasions when he was pissed off because it was his business they were poking into, he always knew they had his best interests at heart.
He picked up the glass of scotch from where the waiter had cautiously left it on the table and took a healthy swallow. Frustration prickled his scalp. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Especially after she’d told him she was an only child. She wouldn’t be used to the interference a sway of siblings had on your life. It was even worse when they were concerned for you. As he was for Ellie now.
After discovering the story about her son, his concern for her and her recent experience with Zach Clements had only deepened. He’d wanted to take her into his arms and tell her it would be all right. That he’d look after her and make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again. He’d wanted to whisper words of comfort against the softness of her hair and hold her until the desolation in her eyes faded away.
But he’d been unable to do any of those things. They’d been at work, for one. More importantly, they were work colleagues. He wasn’t her husband; he wasn’t even her boyfriend. He had no right to hold her, to comfort her, no matter how much he wanted to.
He dragged his fingers through his hair and did his best to ignore his underlying fear. He refused to acknowledge the possibility that she’d never forgive him. Tugging his cell phone out of his pocket, he dialed his twin’s number. He needed help. Riley knew him better than anyone.
He took another fortifying gulp from his glass and listened to it ring out, praying Riley would answer.
* * *
Hours later, Ellie still fumed as she paced the length of her small but cozy two-bedroom apartment.
She’d been so wired when she’d turned the key in her lock that she hadn’t even taken time out to eat. A half-empty bottle of merlot sat on the kitchen bench. She stared at it as her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Not even her family pried into her private life like that. In fact, she wouldn’t have believed any sane, normal person would do such a thing. She’d never dream of invading someone’s privacy that way.
But he had. Googling her, for God’s sake! It was just so…so…crude.
With a groan of irritation, she picked up her empty wine glass and refilled it before striding into the living room. She hadn’t yet drawn the curtains and the city lights, with their fluorescent blues and reds and yellows, reflected a colorful display off the water.
It was a view she normally savored. Her third-floor unit had an unobstructed view of Darling Harbor. On a fine day, the water shone blue and crystal clear, reflecting a million diamonds as it bathed in the sun’s rays.
At this time of night, the noise from the street below was a muted hum and mid-week pedestrian traffic was minimal.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out on a heartfelt sigh and collapsed onto the white leather three-seater. Leaving the lights off, she tucked her feet up underneath her and took refuge in the burnt-orange scatter cushions. She pushed one under her head and grasped another one tightly to her chest.
When she’d bought it, her mother had taken one look at the couch and had shaken her head in disapproval.
“White is so impractical, Ellie. How are you going to keep it clean? No one in their right mind buys a white couch with a toddler in the house.”
But Ellie wouldn’t be dissuaded. She didn’t care how many hours she’d spend wiping sticky handprints off it. She loved it.
Three months after she’d bought it, Jamie was killed. There were no more sticky handprints to worry about after that.
Long-held-back tears burned her eyes. He’d been gone three years and on days like this it felt like yesterday. The agonizing shock. The paralyzing horror. The utter disbelief as what happened sank in.
Pent-up grief gripped her in a vicelike hold and she shuddered. Wine spilled over her fingers, cold and wet and sticky. With a shaking hand, she placed the glass on the low table beside the couch and finally gave herself permission to grieve.
She curled up in a fetal position and let the sobs come. With her knees digging into the cushion pressed against her chest, she gripped her legs tightly and gave vent to the pain.
It took her awhile to realize the high keening cries reverberating in her ears were coming from her. The tears continued to fall. She swiped at the snot that ran down her face—her nose was so blocked, she could barely breathe. She snatched gulps of air through her mouth.
The tightness in her chest and the thumping in her head eventually forced her to take deeper breaths, to cram more oxygen into her constricted lungs. After a few moments, she sat up and reached for the box of tissues she kept on the carved wooden coffee table in front of her.
She blew her nose noisily—once, twice, three times—and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. She shuddered again, but this time in relief of a sort. It had been a long time since she’d let herself cry over her son. Too long.
She knew a good deal of her anger at Clayton arose from the memories his prying had thrust upon her. Memories she’d tried hard to ignore and control as yet another anniversary of her son’s death came and went.
