CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ellie slumped back against the car seat and sighed in disappointment. Okay, so maybe the killer wasn’t on her list. With only so much manpower available, she knew there were still at least fifteen or so names that hadn’t been allocated. Maybe tomorrow they’d get lucky.
With another sigh, she switched on the ignition and pulled away from the house. She should have known just by looking at it that it wasn’t the house of a madman. The neat lawns, the gaily colored flowers, the stern but friendly wife, the bickering kids. It all seemed too normal.
As she negotiated the late-afternoon traffic, her thoughts wandered to the shed. A taxi-driving doll maker. Who’d have thought? He made them; she sold them.
Then a memory hit her and her foot slammed on the brake. Michelle Wilson, the owner of the white van. The van Ronald Carter had seen in the laneway beside his house right after his freezer went missing.
A chest freezer. Like the ones she’d seen in Lex Wilson’s shed. But why the hell would Michelle Wilson be stealing chest freezers? It didn’t make sense. The woman didn’t seem to have a deceitful bone in her body.
Could she have been lying? Ellie immediately discounted that. She considered herself to be a pretty decent judge of character and she’d have sworn Michelle was exactly what she appeared to be—a busy mother trying to raise two rambunctious children and doing her bit to support her family.
Could her husband have used the van? He worked with wood. She’d seen wood shavings piled on the end of the workbench. Wood shavings had been found in Josie Ward’s hair and underneath Angelina Caruso’s fingernails.
Her mind drifted to the paint tin. It was probably used to paint the dolls. In the dimness, she hadn’t been able to tell what color it was, but she suddenly recalled the pink paint chips that had been found in Angelina’s hair.
The impatient beep of a horn behind her reminded her she’d slowed almost to a stop. Adrenaline surged through her and she pumped the accelerator.
The peculiarities were piling up. It was all circumstantial and a good lawyer would probably explain all of it away, but still, it was a bit of a coincidence and was definitely worth further investigation.
The clock on the dashboard told her it was just after six. With her cell phone on hands-free, she dialed Clayton’s number. Excitement coursed through her when he picked up.
“Hey, there gorgeous,” he exclaimed. “I was just thinking about you. My plane just landed. It’s good to be back up here and into some warmer weather.”
Ellie grinned, glancing across at the heater she’d turned up full blast.
“So, how’d you go with your door-knocking? Any luck?” he asked.
“Well, I’m not sure. Seven out of the eight on my list were non-contenders, but the last one was interesting.”
“How so?”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s anything, really. Just a bit of a hunch. Lex Wilson is a wood carver. He’s got a shed out the back of his house where he makes wooden dolls.”
Clayton’s tone sharpened. “Dolls?”
“Yes, and the other thing that’s interesting is that he does the late shift on Tues—”
“Dolls. Fuck, it’s him. The taxi driver from the airport. Lex Wilson. Fuck. Did you speak to him?”
Ellie frowned at the urgency in Clayton’s voice. “What do you mean, the airport?”
“Ellie, did you speak to him?” His voice was tighter.
“No, he was at work. I just told you he works the late shift—”
“On Tuesdays,” he finished. “It fits. It all fits. It’s him. I can’t believe it. It’s him. The fucking taxi driver.”
Ellie’s heart faltered. “How can you be so sure? Just because he’s a wood worker, doesn’t mean—”
His breath came harsher through the phone. “I caught his cab the first night I arrived. I remember the name. He told me about the dolls. It’s him, Ellie. I’m sure of it. Please, trust me on this. Where are you now? I hope you’re still not at his house.”
“No, I’m heading back to the station. I was going to review the files on the missing freezers. You wouldn’t believe it; I finally remembered why the name Wilson seemed familiar. It’s the name of the owner of the van seen by Ronald Carter. Michelle Wilson. I received the results from the Roads and Maritime Services a few days ago.
“That’s it. Ellie, that’s it. The freezers. He’s using them to store the bodies. The parts he’s saving. They’re in the fucking freezers.”
Cold fear prickled her scalp. Her breathing laboured. Clayton was right. It did fit.
“Get yourself back to the station,” Clayton ordered. “The traffic’s banking up over here, but I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
Ellie shivered at the urgency in his voice. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
She ended the call and returned her attention to the road. A fat drop of rain splattered against her windscreen and she frowned. She hadn’t even noticed the gathering clouds. Night had settled in, along with the storm.