And she hadn’t even called Eva. It was downright unfair, but the last time she’d spoken to his daycare attendant the woman had sobbed uncontrollably for the entire conversation. It was tough enough holding herself together. She wasn’t up to being anyone else’s emotional support.
With another heavy sigh, Ellie picked up her almost-empty wine glass and drained it. Her belly gurgled loudly and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Swinging her legs over the side of the couch, she dropped the crumpled cushion and eased herself upright. She filled her lungs with a long, steadying breath. Another shudder ran through her as she released it, but it was a shudder of relief and finality.
In stockinged feet, she padded into the kitchen and flicked on the electric jug where it stood on the counter near the sink and gathered the makings of a cup of coffee.
Opening the fridge, she took out a container of left-over Chinese take-away and put it in the microwave. It was far from ideal, particularly given the grueling hours she’d been putting her body through, but it would do for tonight.
She actually enjoyed cooking most of the time. She loved poring over recipe books, shopping for ingredients, putting it all together and sampling the final product. It was relaxing—therapeutic even.
She grimaced. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d prepared a proper meal. Probably around the time Josie Ward disappeared.
Frustration surged through her. What were they missing? Would the fingerprints tell them anything? She’d begun to dread the sound of the phone ringing.
As if she’d conjured it up, her cell phone hummed. It was still in her handbag on the table in the hallway where she’d tossed it when she’d stormed inside. For a moment, she was tempted to ignore it.
But it was almost ten o’clock. Too late for a social call. Which meant it could only be work.
With a sigh of resignation, she took the few steps out of the kitchen and into the hallway, pulling the phone out of her bag. She checked the caller ID.
Clayton.
Her pulse skipped a beat, even as her anger renewed itself. He was calling to apologize. She was sure of it. He was that kind of guy. Polite and courteous, to a fault. At least, most of the time.
She wasn’t ready to talk to him. She knew that much. Tired and drained and achy from her crying jag, she couldn’t deal with the day anymore. Not even for one minute.
Silencing the call, she turned the phone off and padded back to the kitchen. After pouring the boiling water over the coffee already in her cup, she added sugar and took a sip, sighing as the caffeine filtered through her system.
With mug in hand, she switched off the light in the kitchen and made her way down the hallway to her bedroom, guided only by memory and moonlight.
* * *
Clayton strode into the squad room and Ellie kept her head down. She wasn’t ready to talk to him. The fact that Ben had informed her the moment she’d arrived for duty that they hadn’t gotten a hit on the fingerprints had further soured her mood. She was thankful he hadn’t asked her where the Fed was. Still peeved, she’d left Clayton to find his own way to the station.
She’d checked her phone when she’d crawled out of bed, but he hadn’t left a message. It was probably just as well. Then she’d have to acknowledge he’d rung. For now, she’d do her best to ignore him. As much as anyone could ignore a six-foot-plus wall of muscle whose impeccably dressed body was now planted firmly in front of her desk.
She swallowed a groan and studiously continued writing in the file before her, paying no heed to the pulse that beat a frantic rhythm in her neck.
“So, you’re just going to ignore me. Is that it?”
His voice was loud enough to cause curious gazes to turn their way. She blushed and damned him silently to hell. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?
“I’m not going away until you look at me, Ellie.”
She cringed inwardly at the determination in his voice. She should have known he wouldn’t give up easily. Despite their lack of progress, his dogged persistence with the case was proof of that. But did he really have to turn it on her?
He cleared his throat noisily. “I’m sorry for going behind your back. I should have just asked you. I know that now, but as much as I’d like to, I can’t take it back.”
He hesitated and she willed herself to keep writing.
“All I’m asking is that you forgive me.”
Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “Why should I?”
He shrugged and she almost softened. He looked so lost and helpless. He looked completely unsure of himself. A state she’d never seen him in.
“I just thought you might… We might—”
“Clayton. Good, you’re here.” Ben strode across the squad room, his expression grave.
A tightness gripped her throat. She’d seen that look before. “What is it, boss?”
Ben gazed down at her, a frown creasing his deeply lined forehead. “A couple of hikers have come across a body in bushland. It looks like it’s Sally Batten.”
* * *
Ellie deftly manoeuvred the squad car in and out of the early morning traffic, scowled in ferocious concentration. Her protest that Clayton catch a ride with someone else had fallen on deaf ears and he now sat rigidly in the seat beside her.
They hadn’t spoken since Ben had given them the news. Even now, she studiously avoided the weight of his stare. Her jaw clenched when he broke the tense silence, his voice low.
“You don’t have a monopoly on grief, Ellie.”
Anger steamed to the surface. Hot. Immediate. Choking. Her eyes narrowed on his face. She fought for control.
“Oh, like you know what you’re talking about. How many children have you buried?”
He hesitated and she thought she caught a flash of pain in his eyes. When he replied, his gaze stayed fixed on a point outside the window and his voice was thick with emotion.
“None.”
“I know you lost your wife....”
“Yes, and it felt as if my world ended the day I buried her.” His voice seethed with quiet pain.
She gritted her teeth. Okay, so maybe he did know something about it. But a spouse hardly counted against a child. Anyone would agree with that.
Clayton’s face darkened with fury and disbelief when she said as much.
“You’ve never been in love before, have you Ellie?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “You’ve never known what it’s like to love someone so much you want to breathe in the very air they breathe out, just so you can keep a part of them inside you. You’ve never known what it’s like to want someone so much you feel like you’ll die if you can’t be near them, touch them, hold them.”
She shivered at the raw passion in his voice and the pain that lingered in his eyes and felt a stab of envy for the woman who’d invoked such a reaction. Then she shook her head, appalled.
For God’s sake, she was feeling jealous of a dead woman. How low could she go?
Still, she couldn’t help the wistful thought that maybe one day someone would feel that way about her. His gaze was still fixed upon her. She turned away.
“What? Nothing to say, Cooper?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “That’s funny; you’ve never been short of words before.”
Ellie pressed her lips tightly together and turned left off the main road. They bounced along a rough dirt track in taut silence. Spying vehicles up ahead, she sighed inwardly in relief. Avoiding his gaze, she murmured, “Looks like we’re here.”
* * *
Tall gum trees stood in a thick line bordering both sides of a narrow, sandy track. It wasn’t yet mid-morning, and the sun was only a lukewarm presence in the sky. The smell of eucalyptus and lemon scented the still air. Clayton breathed in deeply, appreciating the smell of the bush despite the reason that had brought them there.
A small group of bystanders and a larger contingent of uniformed police officers crowded the scene. Crime scene tape had been strung up around the trunks of the huge gums in a rough rectangle around the body.
Ellie walked ahead of him, picking her way through low bushes, long grass and other shrubbery before ducking under the tape.
“Hey, Jake. Good to see you again.” Ellie gave the forensics officer a bright smile.
Clayton’s jaw tightened. Great. The good-looking beefcake was back. Just what he needed.
“You too, Ellie.” Jake gave her a slow onceover that set Clayton’s teeth on edge. “Looking good, as always.”
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she replied with a quick smile. “Surely we can think of somewhere better?”
“Yeah, a drink down near the Quay sounds like a much better idea. Mid-afternoon would be good, when the sun’s got some heat in it. These early winter starts are a bitch.”
With a snort of impatience, Clayton strode forward and planted himself between them. Nodding toward the body that lay on the ground covered by a blue tarpaulin, he did his best to ignore the smell that emanated from it and shot Jake a narrowed look.
“What have you got?”
Jake’s eyes widened knowingly. A sardonic grin tugged at his lips, but he remained silent and turned toward the corpse.
“The ID in the handbag we found lying a few feet from the body says it’s Sally Batten. Twenty-two years old, she’s been missing a couple of months.”
Clayton’s eyes drilled into his. “You’re sure it’s Sally?”
Tension sizzled between them.
“Well, Federal Agent Munro, we haven’t carried out DNA tests yet, but there are some definite similarities to her license photo. She was half-buried under leaf matter and of course, the cold temperatures have helped slow down the decomposition. Even though there’s a fair amount of it, I’d hazard a reasonable guess we’re talking about the same person.”
Ellie stepped forward, effectively placing herself between the two men. “Who found her?”
Jake flicked his head in the direction of a young couple who were huddled together a short distance away with a uniformed officer who looked like he was still taking notes.