The first drop was followed quickly by another and another. She flicked her wipers on and soon had to turn them up high when the rain hit with a vengeance.
Early evening traffic was still heavy as people rushed home from work, eager to get inside out of the storm. Her thoughts were a jumble of fear and excitement. They had him. They had him!
She had to call Ben. They needed to put together an arrest team. Wilson was at work until late. It would be safer to arrest him at his home. She prayed he wasn’t out there now trolling for another target.
A jagged arc of lightning lit up the sky in front of her and she jumped. The sound of the thunder that followed it a few moments later reverberated through the car. Ordinarily, she loved to watch the power and fury of a storm—when she was safely inside four solid walls.
It was a different matter experiencing one from inside what felt like the insignificant nothingness of the squad car.
Accelerating as much as she dared through the blinding rain, she made her way along the four-lane highway toward the heart of Penrith, and refuge.
A loud clunking sound came to her over the noise of the storm. The steering wheel tightened in her hands and the vehicle pulled to the right.
With an effort, she corrected her direction and centered the car in the lane. Again, it pulled to the right. The noise got louder and suddenly, she realized what it was.
A flat tire. Just what I need.
With a glance in her rear-view mirror, she lifted her foot off the accelerator. The car limped to the side of the road. Switching off the ignition, she turned on the hazard lights and punched the station’s number into her phone. There was no way she was going to climb out into what had become a deluge to change it.
The call finally connected and she explained her predicament to the switchboard operator.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” the woman said, “but the truck’s already out on a call. I’m sorry, but you’re the second officer to call in a flat tire in the last ten minutes. They’ve only just left for a job over at Glenbrook. It’s difficult to say, but they could be gone awhile—at least an hour or so.”
Her shoulders slumped on a loud groan. “An hour?”
“Or so. Could be less; you never know your luck.”
“Yeah, the way mine’s been going, I’ll be lucky to see them before midnight.”
The operator chuckled. “Well, they’re not exactly known for their punctuality and in this weather, who knows?”
“Gee, thanks for your support and understanding.”
“Hey, I’m not the one stuck on the side of the highway.”
She ended the call on another heavy sigh and peered in the rear-view mirror at the bank of car lights behind her. She could probably catch a taxi. That would be quicker than waiting for the tow truck.
A shiver of unease trickled down her spine. Lex Wilson was somewhere out there. Right now. In his taxi.
She shook her head. She was being silly. What were the chances of coming across him? There were hundreds of cabs on duty right now. It was peak hour. She’d hail a cab and get back to the station. It would probably take her ten minutes, fifteen, max. And then she’d see Clayton again and together they’d work out how they could put Wilson away forever.
With newfound courage and resolve, she dialed the station and left details of her change of plan with the switchboard operator. The rain had eased slightly, but was still coming down. Taking another look out the back window, her heart leaped in gratitude when she spied what she was looking for.
The cab was still a fair way back, but headed in her direction. She leaned across and picked up her handbag from where it sat on the passenger seat and pulled her phone out of the car kit. Tugging the keys out of the ignition, she pushed them under the floor mat.
Glancing again through the rear-view mirror, she judged the distance about right to give the driver enough time to see her and pull over. Bracing herself against the rain, she opened the door and climbed out, dragging her handbag with her. Hailing the cab with an outstretched arm, she sighed in relief as an indicator came on and the taxi moved across the lanes of traffic toward her.
It came to a stop behind her vehicle. She hurriedly covered the short distance and went to open the rear passenger side door. It was locked.
Damn!
She tapped on the window, hoping the driver would notice. He didn’t respond and she surmised he couldn’t hear her over the storm. She tried the front passenger seat and the door cracked open. She thought briefly of Clayton and their conversation about riding in the front, but the rain was soaking through her clothing and the odds of stumbling into the killer’s taxi were next to slim. With a sigh, she opened the door wider and collapsed onto the seat.
“Oh, thank God you came along,” she breathed. “You’ve made my day. I thought I’d be sitting out here half the night.”
The driver smiled, showing perfect, even teeth, starkly white against his dark, scruffy beard. “No problem, I’m happy to be of service. Where can I take you?”