Clayton took them in at a glance. Early twenties, fit-looking. The male with longish brown hair and a light fuzz on his chin had his arm around the girl. Her blond head was buried against his chest, her arms tight around his waist. His gaze returned to the forensics officer.
“Hikers,” Jake continued. “Out bushwalking early this morning. Stumbled across her.”
Stepping closer to the bundle covered by the tarpaulin, Clayton kneeled on the damp ground and lifted the stiff plastic away from what remained of Sally Batten.
The smell hit him even harder. Rank. Rotten. Putrid. Sweet. His nostrils and stomach rebelled and he stood and moved a couple of feet away, trying not to gag. He caught a glimpse of a smirk lining the beefcake’s face and tensed.
Turning slightly away, he fumbled in the back pocket of his suit pants and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, pretending that getting the gloves was his intent all along.
Ellie squatted beside the body. With gloved hands, she tugged at the trash bags that partly covered the remains. “Phew, she’s in a bad way.”
Clayton moved up beside her and hunkered down as close as his stomach would allow. He’d never been fond of fieldwork. There was a reason why he’d found a home behind a desk.
Taking hold of the tarpaulin, he hauled it and the trash bags further out of the way until what remained of Sally Batten was revealed.
She was dressed in what had once been a long-sleeved, white T-shirt. It had been ripped away at her right shoulder, exposing one side of her chest. Dark stains that looked like blood covered most of her shirt.
Pulling the covering down lower, Clayton tensed, his gaze shooting to Ellie’s. Her face reflected his sudden anger. Not only was Sally naked from the waist down, she was missing both legs.
He shook his head in bleak despair at the savagery of the monster they hunted.
A torso, two arms and now two legs. Christ, the bastard was collecting body parts. What the hell were they dealing with?
A hot ball of anger and dread lodged in his gut. It was something out of a horror movie. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. It was unthinkable. It was beyond comprehension. Yet, it was happening.
“No legs,” Ellie murmured, her lips compressed into a thin line.
His gaze swept over the rest of the body. Everything else seemed to be intact. Her arms and hands were relatively clean. He leaned forward and examined the area where her legs used to be. The underside of her torso was caked in mud and black debris clung to the open wounds.
He met her gaze. “She wasn’t attacked here. There’s a copious amount of blood on her shirt, but barely anything on the ground beneath her. And there’s mud all over her back.”
He pointed to her arms. “There’s no mud on her hands. I’d say she’s been dragged along the ground by her arms for some distance. And not long after it rained, from the amount of mud that’s on the bottom of her.”
He took in the slight form of Sally Batten and frowned. “The monster we’re hunting isn’t large. In fact, I’d put him somewhere around one hundred and twenty or thirty pounds. Sally wasn’t a big woman and yet he had to drag what’s left of her to get her here. A larger man would have simply carried her.”
“We’re lucky she was protected by the bushland. With the rain we’ve had since she went missing, a lot of our evidence would have been washed away,” Ellie said.
Clayton nodded. “We need to get her to the morgue and see if they can give us a time of death.” He motioned with his head in Jake’s direction. “That’s if you can drag yourself away from your boyfriend.”
She followed his gaze. Jake wandered around the crime scene taking photos. A smile tugged at her lips.
Her gaze eventually came back to his, amusement sparkling in their green depths. He tensed, not at all in the mood to be played with.
“I’m sure Michael will have something to say about that.”
He stared at her blankly. “Michael?”
Her grin widened. “Yeah, Michael. Jake’s partner.”
Heat flared up Clayton’s neck and he looked away in confusion. “But, what about…? He asked you out—I heard him.”
She laughed and shook her head. “He wasn’t asking me out, you idiot. He was mucking around. Stirring me up.” She looked at him from underneath her lashes. “Sounds like he stirred you up.”
Clayton clamped his lips shut as his embarrassment deepened. She was right. He was an idiot. If she hadn’t been involved, he probably would have noticed straight away.
“You two seen enough?”
He looked up to see Jake looming above them. Standing slowly, he peeled the latex off his hands and wadded them into a ball. “Have you taken photos of the body, yet?”
“Done before you got here. I’ll email them to you when I get back to the station.”
“Sure,” Clayton replied. “Send them to Ellie’s address. I don’t have access to a secure server here.”
Jake’s eyes taunted him. “What, you couldn’t get clearance, Fed?”
If Ellie hadn’t told him Jake played for the other team, Clayton would have been ready to take the man’s head off. Now, he just smiled and shrugged. “Something like that.”
Jake’s eyes widened in surprise and then comprehension. He looked across at Ellie. “I guess I’ll see you round, sweet cheeks.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Jake. You take care.”
“You too, Coop.”
* * *
“As much as I like to ogle your eye-candy, Detective Cooper, this is getting beyond a joke.”
Ellie strode into the sadly familiar environs of Samantha Wolfe’s workplace with Clayton close behind her.
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Sam.” She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “Let’s hope this is the last of them.”
The doctor frowned, concern filling her world-weary face. Her eyes turned serious. “Are you any closer to finding him?”
Ellie’s shoulders slumped. “No. We’re not.”
Clayton moved toward the stainless steel gurney where the remains of who they believed to be Sally Batten had been laid out. His face was hard and closed.
Samantha gazed after him. “I won’t ask how the profiling’s going, then.”
He didn’t so much as glance in the doctor’s direction. Ellie suppressed a sigh, knowing how personally he took their lack of progress.
She understood how he felt. She was part of the taskforce. She’d lost count of how many nights she’d lain awake tossing and turning with frustration over their inability to come up with something. Anything. It gnawed at her insides.
She’d even given up straightening her hair. The extra twenty minutes it took every morning seemed an abominable waste of time when there was a killer on the loose.
The strain of the fifteen-hour days she’d been putting in was starting to tell. Apart from her wild and unkempt hair, her nails hadn’t seen a file for weeks and were now chipped and dry. She couldn’t remember when she’d last slept the night through. Insomnia had become her friend.
Not that the Fed seemed to be suffering. At least, he didn’t appear to be on the outside. Despite their early morning trek through the bush, his suit pants looked as crisp as ever.
His eyes, although ringed with fatigue, still burned with grim determination, as if he’d never let the killer get the better of him. She sighed, hoping that was true.
“So, we’ve got a young adult female. Judging from the width of her pelvis, I’d say somewhere between the age of sixteen and twenty-five.”
Samantha turned the torso over and inspected it closely. “No obvious signs of violence. No punctures or bullet wounds.” She ran her hand over some small lacerations. “Looks like she’s been gnawed on by an animal—a dog or a fox, most likely, judging by the teeth and claw marks. It looks like it had only just started in on her. I wonder what disturbed it?”
Ellie grimaced and tamped down her impatience. She couldn’t care less about the dog or the fox—or whatever had decided to sample the contents of the bag. It had nothing to do with the investigation and she didn’t give a damn. Precious seconds were ticking by.
Clayton cleared his throat and pinned the pathologist with his gaze. “How did she die, Dr Wolfe?”
Moving further down the table, Samantha bent low over Sally’s neck and examined it closely. “Probably strangulation, like the last one. It’s a bit difficult to tell because any bruising has been camouflaged by the decomposition, but an x-ray will tell us if there are any broken bones.”
She looked up at them over her protective mask and clear, plastic glasses. “Bones in the neck don’t always break, but there’s a fair chance in most strangulation cases. And of course, there’s also the blood loss. He’s severed two arteries cutting off her legs. That’s enough, in itself to cause her death.” Samantha looked down at the remains. “Any idea who she is?”
Ellie looked at Clayton and sighed. She cleared her throat and looked back at the doctor. “We think it’s Sally Batten. DNA will tell us for sure. We have samples that can be used for comparison back at the station.”
Clayton pushed forward. “What about her legs? Can you tell us anything about how they were removed?”
Dread settled in Ellie’s belly at what Clayton hadn’t said. She couldn’t prevent the thought forming. Was Sally alive when they’d been removed, like the others?
The pathologist moved lower. Bending over the girl’s torso, she examined the place where her right leg used to be. After a few moments, she straightened and turned to them, her face grim.
“It’s like the others. Saw marks across the bone and blood in the tissue. I’ll have to check under the microscope, but I’m guessing it’s a hacksaw. A microscopic comparison will tell us if it’s the same one used on the others.”
Clayton stared at the girl’s remains, his eyes blue steel. “Let’s see if the b