Ellie returned his smile gratefully. “You wouldn’t believe it, my car’s got a flat tire. Of all the days to get a flat, I have to pick the wettest evening we’ve had for over a month. Is that bad luck, or what?” She relaxed against the seat, brushing at the errant raindrops that clung to her skirt and jacket.
The driver’s smile was slow and thoughtful. “I think we make our own luck, good, bad or indifferent.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” She pushed her handbag onto the floor near her feet, only realizing afterward she still held her phone in her hand.
“So, where are you going?”
“Penrith Police Station. I’m on my way back to work.”
The man nodded. “Of course, you’re a police officer.” He turned away and manoeuvred the cab into the traffic.
Ellie glanced at the clock on the dashboard and dialed Clayton’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Hi. I’m sorry, Ellie. I’ve been caught in traffic. The rain’s a bitch. I’m probably still about fifteen minutes away.”
She smiled into the phone. “Don’t worry, so am I.”
“Really?” His voice held a touch of concern. “You should have been there ages ago.”
“Well, that was the plan, but I got a flat tire. It’s pelting down out here and the tow-truck’s at least an hour away.” She glanced at the driver who was pretending not to listen. “But it’s all right. I caught a cab a few minutes ago. I’ll probably arrive about the same time you do.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you soon.”
“Looking forward to it.” She ended the call and kept hold of the phone. She couldn’t be bothered hunting around in the dimness of the car for her bag. With a sigh of anticipation, she settled back against the seat.
* * *
Lex Wilson couldn’t believe it. The girl from the newspaper clipping was in his cab. She looked a little older and her hair was shorter, but he was sure it was her.
Excitement curled in his gut. She looked more like Snow White than Rapunzel, but if he took her, he could finish his creation tonight. He could barely sit still at the thought. It was perfect. She was perfect.
She’d even been okay to sit in the front seat. He wasn’t a religious man, but even he could tell it was a sign. This was meant to be.
Too bad she was a police officer. He’d known that, of course. The newspapers had been full of it. The irony of the policewoman attending the scene of the accident, only to discover her son was the victim. The pleasure of it had been excruciating. Almost as excruciating as watching the horror on his mother’s face when he’d switched on her hairdryer and had tossed it into the bath with her. She’d died with her face frozen in terror. He chuckled at the memory.
But something told him to proceed with caution. Killing police officers was not something he’d do lightly. He’d never once even considered tracking her down to add to his collection. But she’d found him. It was karma. It was fate. It was meant to be.
His wife, Michelle, knew about his mother, of course. It was the reason he’d ended up in the orphanage. He’d never known his father and after his mother’s untimely accident, the poor little boy who’d discovered her dead in the bath, had been placed in temporary foster care.
His mother’s family, the few who had turned up for the funeral, had patted his head and expressed their sympathy, but that was where their charity had ended. There were numerous excuses as to why none of them could possibly take the young boy in. Two weeks after he’d buried his mother, he’d arrived at the Wallsend Home for Orphans.
If he’d thought his life would improve with the death of his mother, he’d thought wrong. He was bullied and teased by the staff and other children, alike. Nothing he did earned praise. He was continuously punished for the slightest indiscretions. To his horror and shame, a few weeks after his arrival at the orphanage, he started wetting the bed again.
Life descended into hell. For six long years, he suffered in silence, vowing one day to get even. The only bright spot in the entire sorry saga was his wife, Michelle.
Right from the start, she’d been his champion. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her support, but not a night went by that he wasn’t grateful for it. If it hadn’t been for Michelle, he was certain he would have died, along with the nameless others that were buried in the back garden of the orphanage.
As soon as they were able, they left the place behind them and struck out on their own. At sixteen, life on the streets was hard, but they had each other, and that’s all that mattered.
It was his idea to return and end the life of Richard Weston. The dorm master had made it his mission to single Lex out for punishment as often as he could get away with it. The memory of scrubbing filthy urinals with his toothbrush whilst Weston pissed on his head would stay with him forever.
The man deserved to die and Lex had vowed he’d make it happen.
In the end, Weston had died with hardly a whimper. Procuring a handgun from a friend off the street, Lex and Michelle had snuck into the dorm master’s suite in the dead of night. Weston had woken with the pistol jammed against his temple. Within seconds, it was done. They’d left as quickly and as silently as they’d come and had never returned.
They’d never spoken of it again, but Lex had never forgotten the indescribable euphoria the moment Weston’s heart stopped beating. It had reminded him of his mother’s death. It reminded him how much he hated people in authority and how he would never be under the control of anyone again.
As soon as he was able, he changed his name. He wanted to distance himself as far as possible from the nightmare of his childhood. A few months later, he and Michelle were married. It was the happiest day of his life.
In time, their daughters, Anissa and Amy, arrived and his life was complete. He went to work, raised a family and learned to be happy with his new life. But then there had been the accident. And it had been an accident. He’d been trying to change the channel on his radio. He’d looked away from the road for just an instant and it had happened. He’d hit the woman and the baby on the pedestrian crossing. He hadn’t even had time to brake.
The shock of it had momentarily stunned him and then reaction had set in. He’d pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator and had gotten the hell away from there.
It was only later, when he’d watched it on the news, that he’d discovered the baby had belonged to a police officer. It was then that the pleasure had started. He’d thought of all the times he’d pleaded with the police for help and how every time they’d looked the other way. Every single time.
The joy of inflicting pain on a member of their close-knit fraternity had seeped into his veins, had reinvigorated him as he’d relived the sounds and the sensations of the accident.
He’d shared the moment with Michelle, who had cautioned against taking it any further. But, the feelings persisted.
He tried to control them, ignore them, but they wouldn’t be denied. He’d started cautiously, discreetly. A girl here, a girl there. Street girls—nothing girls, with no fixed abode and no family. His hits were sporadic, with no fixed methodology. Each time, he refined his technique. Sometimes he’d go months between killings. No one suspected a thing. No one even noticed. The tiniest of entries in the middle of the newspaper—and sometimes, not even that.
But slowly, inexorably, the beast inside him demanded more. His conquests increased and the interval between them fell away. He was out of control. It was like his mother and the dorm master and the baby all over again. He’d never been happier.
Now, the sweetest prize of all had fallen into his lap. The most glorious head sat about a foot away from him, totally under his control. He tingled at the thought of handling it.
Well, perhaps not totally. Not yet.
His gaze swept over her as the cab passed a street light. Police officers were always armed. He hadn’t seen any evidence of a gun, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have one tucked away inside the waistband of her skirt.
What to do? He was in a quandary. If he acted on his initial impulse, he could finish his creation tonight. But what if it was a mistake? She certainly looked fitter than the others and being a police officer, she’d probably fight back. Then there was the phone call she’d just made. Somebody knew she was with him.
The only advantage he had was surprise. And the Taser gun he’d ordered off the Internet that lay concealed down the side of his seat. Already, it had been put to good use.
Her head moved and she gazed across the dashboard of the car. In the dimness, her eyes widened and her body stilled.
Lex tensed. Something had changed. He didn’t know what, but she had straightened in her seat, her body now alert as she inched toward the passenger door.
Adrenaline surged through his veins. If he was going to go ahead with it, he had to act fast. It was now or never.
* * *
Ellie’s heart pounded and the blood rushed to her ears, almost drowning out the noise of the rain and the passing traffic.
Lex Wilson. His name was right there on the envelope sitting on the dashboard. A pile of mail. Innocent, innocuous. Addressed to a psychopath.
Shit. She was in his cab. The man Clayton thought responsible for multiple murders. Gruesome murders. Murders she could barely think about now that she sat less than a foot away from him.
Her gaze slid to the mandatory security camera that should have been anchored on the dashboard. It was nowhere to be seen.
She looked at his hands, sure and confident on the wheel. There were stains on his fingers.
A sliver of fear moved within her belly. Her heart did a somersault. It was him. She was sure of it. She inched her breath out between tight lips, frantically trying to come up with a plan while she strove to act normal.
“So, what do you do when you’re not driving taxis?”
His teeth glowed whitely in the dull light. “I’m a doll maker.”
Her pulse ratcheted up another notch. “Really? Dolls? That sounds interesting.”
She plastered a smile on her face while her mind continued to work with furious speed. She had to get out of there.
“It is,” he replied easily, his voice betraying his pleasure. “It’s my other passion. My wife’s always complaining about how much time I spend in the shed with my girls.”
The breath caught in her throat. Surreptitiously, she texted Clayton, praying silently that he’d understand.
In taxi. Wilson.000
She glanced down and found the send button. Pressing it, she prayed Wilson hadn’t noticed anything amiss.
He looked at her curiously and she searched her memory with frantic haste to pick up the thread of their conversation.
The dolls. His wife. The girls.
She cleared her throat. “You must enjoy it, then. Making the dolls.”
He turned to her, his eyes glittering in the light from the streets. “You wouldn’t believe.”
Oh, God, she was going to be sick. Wrenching her gaze away from his, she turned to stare out the window. They had to be almost at the station. If she was quick, she could bolt out of the car the next time he stopped for traffic lights.
Traffic lights. It suddenly dawned on her she hadn’t noticed any for a while. Another glance out the window and she realized they were back in the suburbs. Leafy trees on the nature strip shrouded the soft, yellow glow that came from the windows of distant houses. He must have turned off the highway and she hadn’t noticed. She’d been too busy trying to get her head around the fact she was in his car.
Fear tasted sharp and acrid in her mouth. She had to think. And fast. While she still could.
She cursed the fact she was unarmed. And in high heels. Of all the days to let vanity overrule practicality, it had to be today. She’d woken that morning with Clayton in her bed and had wanted to look sexy and feminine and desirable. All the things he’d made her feel while they’d explored each other’s bodies in the hours before.
She’d never dreamed when she’d slipped on her three-inch heels that she’d be riding in a taxi with a demented killer.
The traffic had thinned. She cast a furtive glance at him and saw that he was grinning. Fear tightened in her belly.
Slowly, carefully, she undid the clasp of her seatbelt and held it by her side. At the same time, she used her toes to slip off her sandals, preparing herself for flight.
He turned into a driveway. She looked up and saw the white van. Terror constricted her breathing. Screaming, she made a dive for the door.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
A dark fist flew toward her and connected with the side of her head. She gasped and cried out, her ears ringing from the impact. Her eyes blurred with tears. Frantically trying to work the door open, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.
He held a Taser gun inches from her face. Her scream of horror was cut short when pain exploded in her chest.
He’d hit her.
Within seconds, she was immobilized.
* * *
Clayton checked the clock on the squad room wall and frowned. Ellie should have been there by now. She’d said she was only fifteen minutes away. They should have arrived together and yet he’d managed to bring Ben up to date and get the ball rolling on the Tactical Response Group who would make the arrest—and still, she hadn’t appeared.
The beep of a new text message sounded on his phone. He tugged it out of his pocket and opened the message.
Then he froze.
Fear, hot and choking, clogged his throat. “Luke, Cheryl, Bill, Jacko. Whoever else is around,” he rasped.
Heads looked up from desks and peered around partitions at the urgency in his voice.
Luke strode over. “What is it, Clayton? What’s wrong?”
Clayton swallowed against the lump of terror in his throat. “It’s Ellie. He’s got her. The bastard’s got her.”
Luke blanched. “Jesus Christ, are you sure?”
The question set Clayton’s feet in motion. He crossed the length of the squad room with frantic strides, searching for a Kevlar vest and a weapon. Coming up empty, he rounded on Luke.
“Yes, I’m, fucking sure. She just sent me a text. Read it and see for yourself.” He shoved the phone into Luke’s hand and continued his futile search.
The panic in his voice finally seemed to register. People swarmed around him. He could barely hear over the questions that were hurled from all directions.
“Where the fuck do you keep the gear around here?” he shouted. “I need a vest and a piece. And I need them now.”
Luke looked up, his face ashen. “In the cupboard down the back. The boss has the key.” He pointed to a steel, two-door upright cabinet. Clayton strode toward it.
“Ben! I need to get into this cupboard.” He banged on it with his fist. Dread continued to course through him. “And where the fuck is that suspect list? I need the address of Lex Wilson.”
Ben appeared in the doorway of his office, his face lined with age and fatigue. “What are you going on about, Clayton? What’s happened?”
Clayton rounded on him. “It’s Ellie. She’s in the fucking cab with him.”
Ben raised his arms. “Whoa, slow down. What the hell are you talking about?”
Luke handed Ben the phone. “She needs help, boss,” he said quietly.
Ben looked at the text and his face turned grim. “Oh, Christ.”
Clayton snatched the phone out of his